Dreaming In Color

by Charlotte Vale-Allen

  Eva knelt on the damp sand to remove Melissa's life vest as the uncle marched resolutely down the beach. Deborah's voice was rising. Ian continued to slouch against the car, his expression unchanged, the lighter turning, turning in his fingers. She'd give it two or three more days, then do as Deborah's uncle advised.

  Wednesday after lunch Eva turned the kitchen over to Bobby, saying, "There's no sense in your working downstairs when everything you need is here." She got out the pastry board and the rolling pin, pointing out where the measuring cup and wooden spoons were, then left to go to the office.

  Alma sat in her wheelchair at the table enjoying the sight of Bobby assembling her ingredients on the countertop. Unlike Eva, for whom cooking was an escape, Bobby obviously found it pure pleasure. She sang softly in a tuneful voice as she measured out cupfuls of flour; she wore a smile as she greased pie and tart pans; she practically danced as she adjusted the racks and started the oven heating.

  "Want to help?" Bobby asked.

  "What on earth could I possibly do?"

  "Mix this," Bobby said, and set a bowl in Alma's lap.

  Using her deadened left arm to brace the bowl, Alma took hold of the wooden spoon in her right hand and stirred the mincemeat, inhaling the spicy scent with a mixture of pleasure and amusement. "I loathe cooking," she said, sent time-traveling by the activity; remembering sitting on her knees on a chair at the kitchen table, licking clean the frosting bowl while her mother slipped a cake into the oven.

  "So does my aunt Helen," Bobby said, coating the rolling pin with flour. "I did most of the cooking at home from the time I was eleven."

  "Tell me about your aunt," Alma invited.

  "She's tough, but she's kind," Bobby said. "After my grandmother died

  she stayed home to take care of Grandpa and then me. She's a bookkeeper," she explained, "been working for years for this Ford dealer back

  home."

  "I had the impression she's elderly."

  Bobby laughed. "Aunt Helen must be about Eva's age."

  "And she never married?"

  "She got engaged a time or two but always changed her mind and gave the rings back. How come you never got married?" she asked, so at home in the kitchen that her usual inhibitions were temporarily set aside.

  "I changed my mind and gave the ring back."

  Bobby looked over, eyebrows raised. "That true?"

  "Not entirely, but close enough."

  "Did you want to be married?"

  "When I was very young," Alma said. "I grew out of it."

  "You make it sound like measles or something." Bobby smiled at her, then looked back at the dough she was rolling.

  "Given your experiences, would you want to marry again?"

  "Not the way I feel right now, no, ma'am," Bobby said with a firm shake of her head.

  "Take this damned thing out of my lap! It's getting on my nerves."

  Bobby came and took the bowl, then stood holding it with both hands, saying, "I hope you don't think I was being nosy."

  "I don't think that," Alma said, waiting for Bobby to meet her eyes.

  When she did, Alma said, "It's all right to be curious, my dear. It's human nature, after all."

  Turning away to put the bowl down on the counter, Bobby expertly lifted the pie crust, rolled it onto the pin, then unrolled it into one of the waiting pans. "I don't know anymore what's all right and what's not."

  "I understand that. It'll come to you with time."

  "Are you happy with me?" Bobby asked, feeling very close to the old woman at this moment.

  "Yes, I'm happy with you," Alma answered, moved by Bobby's constant uncertainty. "Just go about your business and don't worry so. You'll know when I'm not happy."

  Dennis arrived as Bobby slid the last of the pies into the oven. She went to the door and he smiled at the sight of her, leaned in and kissed her cheek before she had any chance to move. It didn't seem so bad this time, although her heart started hammering apprehensively.

  "Something smells wonderful," he said, closing the door.

  "I'm making pies for tomorrow. Alma's out here with me in the kitchen." She started down the hallway, very aware of his presence behind her.

  "My favorite customer," Dennis said, and patted Alma on the top of the head.

  She swatted him with her good hand, but she was smiling.

  "I'll take her up," Dennis said, turning the wheelchair toward the door.

  "The agony hour," Alma grumbled.

  "You love it," Dennis teased as they went down the hall.

  Bobby rinsed the mixing bowls and utensils, put them in the dishwasher, then got a pot of coffee going. When it was done, she poured some with cream into a cup and carried it through the garage up to the office.

  Eva called to come in and Bobby opened the door to see her sitting, not at the desk but in the armchair over by the window. Her long, trouser-clad legs were stretched out straight in front of her and crossed at the ankles, her elbows resting on the arms of the chair. She looked worried.

  "Brought you some coffee," Bobby said, carrying it over and setting it down on the windowsill.

  "Thanks," Eva said, eyeing her. "Dennis with my aunt?"

  "Uh-hunh."

  "Pull up a chair and talk to me for a minute," Eva said.

  "Okay." Taken aback, Bobby got the old wooden kitchen chair from over by the wall and sat down.

  "I want to ask you something," Eva said, reaching for the coffee.

  "Okay."

  "It's about your husband."

  "Okay."

  Eva looked at her, struck again by Bobby's childlike vulnerability. "Why did you let it happen to you?" she asked, fascinated by Bobby's youthfulness. She didn't look more than twenty, not a line on her face. But her eyes were perpetually cautious. The eyes belonged in a much older face.

  "Let what happen?"

  "The beatings."

  Feeling suddenly angry and humiliated, Bobby said, "I didn't let anything happen. It was done to me." Who was this woman? Bobby wondered. Where did she get off saying the things she did?

  "I'm sorry. I phrased that badly." She came forward and placed a hand on Bobby's knee. "What I want to understand is why you stayed, why it went on for so long."

  "Why?" Bobby asked. She couldn't read Eva's face, couldn't think what she was after. She felt hurt and wanted to get away.

  "It's something I've been trying to understand for a very long time," Eva said, sitting back and looking out the window. "I had a friend," she said.

  "She got beaten." She was quiet for a moment, then asked, "How did you feel about it?"

  "I didn't just let it happen to me," Bobby insisted, the anger a new and threatening emotion. She felt as if it could take her over, have her doing and saying almost anything. "I've got pies in the oven," she said, standing, breathing fast. "I don't want to talk about it."

  "God, don't take umbrage!" Eva said, returning the cup to the windowsill and rising from the armchair to take hold of Bobby's arm—small and thin as a twelve-year-old's. Bobby cringed, trying to shrink away from her, and she thought, Jesus! She was making everything worse, but she wanted to salvage the situation, and was trying the only way she knew how. "I'm not trying to hurt you. I want very much to understand. It's important."

  Bobby looked at the woman's hand on her arm, and battled down her fear. "Let go of me, please," she said breathlessly. "I don't like people grabbing hold of me."

  At once Eva released her. "You think I don't like you," she said, "but that's not the case. Not at all. I'm sorry if I put it badly. If it's any consolation to you, I have much the same problem with Melissa. I can't seem to speak with the clarity I manage to put into my writing. Maybe it's because I have more time when I'm writing, time to phrase everything precisely. I want to understand, Bobby. I want to know how it happens. Please don't think I'm attempting to blame you. It's nothing like that. I can see I'm upsetting you and that's the last thing I wanted."

  "I can't tell you why," Bo
bby said, trying to calm down. "I don't know why. It's about being afraid and trying to do everything right but never being able to because there isn't any right way." The words came tumbling out of her mouth in a rush. While she could see plainly enough that Eva meant what she said it didn't stop the hurt, and she wished she knew how to defend herself. "Nobody sets out wanting to get hit," she said. "It's not what you think's gonna happen when you marry someone. You think everything's gonna be settled. But then one time he gets mad, you don't even know what at, and the hitting starts and you think it must've been your fault, you must've messed up, it's your fault, you deserve to get hit. And later on he's sorry and you think it'll never happen again, but it does. And pretty soon it's happening all the time and there's nowhere to hide and nobody to help you, and that's your whole life–getting hit and trying to figure out why." She paused and dragged air into her heaving lungs. "I've gotta get back," she said, looking over at the door, then again at Eva whose eyes were wide, mouth a little open, appearing stunned. "The pies'll burn," Bobby explained, feeling naked, and scared. This woman

  and her aunt, they didn't know anything, asking how could she let that happen to her as if she'd said to Joe, okay you can hit me, I'll take it. "Could we sit down and talk about this?" Eva asked. "Maybe later? It's very important."

  "I don't like talking about it," Bobby said shakily. She took one step toward the door, then another. Eva remained standing where she was, grappling with what she wanted to say. She looked so distraught that Bobby wanted suddenly to help her. It was as if the two of them spoke different languages. She stopped and waited, able to see Eva struggling. After a moment, Bobby said, "You scared me," and Eva lifted her hands, then let them drop in a gesture of impotence.

  "Everything frightens you," Eva said quietly. "It must be hell. The last thing I intended was to make it worse."

  "I want us to be friends," Bobby said.

  "So do I. I do like you," Eva said. It was the truth. She thought that in so many ways Bobby was a much better person than she, more forgiving, gentler, far more patient.

  "What happened to your friend?" Bobby asked softly.

  Eva looked at her, gray-green eyes revealing old pain. "She died."

  "Oh, damn!" Bobby shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm real sorry." Eva nodded slowly. After a moment, Bobby went to the door and left.

  "I made you a couple of tarts," Bobby said, putting them and a mug of coffee on the table in front of Dennis. She was still a little shaky from her run-in with Eva.

  "That's so nice of you," he said, pushing up the sleeves of his white uniform so that she could see the fine golden-red hair on his arms. "You're nice altogether."

  "No, I'm not," she disagreed, thinking of the way she'd spewed words at Eva; they'd positively gushed out of her.

  "You just can't take a compliment," he said.

  "I don't believe them. Mostly when people give compliments it's 'cause they want something." "And what is it you think I want?" "I don't know," she said. "I like you," he told her. "Don't you like me?" "I like you well enough," she said. "But I don't know you."

  "That's what we're working on," he said sensibly, "getting to know one another. that's what people do when they like each other. It's not complicated."

  "Seems to me as if it is." She took a sip of her coffee and watched him devour one of the mincemeat tarts in three bites.

  "Mmnn, good," he said, washing the tart down with a gulp of coffee. "So are we on for Friday night?"

  "Okay."

  "We could take Penny with us, if you want, go a little earlier."

  That pleased her and she smiled. "She'd like that."

  "Okay, good. I'll pick up the two of you at six-thirty. Mind if I take another one of these along with me?"

  "I don't mind. I'll wrap it for you." She found a Baggie in one of the drawers and put the tart in it.

  He got his coat and put the Baggie in the pocket. She stood well away in case he tried to kiss her again. But he didn't. He said, "Have a good Thanksgiving. See you Friday," and headed across the driveway to the Beetle. He tooted the horn before driving off, and she closed the door feeling rather dizzy. All of a sudden it felt as if there was an awful lot going on.

  When she went back to the kitchen, Eva was standing there halfway between the table and the sink. She looked so unhappy, so sad and sorry and confused, that Bobby set aside all the harsh words and misunderstandings and walked straight over to give her a quick hug. "It's okay," Bobby told her. "It's okay."

  Twenty

  Eva was awake before six on Thursday morning and had been in the kitchen for close to an hour when Penny came up. "Whatcha makin'?" Penny came to stand close to Eva and on tiptoe tried to see into the oversized mixing bowl.

  "Your favorite," Eva smiled.

  "Stuffin'!"

  "Yup. How come you're up so early?"

  Penny shrugged. "I wasn't sleepy no more."

  "Anymore," Eva corrected her.

  "Well, I wasn't," Penny said. "C'n I help?"

  "Not now, but maybe in a little while you could help me fix Alma's breakfast tray." "Okay," Penny said excitedly. "I know where the tray is. I could get it." "It's too early," Eva told her. "In a little while." "Oh!" Penny looked around the kitchen for something to do. "My mom's

  still sleepin'," she said, bouncing her bottom back and forth against the lower cabinet. "I know how to make the coffee machine."

  "Do you?" Eva looked down at her.

  "I watched my mom do it. Want me to make the coffee machine for you?"

  "All right." Amused, Eva watched Penny drag a chair over to the counter, climb on it to get the empty carafe, then climb down again. Setting the carafe beside the sink, she relocated the chair to the sink, stood on it to fill the carafe with water, used both hands to put the carafe on the counter, moved the chair again, returned for the carafe, put it down on the far counter, climbed back on the chair, lifted the lid of the coffee maker, and poured in the water. Then she hoisted herself up onto the counter, opened the upper cabinet, found the package of filters and the coffee canister.

  "How much coffee?" Penny asked, back standing on the chair, fitting the filter paper into place.

  "Use the scoop inside and keep going until I tell you to stop."

  "Okay." Sucking on her lower lip, Penny began scooping out the coffee, every other second glancing over at Eva. "Is that enough?" she asked, holding the filter out for Eva to see.

  "A bit more."

  Penny added several more scoops. Eva said, "That's fine," and Penny put the lid back on the canister, pushed the filter home, positioned the empty carafe on the base, then reached around the base and switched the machine on, declaring, "There! Told you I could do it."

  "You certainly can." Washing her hands, Eva checked the time. It was nearly seven.

  "What else c'n I do?" Penny asked, sitting on the edge of the counter, legs dangling over the chair.

  "You can come up and help me make Melissa's bed."

  "Okay." Penny slipped down to the chair, then to the floor.

  "Put the chair back, Penny."

  "I was gonna," Penny said, and did as she'd been asked.

  "We'll have to be very quiet so we don't wake Aunt Alma."

  "Okay," Penny whispered, taking Eva's hand and going with her up the stairs.

  On the landing, Eva stopped to get sheets and towels from the linen closet, then led Penny into the bedroom next to Alma's.

  "Your little girl comin' home?" Penny asked, as Eva removed the spread from the bed.

  "Yup. Today."

  "This her room?" Penny looked around. It didn't look like a kid's room.

  "It is when she comes to visit." Eva began putting pillow slips on the pillows.

  "Where's all her toys an' everythin'?"

  "Melissa's grown up. She doesn't have toys anymore."

  "What happened to 'em?"

  "They got given away before we came to live here."

  "Who to?"

  "
To the Goodwill." Eva shook open a fitted sheet. Penny scooted to the far side of the bed and began pulling the sheet over the corner. "You know how to make beds too, hunh?"

  "My mom teached me."

  "Taught you."

  "That's right. I got a loose tooth. Wanna see?"

  Eva laughed, took hold of Penny, and sat on the side of the bed with the girl in her lap. "Let's see it."

  Penny pulled back her lip and wiggled the tooth. "See! Mom and Granny said the tooth fairy's gonna come visit me when I'm sleepin', leave me a big surprise."

  "Do you ever miss your daddy, Penny?" Eva asked, hoping she wasn't overstepping an invisible boundary.

  Without hesitation, Penny shook her head, saying, "Uh-uh. He's bad. We're never seein' him ever ever again, and I'm glad."

  "Why?"

  "Cause he's always hurtin' my mom. He's very bad."

  "Did he hurt you, too?"

  "Two times. He hitted me."

  Eva hugged her close, wondering if Melissa ever returned to the island in her dreams. She claimed to have no memory whatever of that summer, but Eva couldn't help believing it was buried somewhere in her subconscious and might one day resurface.

  "You smell nice," Penny said, looping her arms around Eva's neck.

  "So do you." Eva pressed a kiss into the fragrant, impossibly soft flesh at the point where Penny's neck met her shoulder. "Let's finish here and go make breakfast. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  Eva set her down, quickly straightened the bed covers, then took Penny's hand, tiptoeing with her past Alma's door. Penny grinned at her conspiratorially and held one small finger to her lips. Eva wished she had as much ease with Bobby as she did with this child.

  Bobby awoke, saw Pen's bed was empty, and had a moment of complete terror. She looked around wildly, throat dry, heart pounding, then heard footsteps overhead and exhaled shakily. Pen was upstairs in the kitchen with Eva. For a moment she'd thought somehow Joe had found them, had sneaked in and taken Penny. It was the kind of thing he'd do to punish her, because he knew Pen was her world. Every day while she waited for the school bus, she feared Penny wouldn't be on it.