Scarlet Woman. Gwynne Forster

her with a cold good-bye, but their relationship didn’t warrant much more. So he merely said, “Talk to you again before I leave here,” and she seemed to understand.

      “I’ll expect that,” she said. “Take care of yourself.”

      He hung up and went inside. He didn’t feel like dancing, but he walked with livelier steps.

      Two days later, Blake stood at his father’s final resting place, dealing with his emotions.

      “If you had wound up in jail or as an addict,” his mother said, “maybe you’d have grounds to hate him. But look at you. He must have given you something that inspired you to reach so high and accomplish so much.”

      What could he say? She looked at it with the eyes of a woman who loved both her husband and her children; she wouldn’t lay blame. He wished he were in the habit of praying, because he could use some unbiased guidance right then.

      Gloria Hunter’s fingers gripped his arm. “Let it go, son. If you don’t forgive your father, you’ll never be able to love anybody, not the woman you marry, not even your own children.” His mother tightened her grip on him as she whispered, “Please let it die with him.”

      Strange that he should think of Melinda at a time when he was finding his way out of the morass of pain and bewilderment that dogged him and had been a part of his life for as long as he remembered. What did she feel for her father? It was suddenly important for him to know if she loved Booker Jones, a man who few people in Ellicott City, other than his family and parishioners, seemed able to tolerate.

      His mother’s words bruised his ears. “Son, you’ve got to let it go.”

      In his mind’s eye, he saw again his father stand, tears streaking his cheeks, when Columbia University conferred the doctor of laws degree on his younger son. As pain seared his chest, he knelt and kissed the sealed metal casket. When he stood, his mother’s arms enfolded him, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen her smile so broadly or her eyes sparkle so brightly with happiness.

      Melinda waited until late the next morning before she tried to locate Ethan. She supposed he might be a relative, since Blake didn’t have any children. She amended that. He didn’t have any that she knew of.

      “Ethan ain’t here,” the voice of an older female said in answer to Melinda’s question. When asked where she could find him, the woman advised, “Look down at Doone’s poolroom over on Oela Avenue facing the railroad. If he ain’t there, I couldn’t say where he is.”

      She couldn’t find a phone number for Doone’s, but though she was wary as to what she might discover there, she got in her car and drove to the place.

      “Whatta ya want, miss?” a big bouncer type of a man asked her.

      “I’m looking for a boy named Ethan.”

      He pointed to one of the pool tables. “Right over there. Hey, Ethan, a lady’s here to see ya.”

      Melinda watched the boy amble toward her. An attractive, neat kid whom she imagined was about sixteen years old, she wondered what he was doing in a poolroom so early in the day.

      “Ethan, do you know Blake?”

      Recognition blazed across his face, and since he showed interest and wasn’t hostile, she decided to smile to indicate her friendliness.

      As quick as mercury, his look of recognition dissolved into a frown. “Yeah. I know him. What’s the matter with him?”

      “He has a family emergency and had to go out of town. He wants you to call him tonight. And please do that, Ethan, because he’s worried about you.”

      Ethan looked hard at Melinda and narrowed his eyes as though making up his mind about her. “You sure he’s all right?”

      She nodded. “I’m sure. Will you call his cell-phone number?”

      He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked past her. “Uh…yeah. I shoulda called him, so he’d know I wasn’t in no trouble. But I got this job staking balls late nights to early morning, so…I shoulda called and told him. Tonight, you say?”

      “Yes. Tonight.”

      “Okay. See you.” He started toward the table, then turned back to her. “Oh, I forgot to thank you for coming by.”

      She told him good-bye, but she couldn’t get him off her mind. He didn’t seem like a criminal, but she supposed that wasn’t something obvious to the eye.

      When she got back home, Ruby accosted her right at the door. “Miz Melinda, how come all these mens calling you? I left the messages on your desk, but it don’t look good to have all these mens calling here when you just been a widow. Six months from now when you needs one, that’d be a different matter. Oh yes,” she called, as Melinda walked up the stairs, “Miss Rachel said for you to call her. That woman sure is nosy. I told her I ain’t seen Mr. Blake in this house since poor Mr. Rodgers passed. God rest his dear soul.”

      She looked at the names of her callers: Leroy Wilson, Frank Jackson, Roosevelt Hayes, Macon Long. She didn’t know any of them, but she knew what they wanted: a chance to help her spend her late husband’s money. She tore up the messages and telephoned Rachel.

      “Hey, girl. What’s going on?” Rachel asked.

      “Good question, Rachel. Any time you want to know what’s going on here, who’s been here and what I’m doing, ask me. That’ll save Ruby the trouble of telling me what you asked her.”

      “Tight-lipped as you are? I wanted to know, so I asked. Really sorry, Melinda. I—”

      “Now that we’ve got that settled, Blake hasn’t been inside this house since Prescott passed. Should I tell him you asked?”

      “Of course n…Well, if you want to.”

      She didn’t intend to play games with Rachel. They would either remain good friends or they wouldn’t, but she was a grown, unattached woman and she didn’t have to answer to a soul.

      “Rachel, I’m meeting Blake at the airport in Baltimore tomorrow, and I can’t swear he won’t come into my house or that I won’t go into his and stay awhile.”

      Silence hung between them. “Then you have got something going with him,” Rachel said after some minutes, her voice arid and hollow. “I thought so.” Suddenly, she appeared to brighten. “Well, if he makes your top twirl, honey, go for it.”

      She didn’t believe her, but neither did she blame the woman for a gracious stab at face-saving. “Say, have you ever been to that Great Blacks in Wax Museum in Baltimore?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject.

      “No. Want to go tomorrow?”

      Melinda couldn’t help laughing at Rachel’s transparent effort to go with her to the airport to meet Blake. “Sorry, I can’t go tomorrow. I’m meeting Blake. Remember?”

      After making small talk for a few minutes, they hung up. But before she could pull off her shoes, the phone rang again.

      “Melinda, honey, this is Ray. I’m just confirming our date for July Fourth.”

      She gripped the receiver and considered slamming it back into its cradle. The nerve of him trying to force her to let him display her at that fair for the benefit of local citizenry. “We don’t have a date, Ray. I told you I’d think about it. I’ve done that, and I’ve decided not to go with you. Thanks for being in touch after all these years. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot to do.” She hung up. Five of them in one day, and Lord knows how many more such overtures she could expect. She didn’t wait long for the next one.

      Minutes later, a man identifying himself as Salvatore Luca claimed to have seen her on Main Street, inquired as to who she was, and was anxious to meet her. At least he hadn’t come right out and applied for the job of husband.

      “There must be some