The Color of Heaven

by Julianne MacLean

  “You’re wrong about that. It does matter. It’s why I came here. To tell you I was a jerk, and that it wasn’t anything you did. It was me. I hated my life and my father and I just needed to get out. The problem was… you made me want to stay, in a place that was pounding the life out of me.”

  The bitterness in his voice was almost palpable.

  “I didn’t know it was that bad,” I replied.

  “That’s the kicker. It really wasn’t. I was just young and stupid. I could have done better in school if I’d tried. I could’ve handled my father differently, but all I ever did was challenge him, which only provoked him more, and then I just had to leave. I was always so angry.” He reached across the seat and surprised me by taking hold of my hand. “But I shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye to you. I should have kept in touch. It’s not that I didn’t think about you. I did. I thought of you all the time.”

  “I thought of you, too.”

  A car sped by. Its noisy engine overpowered the crickets, then the red tail lights disappeared around the bend and it was quiet again.

  “Sometimes,” Matt said, looking down at their clasped hands, “I had dreams about you that were so real, I would wake up and think you were in bed beside me. For days I wouldn’t be able to get you out of my head.”

  I felt dizzy, as if I were floating up the crest of a wave and plunging down into the trough.

  He had missed me. He’d had dreams about me.

  And he was sorry for leaving.

  It was remarkable how that those two small words – I’m sorry – could cure so much hurt over something so insignificant. These were things that happened in high school when no one knew what they were doing half the time.

  Not that I knew what I was doing now. Truth be told, I was more confused at twenty-one than I had ever been in high school, because I felt a greater pressure to settle upon one path for the rest of my life. I once felt as if the whole world was open to me, that there were hundreds of paths to choose from and I would always be free to explore as many as I wished.

  Lately all I felt was constraint. Pressure to pick one path – the obvious one – and to pick it now and live with it forever.

  I squeezed Matt’s hand. “It’s fine. All that matters is that you came back to tell me. I’m glad you did.”

  “So am I.”

  It was a strong hand wrapped around mine, warm and comforting, and it reminded me of those evenings on the beach when we were children.

  “So what happens now?” I asked uncertainly, as I swallowed over the painful lump that was forming in my throat. “You found me and made amends. Will you go back to Chicago?”

  I didn’t want him to say yes. I wanted him to stay here.

  Matt turned my hand over and stroked my palm with the pad of his thumb. It made the stubborn lump in my throat grow even bigger.

  “I guess so,” he replied. “Now that I’ve seen you and apologized, I can tick this off my long list of regrets and move on to the next one.”

  “I hope it’s not too long of a list.” I tried to sound light-hearted, though inside I felt nothing of the sort.

  “It’s getting shorter,” he told me. “I’ve dealt with a few things already – like the stuff with my dad. We talked, and it’s better now. But what happened between you and me, the way I left without saying goodbye… I needed to make it right.”

  I could not, for one second, deny that I was pleased he considered me an important part of his life. He was an important part of mine, too. In this moment, nothing else even seemed to exist.

  We sat for a long time in the tranquil hush of the night.

  “I should take you back.” Matt reached for the keys and started the engine. “I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

  He smiled at me, but his eyes were melancholy.

  A short time later, he dropped me off at the door. “So this is it?” I asked, not yet ready to get out of the car. “I won’t see you again before you go?”

  He shifted uneasily. “Probably not.”

  I couldn’t bear to think that he had come here only to say he was sorry, and we would never see each other again.

  “Are you sure? If you’re here for a week, we could do something together. I could take the bus to Boston. We could meet somewhere.”

  He stared out the front window. “I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”

  “Because of Peter?” I quickly asked.

  There was something strange and unreadable in his eyes. I wished I could understand it. “Yeah.”

  “He wouldn’t mind,” I assured him. “I’ll tell him you’re in town. He’ll understand.”

  “It’s not just that.” Matt opened and closed his fist over the steering wheel.

  “What is it, then? Do you have other people to see?”

  I could feel him drifting away from me, into that distant, unreachable place, and I didn’t understand why.

  “No,” he replied. “I just don’t want to complicate your life.”

  “How would it complicate it? We’re old friends and you’re here for a visit. It seems very simple to me.”

  Still, he hesitated, and I realized I was pushing myself on him, begging and pleading for one more day of friendship and togetherness, when clearly he didn’t want it.

  “Oh, let’s just forget it,” I lightly said, wanting to sink through the vinyl seat cushions and disappear. “I have a busy week anyway.” I reached for the door handle. “But I’m so glad you came to see me, Matt. I had a nice time tonight, and if you ever come home to Camden, please look us up.”

  I was about to get out of the car when he grabbed hold of my wrist. “Wait.”

  I froze.

  “When?” he asked. “When do you want to get together?”

  For a few frantic seconds, I couldn’t seem to get my lips to move, then at last they began to work.

  “The day after tomorrow? I only have one class on Tuesdays. I can miss it.”

  “How about in the morning? I’ll pick you up at ten.”

  I wondered if Peter might be hurt by this, but I didn’t let it hold me back. “All right.”

  Matt let go of my arm, and I got out of the car. He was leaning over the seat I had just vacated, looking up at me from the dark interior, frowning. “I’ll see you Tuesday then?”

  I nodded and shut the car door. A second later, he drove off, and I knew – even after all they had shared that night – that he was still keeping his distance.

  I wanted to know why.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  The next morning, I slipped a coin into the slot on the payphone. It jangled down inside, then I dialed the number for the plant and sat down on the stool.

  It rang three times before Mrs. Weatherbee picked up at the other end. “Wentworth Industries.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Weatherbee. This is Cora. Can I speak to Peter?”

  Her voice warmed instantly. “Oh, hello dear. How are you? How is school?”

  “It’s wonderful, thank you. Is your mother doing okay?”

  “Yes, she’s much better. The doctor gave her some pills and they’ve helped. Say hello to your mother for me, will you?”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll put you through now.”

  There was an audible click, then Peter picked up.

  “This is Peter.”

  “Hi, it’s me.” I shifted uneasily on the hard stool.

  He paused. “Why are you calling me in the middle of the day? Is something wrong?”

  I tried to keep my voice light and cheerful. “No, nothing. I just wanted to call and tell you who I saw yesterday.”

  “Yeah? Who?” He sounded distracted, then I heard the buttons clicking on his adding machine.

  “Matt.”

  The buttons stopped clicking. “You’re kidding me.”

  I hadn’t known what to expect, and was relieved that he didn’t sound angry or concerned, but merely surprised.

  I began to pick at a yellow sticker
of the sun on the payphone, which was already half torn away. “No. I’m not. He showed up at the dorm. He’s in Boston visiting his brother and stopped in to say hi.”

  The adding machine buttons started clicking again, and I heard the crank roll the tape. “So what did he say? How’s he doing?”

  I told Peter about Matt’s job in construction and the fact that he had patched things up with his father.

  “I never thought we’d ever hear from him again,” Peter said.

  “Neither did I. I was really surprised to see him.”

  I continued to pick at the yellow sticker, trying to slide my thumbnail under the glue to peel away the rest, but it wouldn’t budge. I had to scrape at it.

  “So when is he going home?” Peter asked.

  “In a week.”

  He was quiet for a second. “Are you going to see him again?”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, knowing this was why I had called – to tell Peter exactly what was happening, so I wouldn’t feel as if I were sneaking around on him. But the words seemed to lodge in my throat.

  “Yes, I think so,” I said at last.

  There was nothing but silence on the other end of the line. No buttons clicking. No crank to roll the tape.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  I could just see his face. He was probably shaking his head at me.

  “Because it’s Matt. Come on, you know what he’s like.”

  For a number of seconds, I didn’t speak because I wasn’t sure what I was feeling. Part of me felt guilty for wanting to see Matt again. Peter would be very hurt if he knew just how badly I needed to.

  Another part of me was annoyed at him for doing what he always did. He was holding me back, talking sense to me, as if I were a child who needed to be sheltered and protected.

  Sometimes he was just too sensible. And to suggest that Matt was not worth my time for whatever reason made me want to scream. Yes, he had a history of being reckless and wild – unreliable, too – but he was still Matt, our childhood friend, and he’d matured and admitted he’d made mistakes. I couldn’t just cut him off.

  I suppose I still harbored some resentment toward Peter over the way our trio broke apart all those years ago, when I had wanted to at least try and hold it together. Peter had discouraged me. He had told me it was hopeless.

  I looked up at what was left of the torn yellow sticker and spoke in a firm but reassuring voice. “It’s no big deal, okay? He’s just in town for a week. He’s not going to corrupt me.”

  I didn’t know where that had come from.

  He let out a brisk huff. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. I wouldn’t trust him, Cora.”

  I clenched my jaw. “Look, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m a big girl.”

  He was quiet on the other end.

  “And maybe he’s not like he used to be,” I argued. “Maybe he deserves a second chance. Maybe he wants to make his life better, and if he does, I think we should be there for him. Not just me, Peter. You, too. Try to remember the good times we used to have – the snow forts and swimming in the summer. And you know how rough he had it with his dad. He didn’t have a mother. It wasn’t his fault he got so messed up.”

  I hadn’t meant to say all that. I’d only meant to tell him I was going to spend a few more hours with Matt.

  Nevertheless, I continued in a calmer voice. “I just think that we should forgive certain things. He really seems like he has some regrets.”

  I waited for Peter to respond.

  “Regrets,” he repeated. “Did he actually say that?”

  “Yes. He said he knew Doug Jones and his buddy were idiots… And like I said, he’s patched things up with his dad.”

  I heard Peter sigh deeply into the phone. “Why didn’t he come back here to Camden? What was he doing at Wellesley?”

  “He’s visiting his brother in Boston,” I told him again.

  After a long pause, Peter said, “Well, I guess it’s okay for you to go. Tell him I said hi, will you?”

  I hadn’t really been asking for Peter’s permission, and the fact that he had just given it to me made the muscles in my shoulders clench. I rubbed my neck to try and work out some of the tension.

  “And tell him to come home this winter when the lake’s frozen,” Peter added. “We could take our sticks out and shoot the puck around.”

  I tried to smile but couldn’t seem to muster it. “I’ll tell him, and maybe he will.”

  We talked for another few minutes about unrelated things, then said goodbye.

  I hung up the phone with a tremendous sense of relief, because I’d done the correct and responsible thing. I’d told Peter my plans, and I’d also stood my ground and hadn’t let him talk me out of doing what I wanted.

  Why then, I wondered as I returned to my room and shut the door behind me, did I feel as if I were about to step off the edge of a very steep cliff?

  Chapter Thirty-six

  When Matt arrived to pick me up at ten o’clock the following Tuesday, I had no way of knowing that I would later look back on that day as the great divider of my life, for it was the day I would finally begin to believe in heaven.

  That treasured morning dawned like a blue topaz – clear, pure, and dazzling. I woke to piercing rays of sunshine streaming in through the window. Birds chirped in the treetops; dew gleamed on the grass. It was exactly the sort of day that promised excitement and new discoveries.

  Matt arrived perfectly on time, and I got into his car with a curious smile. “So what are we doing today?” I set my bag on the floor at my feet. “You told me to wear trousers and bring a warm jacket. Let me guess. Are we going sailing?”

  He squinted in my direction, taking his eyes off the road only briefly. “You guessed it.”

  “On your brother’s boat?”

  “Right again.”

  I felt a jolt of excitement. “Is he coming, too?”

  “No, he’s at work today. It’ll just be the two of us.”

  I looked out at the trees passing by the open window, the branches blowing in the wind. “It’s been a while since I’ve been out on the water. I hope I don’t sink us.”

  “Do you remember how to tie a bowline knot?” he asked.

  “I think so.”

  “A reef knot?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “And port is which side?”

  “The left.” I began to laugh.

  He picked up speed once we were on the main road. “And what will you do if I yell ready to tack?”

  “I’ll duck out of the way of the boom.”

  He smiled. “I think we’ll do just fine.”

  It was an unseasonably warm autumn morning, and for the first few miles outside of Wellesley, we drove with the windows down. We talked about our families, in particular Matt’s brother, Gordon, who was a stockbroker, and his wife, Rita, a schoolteacher. I had heard that Gordon married a girl from Boston the previous year, but as far as I knew, he had never brought Rita home to Camden. Matt told me they were expecting their first child in January.

  Feeling free and relaxed, I stuck my hand out the window and felt the force of the wind pushing against my open palm. I looked forward to feeling the wind on my face when we reached Marblehead and got under way.

  The trip passed quickly. Soon we were driving through the historic town, past Our Lady Star of the Sea Church, and turning right toward the Boston Yacht Club on the harbor.

  We took a launch out to the sloop, Rita, named for Gordon’s better half, which was tied to its mooring. Matt climbed aboard, then offered his hand to me. I stepped over the weather rails onto the gleaming wooden deck.

  “She’s beautiful.” I looked around the cockpit at the shiny brass steering wheel and all the freshly varnished maple. My gaze traveled up the tall wooden mast. Seagulls circled overhead against the blue sky, coasting on the wind, calling out to each other. A ship’s bell rang somewhere nearby. />
  “Yeah, I wish she were mine,” Matt replied, as he moved behind me toward the cabin hatch.

  I felt the moist heat of his breath in my ear as he spoke, and my skin erupted in gooseflesh. Somewhat flustered, I watched him unlock and open the hatch.

  “You can put your things down here.” He climbed down the companionway to the darker confines below. “I brought sandwiches for later.”

  I followed him down and set my bag on the leather seat cushion along the port side of the cozy cabin, which was paneled in maple and smelled of lemon oil. There was a sturdy table and galley stove, and a private forward berth built for two.

  “It’s a beautiful boat. Have you sailed her much?”

  “We took her to Virginia last year,” he replied. “Just Gordon and me, the month before his wedding.”

  “His last hurrah?”

  “I guess you could call it that, though I think he’s happier now than he’s ever been. Rita was the best thing that ever happened to him.”

  “That’s nice to hear.”

  He stood before me, so dark and handsome in the dim cabin light, and I grew painfully aware of my heart beating like a drum. Then suddenly Peter’s face flashed through my mind, and I felt a tremor of guilt.

  “Ready to set sail?” Matt asked.

  The boat moved upon the waves slapping against the dock. “Rita seems eager.”

  I steadied myself and tried not to complicate things by thinking of Peter. I had told him about this. I was doing nothing wrong.

  “Let’s get up on deck then,” Matt said. “The wind is just right. We shouldn’t waste it.”

  I followed him up the companionway ladder, and together we set about rigging the boat – unfurling the mainsail, inserting the battens, attaching the halyard. Matt raised the heavy mainsail himself, using all his strength to pull on the rope, hand over hand, the muscles in his arms and shoulders straining with every movement. The wind snapped the canvas like a flag as it lifted.

  I stood by to tie it off, then together we prepared and raised the jib sheet.

  At last, Matt took the helm. I untied the mooring line and we began to move.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  “Where are we headed today, skipper?” I asked, hopping down into the cockpit to stand beside him.

  He pointed toward open water. “That way, in the general direction of bliss.”