Color the Sidewalk for Me

by Brandilyn Collins

  “I don’t know.” Could she hear my reticence? “I guess when Daddy starts work. My promise to him will be fulfilled then, won’t it?”

  “I suppose so. You anxious to get back to your job?”

  Done with one knife, I picked up another. I held it under a stream of water and watched the jelly melt, unwilling to admit the answer to her question.

  At supper I forced away thoughts of John’s impending visit and listened as Daddy talked excitedly about the meeting he had scheduled with Mr.

  Sledge the following Tuesday. A little over a week past that and his eight weeks would be up. His face had almost returned to normal, and just that morning he’d mentioned trying to walk without the walker. I was so happy to see animation in his features, hear it in his voice. He had thanked me many times, often with tears in his eyes, and I could honestly respond by saying how glad I was that I had come.

  The doorbell rang and I jumped. “It’s Dr. Forkes,” Mama said.

  Daddy placed a hand on her arm. “Let me go.”

  Mama and I exchanged a smile as he slowly rose from his chair, holding lightly on to his walker, and headed for the door.

  “Whoa!” we heard John declare. “Who might this be?”

  “Isn’t he somethin’!” Mama called, leaving the table to join them.

  My smile unpinned itself and slipped away.

  I was gathering the leftovers when John stuck his head through the kitchen door. When he gently spoke my name, I was so busy finding a plastic container for the mashed potatoes that I didn’t look up.

  “I just wanted to congratulate you,” he said. “You really did it. And I thought you’d never see it through.”

  “Thank you.” I pulled out a container, rejected it, and tried another. I could feel his light hazel eyes on my back.

  “Does this mean you’re leaving soon?”

  I shoved back the second container and the whole stack fell from the cupboard. Daddy was asking Mama in the living room if she wanted to go for a walk. No! I begged silently. Don’t go now!

  “Why is everybody asking me when I’m leaving?” I said irritably. “I don’t know when I’m leaving, okay?”

  “Are you sure you’re up to gettin’ down those steps?” Mama asked, balking.

  “I’m up ta anything; just watch me!”

  “Fine, then, let me take your walker down first.” The front door opened.

  Furiously I snatched the containers from the floor and tried to stack them in order, willing Mama and Daddy to stay, wanting them to leave, afraid to turn around.

  “You know I’m not trying to run you off,” John said.

  That was an understatement. I replaced the plastic bowls in the cupboard, knocking down a row of lids. “Drat it!”

  “Celia.”

  “What!” I gathered the lids, still too busy to look at him.

  “I just want you to know,” he told me quietly, “that I respect what you said at the cabin. As much as I rejected your words at the time, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since then. And I need to tell you something. I realize I’m not ready to break things off with Sharon just yet.”

  The statement shot right through me. I’d never expected him to make such a decision so fast. At the threat of losing him for good, I began to turn around.

  “But I still want to see you.”

  I halted, the plastic slick in my fingers. Fleetingly I visualized a woman betrayed. The woman had Melissa’s face.

  “Celia, would you just look at me?”

  I slid the lids back into the cupboard, leaving out two that I needed. I found the bowls that matched, shut the cupboard door. Hung on to the counter.

  “I can’t, John.”

  With resolve I picked up the bowl of mashed potatoes and began scraping them with a rubber spatula into a plastic container, waiting, as I’d done five days before, for him to say something. Please, God, why is this happening again? The potatoes done, their lid on, I started on the lima beans. The silence grew longer and I forced myself not to turn around, finishing the beans, snapping on the lid, until I could stand it no more and turned. He was gone.

  “John!”

  I caught him before he reached the front door. Searched awkwardly for words. “I’m sorry,” I blurted, failing to keep enough distance between us. “We may not have another chance to talk.”

  “I know.” His expression turned expectant, pleading.

  It hurt, standing so close to him. I swallowed hard, feeling as if everything I’d ever done came down to that one moment. I saw the tragedies of my past, the future years alone in Little Rock. My legs weakened. God, why? My mouth opened. I still did not know what I would say.

  “You and Sharon.” My voice sounded flat. “You’ll make it.”

  Of course they would. Everyone around me did. Bobby and Melissa, Danny and his new love, Carrie and Andy, Roger, Michael.

  John’s face fell. A moment passed before he could speak. “Well, I . . . hope so.” He smiled sadly.

  My tears wouldn’t blink away. “I’ll pray that you will.”

  chapter 60

  Gunna beat you this time.” Daddy wrapped his fingers around the back of the wooden chair in his bedroom and carefully lifted it, forcing the use of his left arm. Mama had offered to do the supper dishes alone so he and I could play our game. “There,” he said, his words still slow. “I’ll sit here an’ you stand there. Saam distance.”

  On his first try he made a basket. “Two,” he declared.

  “Smart aleck.” I bounced the ball and it landed inside the drawer. “Ha!”

  “You goin’ ta Jessie’s tamorrow?” he asked as he took his turn. “Four.”

  I fetched the ball. “Yeah. Why aren’t you two coming?”

  “I don’ know.” He shrugged. “Your mama doesn’t wanna go.”

  “Mama hasn’t seen Mrs. B. for a long time, and I know she’s going to be there. You didn’t say you’d be too tired after church?”

  “Heck, no, I’m Tarzan.”

  “Yeah. Well, Tarzan, you just missed and now I’m ahead.”

  “Not for long.”

  We fell into silence as we each made two more baskets. I pushed away constant thoughts of Danny and John.

  “You know what?” I said after we continued to score. “This is too easy now. We need a narrower space to aim for. Isn’t there a box around here somewhere?” I thought a minute. “Let’s do this. Let’s pile all this paper and stuff in the drawer into two stacks on either side, and we have to get the ball in the middle. If we hit either of the stacks, it’ll bounce away.”

  Daddy screwed up his face. “Mama won’t like it. She’s particalar.”

  I shrugged it off. “Don’t worry, I’ll put everything back where it was.” I knelt before the drawer and began moving things aside until there were two even piles of envelopes, cards, and paper. “There.”

  Daddy took a turn and missed.

  “Aha!” I exclaimed. “See, it’s harder.” For the next three turns I didn’t do so well myself.

  “You gunna make sure I get ta Sledge’s, right?” Daddy said a few minutes later.

  “Yes. I promised you, didn’t I?” I chased the ball before it could roll under the bed. “You want to go back pretty badly, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. I’m tired a sittin’ here day after day. Need some brain food. Now that I got you and your mama gettin’ along, I got nothing ta do.” “Oh, really. Well, you’re not exactly swinging from trees yet. Don’t think you can let up on your exercises.”

  “I know, I know. Slave driver.” He aimed, closing one eye, and threw. “Hey, look, you got it! Straight shot in.”

  I moved to the dresser and bent down to pick up the ball. “What’s the score, anyway? I for—”

  My eye was caught by the corner of an envelope sticking from the bottom of a stack. Something about the few visible curves of writing looked familiar. I cocked my head and stared at it.

  “I got ten; you got eight,” Daddy claimed.


  “No way,” I responded absently, looking at the envelope. “I’ve got ten.”

  “Uh-uh.”

  I reached into the drawer, mesmerized by that little corner of white envelope, and for absolutely no reason my hand began to shake. I told myself it was nothing, just some old letter to Mama, but it pulled me. Grasping it, I hesitated, then slid it out the slightest bit, exposing more of the return address. I saw my own handwriting.

  My heart began to pound. My eyes burned a hole through the envelope, and I pulled it out further until I could read the entire return address. 101 Minton Street, Bradleyville, Kentucky. My throat was tightening; I could barely swallow, and somewhere behind me I heard Daddy asking what was taking so long. My heart was hammering in both ears, blood whooshing through my head. I tried to pull the envelope out further and it slipped from my fingers; I tried again, sliding it slowly, hearing it hiss. It was halfway out and I could not breathe. I rotated my head, waiting for the address to appear, and already I knew. A rubber band ran across the writing, and I could bear it no longer. I snatched the envelope up and a smaller one beneath came with it. I held the top one shakily, reading Danny Cander’s name, the familiar Miami address, noticing that the envelope was slit open at the top. I ripped off the rubber band and stared at the smaller envelope, seeing the handwriting I would always remember, the envelope addressed to me, a return address in Greece. A cry escaped me and I fell to my knees, slipping my fingers into the first envelope, drawing out the letter, the other papers released and falling white against the blue carpet. I opened the letter as my heart kept pounding, and I sucked in air, little sounds spilling from my lips. Daddy was talking but I couldn’t understand what he said; I could only gape at the painstaking, gut-wrenching answer of an eighteen-year-old desperately in love.

  May 21

  Dearest Danny,

  I’m coming to you. You’re right; if God can forgive us both, we can surely forgive one another. Please don’t go. Please don’t choose the world over me, even after what I’ve done. What you did with Rachel, you hadn’t planned. What I did with Bobby was intentional. I was terribly wrong. I love you. I know you love me. Write back. Tell me you’ll wait for me, Danny. Tell me exactly where to come. Wait. Please.

  A sob wrenched my throat. I snatched up the envelope, searching for a postmark, knowing I wouldn’t find it. I reached into the second envelope. His letter trembled in my fingers as I read it.

  June 30

  Dear Celia,

  I can’t live like this, without you. Please forgive my last hurtful letter. I’ve made a terrible mistake by coming here to Greece. I don’t want to be anywhere unless you’re with me. I should never have gotten on the ship. I should have gone back to Bradleyville and made you want me again, even after all that’s happened. Are you with Bobby now? Is that why you didn’t write me back? You must have chosen him but I just can’t believe that. I know you love me like I love you. I’m begging you again, let’s put everything behind us and start over. I’ve hurt you, you’ve hurt me, we’re even, okay? I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I’ll save every penny and get back home to you, even if it means leaving Mama behind. She already loves it here anyway and wouldn’t want to leave. Just write me. I can’t give up on us. I’m waiting for your letter. I’ll come back to you. Do you hear me pleading, Celia? I love you. I’ll always love you. Write, please. I’m waiting.

  I clutched the envelopes and letters, Daddy asking me what was wrong, my mind flying into a million pieces as I sorted through the misunderstandings, the waste of years. Danny had written to me the very day Kevy died. It was more than I could bear to think about, his pain and mine, the love that had crossed continents, unknown and unreached. My agonizing wait to receive his reply to a letter never read. The years I longed for him, wondering why he’d left me.

  “Oh, Danny, Danny.” Hot tears flowed from my eyes as I began to cry desperately, the thought that he believed I’d left him sending a knife through my stomach.

  “Cela, what . . .”

  Daddy’s voice thickened with fright but I couldn’t answer. I rose, feeling the carpet beneath my feet, the floor of the hallway, as I ran into the living room yelling for Mama. Somewhere along the way my knees buckled and I fell; I pushed myself up again, not stopping, the envelopes and letters still in my hands. She appeared from the kitchen, wide-eyed, her face pale.

  “What’s happened?” She looked past me, thinking it was Daddy. Then she saw the white of the papers, the black of her deceit. And she froze.

  “Why? Dear God, why?” I held up both hands, shaking the proof at her, wanting her to tell me it was all a bad joke, a mistake. “Why did you—how could you do it?”

  She searched for an answer, fingers splayed across her throat. “Oh, Celia, I was going to tell you—”

  “But why? Do you understand what you did?” I could barely squeeze out the words. “He thought I didn’t want him! All these years!” Sinking to my knees, I sobbed wildly. She hurried over to comfort me but I pushed her away. “No, don’t! How could you? You took my life away!”

  “Celia, listen to me.” I heard the intensity in her voice. “I didn’t know how important your letter was when I kept it. I was just tryin’ to keep you from getting hurt. With all those letters flying, I had to see for myself what was happening. And the very worst thing I feared, I saw in that letter. The next thing I knew, he was writin’ from Greece.”

  “Mrs. B. helped you, didn’t she?” I said, sobbing. “She saw my letter in the post office and gave it to you!”

  “She was worried about you, too.”

  “Worried!” I laughed scornfully. “What about worrying about me all these years I’ve been alone? All the years I’ve believed a lie and Danny’s believed a lie?”

  “Celia, please,” she begged, reaching for me again. I wrenched away. “By the time that letter came from Greece and I realized what I’d done, you were gone! I kept thinkin’ that as soon as you came back, I’d show you the letters; why else would I keep them? But you never did, and by the time you finally called, six years had passed. I didn’t think it would still matter.”

  “You should have known!” I screamed. “Because you felt the same way about Henry! You just didn’t want to admit you were wrong about Danny.” I sobbed harder. “I can’t believe it now, after all that’s happened. After you’ve supposedly turned back to God. I was amazed how fast you’d changed but now I see the truth. You haven’t really changed at all! You were just lying! I just don’t understand how you could have done this, and now it’s too late, it really is too late!” The sobs hurled from my throat, my chest on fire.

  “I tried to tell you, Celia,” she said, pleading for my understanding. “I came so close. I have changed. But I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to forgive me, and I couldn’t bear to lose you again. And I didn’t know till just yesterday how m—”

  “You’re so good at closing your eyes when you don’t want to see!” My voice was acrid.

  “Celia, don’t, please.” Mama began to cry. “I tried to do what was best.”

  “Cela, Estelle! What? What?” Daddy stood with his walker at the hall entrance, face drawn.

  Mama sucked in a breath. “Oh, William, don’t—”

  “Daddy!” I flung out my arms. “Tell me you didn’t know! She took Danny away from me. She took Danny!”

  “Cela, wh—”

  Mama cut in harshly. “Leave him out of this, Celia; he never knew a thing, for heaven’s sake! William, sit down; your face is gray.” I heard the rustle of her clothes as she hastened to him. “Tell him you’re all right, Celia,” she commanded. “Tell him so he’ll sit down; you’re worrying him.”

  “I’m not all right!” I swayed to my feet. “I’ll never be all right again! How can I be? And I’ll never forgive you for what you’ve done, you hear me? Never!”

  “No, Cela—”

  “William, sit down! Celia—”

  Bending over, I swept the papers from the floor, pressing them
against my chest as I ran to my bedroom, Danny’s letter, his love to me, burning a hole through my heart.

  chapter 61

  I could not stand the shrinking walls of my bedroom for long and soon slipped out to my car. My eyes blurred with my renewed losses as I drove randomly through the Bradleyville streets. How could you let this happen, Jesus? I asked, weeping. Where were you then? And where are you now? After I’ve obeyed you and stayed away from John. After you gave me Mama back. Why should I listen to you now?

  After some time I found myself downtown, crossing the railroad tracks. Of their own accord my wheels put me on a winding course, spinning me again toward the field where Danny and I had parked his Impala so long ago. I stopped the car at the field and got out to walk, watching the riverbank draw nearer, drinking in the boulders and water as I approached, imagining the roar of the rapids.

  Nothing at the riverbank had changed.

  For all its appearance, Danny could have come walking through the daisy field, fishing pole in hand. I could picture him so clearly, could feel his hair sifting through my fingers, smell his sun-drenched skin.

  God, why?

  I turned up the riverbank, remembering the day it had poured rain and we first ran to our trees. The setting sun fizzled embers of burnt orange upon the water. When I saw the trees in the distance, I broke into a run, stumbling over rocks and onto the deep grass, the canopy wrapping around my shoulders. There stood the trunks; there was where we first sat side by side, hesitant and fearful.

  I threw myself down, clutching an exposed tree root, its surface worn smooth, crying until I could cry no more. I hurled more accusations at God until I found myself turning to him out of sheer despair. I couldn’t lose the hope I’d found in him, I couldn’t. But pray as I might, I could find no sense in all this. On my knees, I begged him to help me understand.

  I had no recognition of time, looking up suddenly to find darkness engulfing the river. Fear of being drenched in blackness flushed through me, and I heaved myself from the ground and walked away swiftly.