by Hart Tillett

Then in late November, three weeks before school closed in Belize for the holidays, the New Rochelle Person-of-the-Year was announced. Glenda was beyond belief when she received a call from the committee chair. Her prize was a $20,000 gift and the chance to have a name of her choosing added to that of the street where she lived. She wanted to call Reggie right away. But she knew she couldn’t share the moment with him, much as she wanted to, and that it would be better to keep that as an additional surprise!

(Continued from Amandala of Tues. Dec. 17, 2024)

Part 4

The northeast was in the grip of a cold snap when Reggie and the kids arrived at La Guardia.

When they met at the visitor lounge they hugged, and their embrace seemed endless.

“Baby, baby,” mouthed Glenda, over and over.

“Mom! Mommy!” screamed Jasmine squeezing and kissing Glenda in a wild display of affection.

The drive back to New Rochelle took longer than the usual half-an-hour, because Glenda wanted them to see some of the more memorable sights of the City before getting on the I-95 North that would take them home. Snow banks rose on both sides of the roadways, and she kept up a constant chatter about the seasons, the traffic and the weather. When they stopped at the traffic light near her home, she observed him furtively so as to catch the moment Reggie spotted the familiar name taken from their address in Ladyville: PEMBROKE ROAD. It was attached to the pole beneath the original name plate.

He had seen it, as his instant squirm confirmed.

“When did that happen?” he asked her. She pretended not to have understood!

“What?” she asked airily, working the gear shift and checking her rear-view mirror.

He read the name aloud, and Glenda was assured then that there was some glee in his voice.   

“Oh! Long story,” she grinned. “Will explain later.”

Junior had seen the sign as well and added his interest.

“Can’t wait, Mom,” and his giggle had in it the sound of a point scored! What could that mean? she thought fleetingly. Every sound in the big SUV grew quiet as she drove down the lane. It was an expectant silence; as if they were all on the lookout for more to come. And there was! At the slowed speed, they gaped at the spacious lawns, a few already trimmed for the season; the cleanliness; and the well-maintained shrubbery, some still with their coats of snow. Before turning into the driveway Glenda pressed the button on her door opener, the garage door rolled up instantly and she drove in.

Everything she did had been carefully planned; the timing, the pace, even the gear shift routine had been thoroughly rehearsed so that the curb side impression would get its maximum attention. And as the garage door slid back gently into place, there was an audible release of pent up breath from each one.

“Well, here we are, my pets,” beamed Glenda before anyone could speak. It was her show, and she was the show-master.

What caught Reggie’s attention right away was the spaciousness and array of tools—ladders, a wheelbarrow, hand saws, a properly coiled water-hose, weed-eater and the like. Everything was clean and in its own place, with no sense of clutter. And there was the tolerant smell of turpentine, his favorite cleaner. A huge freezer in a corner hummed softly. He took all this in in an instant, then smiled at Glenda.

“Very nice, Mrs. McAllister,” he teased, sweeping the scene visually. Glenda could tell he was pleased.

“Par for the course, my Pet,” she replied, a phrase her CO, a golfer of sorts, liked to say. No need to say more then.

“Mom?” Junior began awkwardly, “Why can’t I get my driver’s license?” The glance he flashed at Reggie told Glenda that this was an issue between the two. But she had bigger fish to fry and decided not to side with him against Reggie.

“That’s for your father to say, son,” she muttered tenderly. “In the meantime, let’s get you into the house. We can get the suitcases later.”

It was said briskly, and when she pressed the button by the doorway, the door swung open and they mounted the short flight of stairs into the kitchen.

The “tour” that followed was quick, but the main features that Glenda had decided were key to acceptance were accorded preferential time—the spacious living room, the den with TV, computer desk and a new grand piano. Junior could hardly believe his good fortune of having their own, and quickly ran some notes to get the tone of the instrument. He ended his testing by banging out Beethoven’s classic introduction to his Fifth Symphony. His broad smile told Glenda that her scheme was up and running!

Upstairs, where the bedrooms were, offered the choice of either of two bathrooms. After deciding who slept where, Glenda sat with Jasmine on her bed.

“Why don’t you men see about the suitcases?” she nodded to Reggie. “Jasmine and I can wait here for you.” After a moment she added, “Just press the buzzer by the door to the garage,” she said practically rather than paternally, and after they exited the room she turned to the child.

“Now, baby,” she hugged her again, drawing together tenderly, “are you tired from the trip?”

“Only a little,” she smiled back at her Mom. “Daddy let me crash on his knees whenever I felt like it,” she confessed. Glenda felt the tug at her heart as she realized how much closer the child had grown to Reggie in the years during her absence; how much emotional pain Jasmine could have, should she not succeed in her plan to get him to change his mind about not wanting to leave Belize.

“Well,” she said, patting the pillows, “you’ll sleep as long as you want to; and Mommy and Daddy will be right next door if you need us.” They hugged again, and separated only when Junior brought in her suitcase.

“Like your room, son?” she asked.

“Sure thing, Ma’! It’s a cool house you have!” he said, not meaning any harm, but Glenda felt the punch.

“It’s yours too, Junie,” she punted. “Didn’t you see the name on the mailbox? It says McALLISTERS, and that means us.” Softly, but plainly spoken with no inflexion, and no antics. But her meaning was clear, and his engaging smile told her all she needed to know. The boy went over and sat beside her, smelt her perfume and embraced her warmly.

“Thanks, Mommy!”

The program was moving along just as she had planned, and the next day should be no different. In the meantime, she called in dinner—fried chicken with white sauce and brown gravy, and a dessert of sweet potato pound cake—from Benjie’s, her favorite take-out neighborhood fast food. It was owned by a classy cook from Barbados who had recently opened up for business. He used mostly West Indian recipes and seasoning that had everyone licking their fingers when the meal was over.

As they prepared for bed that night, Glenda told Reggie about the honor she had received from the Town Council.

“I had no idea, Honey,” she pleaded defensively when she heard the doubting grunt he made at the end of her account of how it happened. “I would’ve told you had I known earlier, but everything happened so quickly. And then I figured that, as you would be coming up soon, it would be a nice surprise for you and the kids.”

“It’s just that we’ve always talked things like this over, together, Glenda,” he emphasized. She could sense the resentment rising in him. “And what’s going to happen after you leave here in a couple of years?” he pounced.

The question did not surprise her, and she pivoted quickly.

“Not much, I guess,” she said lamely. It was not the time for this conversation, and she quickly changed the subject. “How was the flight up?” she asked. “Did you find a responsible person to keep an eye on the house?” She tinged her questions with just the right amount of concern. By the time they were in bed, the touchy topic of returning to Belize to live had been mooted.

The following day she took the children to see the town. She knew Reggie would like to be alone in the house to familiarize himself with it and appraise the workmanship. He could do so without Glenda being a witness to his approval or otherwise.

They drove around the growing township for a while, with Glenda pointing out places of interest—the library, skating rink, basketball court, the university and the neighborhood church.

“We’re going there for their Christmas concert on Friday night,” she told them.

“How about some ice cream, Mom!” That was Jasmine.

“So,” she agreed, “let’s go get us some ice cream, then,” and after a bit of head scratching she settled on a popular Drive-through where they got pop-corn as well. Then she headed for the Mall in the main square where Macy’s and JC Penny were housed. They browsed for gifts for one another, and Glenda had them “help” finding something for their dad.

“Won’t we get a tree for Christmas, Mom?” asked Junior as they eased into traffic.

“As you know,” she began, pretending she had not thought of it before, “that’s always your Dad’s job. I’ll take him to the tree lot this afternoon to choose one. Anyone wants to come along?”

“I still remember the time he took us tree hunting on the Northern Highway when the car broke down on the way home,” he reminisced. “Think I’ll sit this one out and maybe run some chords on the Baldwin!”

The twins said they’d pass on the trip too, choosing instead to do gift wrapping after a nap.

“OK,” Glenda conceded. “Then what you all say we dress the tree tomorrow?”

Glenda liked the idea of them doing this most traditional Christmassy thing together. It was how they had done it in Belize, and recreating that shared experience from the Ladyville of their past was a great way to get them off to a start there in New York.

Part 5

Laura was in her office in Yonkers and had just finished putting her final notes on a case. She decided to drive over to Glenda’s, taking her a gift on her way home. Making it a surprise would be a nice gesture. She pressed the door buzzer.

“Get the door, Jeffrey,” called Junior who was in the middle of one of Handel’s arias.

“Hi,” she said to the lad, a stripling youth, at the door. “I’m Laura, your mom’s friend. Is she in?” she asked holding the gift in the crock of her elbow.

“Who is it?” came the shouted warning from Junior.

“Come here,” Jeffrey replied.

Laura had been listening to the piano music from the den. It stopped suddenly and Junior came to the door, but she had heard enough to recognize the aria and the skill with which it was played. Her husband taught music at a music school in the City, and Handel was one of his favorite composers. The youth had an upright bearing and a winning smile.

“Can we help you, Ma’am?” he asked politely.

She repeated what she had said to the younger boy then added, “You must be Junior? Glenda has told me so much about you all. It’s a real pleasure to finally meet you.” She paused.

“Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Laura. Mom’s out with…”

“None of that ‘Mrs. Laura’ stuff,” she cut him off. “To your Mom and y’all I’m Laura.” When he said nothing she added, “Welcome to America! How long you been playing the piano?” she asked conversationally.

“Ever since I could get on the bench,” he replied jocularly, pirating a joke from his first piano teacher.

“Yes, I’ve heard that one before! Well, I just stopped by to bring her this gift. Let her know you met the person who brought it.” She was waving as she hurried away.

“Cute lady!” muttered Jeffrey.

“Mom always picks ‘em right,” concurred Junior as he headed back to the den.

Meanwhile, Reggie was glad to be alone with Glenda, and the chance to unburden himself of the many questions that plagued him since his arrival He waited until the tree, a balsam fir, chosen for its lingering fragrance, had been bought and they were on the way home before he let the questions fly. They had gone into a McDonald’s for the quiet, and as they waited for their orders he began his interrogation—about the house and how to pay for it; the piano, her job, her future here in America. It was then she told him about the money that came with the Citizen-of-the-Year award. She smiled wryly and looked at him.

“I wanted you to be here so we could discuss what to do with it. Together,” she added emphatically.

“Any ideas?” he asked jauntily.

“Well, here in America,” she replied casually, knowing it was one of the topics with which he took issue, “windfalls like this are usually given away altogether or in part to a charity that benefits the community—like blood Donors, or the Red Cross.”

Twenty-thousand American dollars, he thought. Forty-thousand dollars in Belize money!

Her caution failed to reach him.

“There you go again,” he said sharply. “America doesn’t need another benefactor, especially one from impoverished Belize with a home there that still needs a lot to modernize it.” When she remained quiet he added his familiar punch line. “Besides, you have paid your dues, honey. You don’t owe America a thing more!”

She thought of the mangled, blooded bodies on the floating hospitals of Da-Nang; the emergency rooms to which victims of road traffic accidents, gunshot wounds or fire were taken, relying on the Red Cross for blood, about which Reggie had no idea. But she could not tell him that, for he’d find some other reason to hold onto the money. Better to redirect his thoughts.

“I was just hoping we could agree,” she replied lamely, and went to something else before he had time to respond.

“About the piano—that was Laura’s husband—you remember the lady from my dog-walking days? He teaches music at the music academy, and when he learned about our house he offered to find one if we needed it. The price was good and so I took it.” Let him connect the dots, she thought. And about the house mortgage, she felt she had told him enough regarding the benefits that vets were entitled to, to answer his question. She felt the situation was handled well without any hard and fast positions taken.

On the way home, she mentioned the party she had planned as a welcome gesture for him and the children.

“After all,” she crooned, “you’re only here for three weeks, and we don’t know when you’ll be back again.” It was put out as a question, but if he sensed it he ignored her sortie.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he nodded, for the first time acknowledging that for the time being anyway, this was home for her. “So, will Laura be there?”

“Yes, and her husband. And Linda and her husband too. Many of the people who helped me settle into life here have been invited, including the priest that got me the cleaning job that changed our lives.”

Many of the concerns that Reggie had, appeared to have taken a backseat to the business of trimming the tree. A family tradition for years, it was one of the coziest events of the Christmas season begun back in Belize, with pictures, singing and the hanging of lights and stockings, placement of gifts, and eating the first of Glenda’s Christmas white fruit cake. She was determined that the routine would continue unbroken; only made better with real snow on the ground outside and live holly about. When all was done, it was Junior’s turn to highlight the occasion with music, and as he positioned himself on the bench, pride in seeing him so poised and confident welled up in Glenda’s heart. Applause rose as he ran the chords for Schubert’s Ave Maria and eased into the gentle soothing brilliance of the piece.

Meanwhile, Laura was heaping praises on Junior’s talent too.

“You must hear him,” she told her husband who did not plan on attending the party. “He is so tall and his speech is soft and eloquent.” After a little more cajoling he agreed to go along “just to please you,” he admitted.

All told, there were some twenty-odd who showed up for the party—a smorgasbord of ethnicities representing a swathe of occupations—the medical, the academic, the mercantile, politicians and the trades. None seemed to be aware of these differences, focusing their attention on the new arrivals. Glenda had recruited servers from the local VA where she did volunteer work and knew the need for employment of some of the men and women who she treated there. They moved about among the guests keeping drinks at the ready, removing empty plates and glasses—generally making everyone relaxed and comfortable.

Reggie was stunned. Folks would just come up to him after Laura had proposed toasts to the new family from Belize. That their enquiries about Belize arose from genuine interest was clear.

“So, what do you do in Belize?” they would ask; or, “Been to New York before?” or, “How long will you be here?” Lots of engaging questions, but all emphasizing the welcoming difference Glenda’s star-studded presence amongst them had added to the social and cultural life of New Rochelle.

When they had eaten, it was the moment Glenda had chosen to play her trump card.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said above the subdued noise of the gathering. “May I have your attention!” Voices were lowered, the clink of glasses hushed and shuffling feet stilled. “Our oldest son has been studying piano from childhood. Now he’s our virtuoso, and yesterday after the tree was trimmed he treated us to his version of the Ave Maria!” Grunts of delight and expectation undertoned the din. “We,” she went on, nodding slightly to Reggie, “felt it would be selfish on our part if we kept this music to ourselves. So, with no further ado, I’ll invite him to take his place at the piano at this time.”

All eyes turned to see the gangly youth rise from his seat, move to the piano and with a practiced bow to the assembled friends, made perfect by his many appearances at the Bliss Institute and elsewhere, turned to the instrument that had become his passion.

Laura’s husband took in every move. It was what he tried to instill in all his students—the marks of a virtuoso performer. And when Junior’s creation segued into the softer tones as Schubert intended, he thought of the violin he had packed in his car trunk.

“I need to get it,” he muttered.

“What?” asked Laura. It was a mere whisper.

“My violin; from the car,” he replied. Hardly anyone noticed as he slipped away, but when he got back, instrument in hand, they did. He made his way to where Junior sat. The man’s expertise quickly got him the right key, and as Junior’s fingers gently tapped the piano keys, the soughing sounds from the strings of the violin enhanced the light and shadow of musical refinement.

It was a performance like Reggie had never heard before. Wow! He thought to himself.

Both pianist and violinist bowed to each other, and then to the rest of the room.

They wanted more and together a short encore of the famous riff was done. A performance extraordinaire.

On the way back to the City, Laura’s husband said:

“That young man should get a spot at Juilliard.”

“But he’s only here for the Christmas holidays,” she replied.

“Not if I can help it,” he persisted.

“Juilliard is expensive,” she reminded him. “And suppose his parents don’t want him to!”

“Talent like that belongs not to a country, nor for a season.” He paused as they approached a light. “Or for gatherings like there was tonight,” he said musingly when they were moving once more. “He should be heard by the whole world and for all time,” he opined. “I’ve done a lot of talent search for the Academy, as you know.” his mind was working. “There’re many incentives for the gifted there, and believe me, he qualifies, hands down!”

Reggie was overwhelmed as well.

“You were so professional, son!” he praised him later. “Laura’s husband really liked your performance.”

“And so do we, didn’t we Reggie,” added Glenda.

Two days later, as Glenda and Reggie sat sipping a chilled apple cider, she got a call from Laura.

“Good news, Glenda,” she began, “the Dean at Juilliard wants to meet Junior preparatory to an audition!”

“That’s wonderful,” she said. “How did that happen? And so quickly?”

“I’ll fill you in when we meet. Will he be here when the new term begins in February?”

Glenda could not answer her directly. She knew she had won the first round of a lengthy ordeal, for not even Reggie would deny his son this opportunity for which so many had spent years preparing and still failed in their desire to gain a Juilliard experience. The trial ahead involved their children, their marriage, the home in Belize and the family and friends there. For now, though, they did have somewhere to gather, in a place they were learning to love.

     The End.