Where Old Ghosts Meet - Kate Evans [61]
Nora hated country music and wished she could get away, but her driver had settled down with another beer and showed no inclination to leave.
“Patsy Cline,” he said with a jaunty air. “I love Patsy Cline. How about you?”
Nora cleared her throat. “She’s got a great voice,” she replied, mustering up a smile. Until a short time ago she had been delighted, even fascinated, with this strange little tavern in the wilds of Newfoundland, with its blustering landlord who handed his customers their first beer and then conveniently disappeared, leaving them to fend for themselves. Her companion, too, was lively and talkative and seemed happy to take the time to tell her what he knew about her missing grandfather, which was why she was here after all. So what did she have to complain about?
“Ever been to Nashville, Nora?”
“No.”
“You should. It’s a great spot. I’ve been there twice.”
She watched his body take on the rhythm of the song. She wouldn’t have put him down as a Nashville type. It just didn’t seem to fit. He had an easy grace and charm about him, she had to admit that, and an assurance and sophistication that she liked, yet, from time to time she sensed a shrewd side to this man and fancied that in different circumstances he might surprise her. She had wanted several times to ask what he did for a living but shied away from the intrusion.
Instead she asked, “How did he let you down, Gerry?”
He waved his hand as if to brush the thought away. “Ah, you don’t want to know about that. It was just a lot of old foolishness, the mad dreams of a youngster.”
Yet it was important enough to mention earlier on. She looked at him steadily. “I’d like to hear if you wouldn’t mind telling me.”
He sat back in his chair and regarded her over the rim of the bottle. “I was his protégé. I suppose that’s how people would see it today. He worked with me for a nice few years to bring me along, all the time making me believe that if I worked hard at the books, I could be whatever I wanted to be. I believed him absolutely.”
He crossed one leg over the other, shifting most of his weight onto his left buttock and twisting his body around so that he no longer faced her. “I was the only one on the island at that time going for grade eleven. I worked a lot on my own and he taught me after school, at the weekends or whenever we could get a few spare hours. I was even allowed to go to Peg’s house, if I was sore in need of help with my work. I loved to go over there. It was warm and cozy, always neat and clean and peaceful; merciful God, it was so peaceful. A haven of contentment, or so it seemed to me. You could tell there was steady money coming in there. Those days every other house in the community was full of half-starved youngsters, but there was only Sheila there, all bright and smiling and well cared for. They had it all, everything I wanted, or so I thought. But you know, the fact that they were not a real family didn’t occur to me in those days.”
He glanced at her sideways and continued on. “When he left I couldn’t believe he had walked away from that perfect, sheltered life. In fact I was ragin’.” There was a long pause. “I also couldn’t believe that he had walked away from me, leavin’ me twistin’ about in the wind not knowin’ where to go or what to do. I thought I was important to him.”
“I’m sorry,” Nora said, not quite knowing or understanding what she was sorry for. Was she feeling guilty about this strange long-lost man, this relative of hers, this …? She didn’t want to use the word grandfather. Blood is thicker than water, a