Hope's Imperfection

Chapter 12: Reunion

Lizzy pulled the rental car alongside a beautiful townhouse on Cook’s Lane. She was going to return to her hotel and await our call if, in fact, we were going to need a ride home. Sarah and I got half-way up the driveway when the front door cracked and Ian Stephenson popped out, clad in a pair of jeans and sandals. The first word that came to mind was “hippie”. He was taller and straighter than most men in their forties, with sandy blond hair that made him look even younger. Sarah ran towards him, dropping her knapsack at my feet, as a big smile emerged on Ian’s face. I was jealous of that smile.

I had suggested leaving our gear in Lizzy’s car but Sarah insisted that we bring it, including my guitar.

As Sarah and Ian hugged I bent down to pick up Sarah’s belonging and slowly hauled them to the front porch. I stood at the foot of the steps as their embrace ended and Ian caught my eye.

“Dad, this is my friend, Philip,” introduced Sarah.

“Hello, Philip,” said Ian. “Thank you for joining us.”

Ian came forward to help me with the luggage. As we took our final steps through the front door, Ian noticed my guitar and stated, “You play?”

“A little,” I answered, gaining newfound confidence in my instrumental abilities.

Soon I realized that indeed I did play a little whereas Ian played a lot. A tour of the house revealed a piano, several guitars, and a violin. I felt a little out of my league. Ian’s wife, Felicity, came into the living room with a tray of hors d’oeuvres.  This woman was a force of nature: six feet tall and wearing a flowing gown, she ended every sentence with “Darling”. Their two children, Tom and Alex, were more reserved. They sat patiently and listed to Sarah’s stories before asking her if she wanted to come to their room to see their soccer trophies and assorted paraphernalia. It was a lot like the kinds of family gatherings I had been to many times before, and yet it had a different vibe – or perhaps I was different; I couldn’t tell which.

The room now only consisted of me, Ian, and his wife. I would find out quickly that Felicity could not tolerate dead air for more than a three count.

“Where did you and Sarah meet, Darling?” Felicity inquired.

I went for discretion, saving the shoeshine story for another day.

“In Chicago,” I replied, “at the university.”

“Wonderful, Darling! Will you be attending the university there in the fall?” she probed.

“I have not decided yet but I believe I will be attending Loyola University in Maryland,” I replied.

“Will you study music, Darling?” Felicity continued.

“Perhaps,” I replied. “I’m not very good,”

“You’re not very good yet,” Ian chimed in. “You’ve got lots of time.”

Sarah returned from the boys’ room and joined us in the living room. The conversation flowed nicely and every time it waned Felicity was there to give it a boost. She was a natural entertainer though her charisma came from Australia, not like the southern charm that Frances had inherited.

“Sarah, Darling, you have to stay an extra day so we can go shopping tomorrow: shoes, shoes, shoes,” she exclaimed.

“Actually we are off to Astoria tomorrow,” Sarah replied.

And then the story was told. I may have started with a lie about Sarah and I meeting at the University of Chicago, but the rest was the whole truth. The look on the Stephensons’ faces confirmed to me that the story we were unearthing was genuinely fascinating; it wasn’t just because it was happening to me and involved my family.

“I have played in Astoria,” Ian offered. “It’s a cool town, lots of history there.”

The rest of the afternoon and evening were splendid. Dinner was fabulous, Felicity was hysterical, and Ian doted on Sarah like she was a princess. After supper, I got up to help with the dishes while the boys made scarce and Ian and Sarah went for a long walk. Felicity and I cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, all the while chatting to me about my family and the east coast. She had come to New York from Australia, in her teens. She had met Ian at a night club in New York City after he had left Wisconsin and was still trying to break into the music business. She may have had a Melbourne upbringing but she was one hundred percent New York City.

When Sarah returned she called and asked Lizzy to pick us up at 10 pm.  For the last hour of the evening we retired to Ian’s den where he took down an old acoustic guitar and began to play with such elegance. He asked me what music I liked and was impressed when I rhymed off a number of folk classics, all of which he could play at a moment’s notice. He coaxed me to take out my guitar and join him which I did with some reluctance. I learned more in twenty minutes playing with Ian that I had in the past five years. I was grateful for the time I spent with him, though I was careful not to steal time from Sarah. He wouldn’t have let me. I could tell he adored his daughter and it was painful for him not to be a bigger part of her life, but he had come to realize, as many men do, you play the life you’re dealt and you do the best you can.

As we piled back into Lizzy’s car and headed back downtown I had a warm feeling, and I could see that Sarah had had a wonderful time.

“You can stay longer,” I told her. “There is no need for you to come to Astoria at this point.”

Sarah just smiled and remained silent.

“I hope you don’t mind but I have upgraded us to a suite,” Lizzy announced. “You will stay at the hotel tonight and we will leave it the morning,” she proclaimed.

Sarah and I were thankful and too tired to feign protestation.

We fell silent as soon as we were inside Lizzy’s hotel room. Sarah sat and wrote in her journal while I practiced the chords I had just been taught.

It was the first day we had taken a break from the Stanhope quest and I enjoyed the intermission, but I secretly wondered if there was more to the story.