The Color of Light

by White, Karen

  She turned to see what he was looking at and saw her maternity underwear, fluttering like a huge white sail at full mast.

  Facing him again, she said, “Oh, that. You might think that those are pairs of underwear, but they’re really sails. I’m thinking of starting a sail shop.”

  For a moment, her face reminded him of the girl he remembered with the quick smile, the salty remarks and eyes that always held something back. It gave him a little sense of coming home, and it settled uncomfortably in him. He wasn’t coming home. He was starting over.

  Grace giggled as Jillian bent to take several bath towels and the largest bra he’d ever seen out of the basket and began to hang them on the line next to the underwear. Realizing what she held in her hand, she quickly dropped the bra and continued hanging up laundry.

  The breeze teased her dark brown hair off her forehead as she concentrated on her work. “I’ve made lemon bars if you’d like one.”

  He almost said yes. “No, thanks. I’ve got to get back to work.”

  She gazed steadily at him. “You can’t avoid me forever, you know.” She dropped her hands and picked up the empty laundry basket. “Come on in the kitchen and I’ll get you some iced tea and a couple of lemon bars. If you’re nice, I’ll even give you a few extras to take with you.”

  Without waiting for his answer, she started walking across the backyard toward the kitchen door, the basket balanced on one hip, and moving relatively fast despite her pregnancy. Seeing no other choice, he followed her, Grace close at his heels.

  She called after her daughter. “Your daddy called. He left a message on the machine. You’ll have to call him back in the morning, because it’s already in the middle of the night in Singapore.”

  Grace skipped in a circle before stopping in front of her mother. “You shouldn’t let him talk to the machine, Jilly-bean, if you’re there.”

  Jillian flushed and didn’t meet Linc’s eyes as she hitched the basket higher on her hip and continued walking. “Rick is on a temporary overseas assignment in Singapore for his law firm. He calls every other day to speak with Grace. I don’t necessarily feel the need to chat with him when he calls.”

  Linc didn’t feel the need to question why, and silently followed her toward the house.

  When they got inside the kitchen, Jillian made a plate for Grace and sent her into the den to watch TV. Then she placed two plates and two glasses of iced tea on the table and motioned to Linc to sit. She looked ridiculously appealing, sitting at the kitchen table behind her lemon bars, a dusting of powdered sugar on her chin and her waistline stretched beyond the width of the chair.

  They looked up at the same time at the sugar bowl still on the counter. She moved as if to get up and get it, but Linc stood. “I’ll get it. You just sit.” He turned one of the chairs to face her. “Here. You should probably keep your feet up.”

  She grimaced. “I might be shaped like an egg right now, but I can promise you I won’t break.” Despite her protest, she did as she was told.

  He put the sugar bowl and a clean teaspoon in front of her. Leaning over, he wiped the sugar off her chin with a napkin, then took a bite of the best lemon bar he’d ever tasted in his life.

  “Thanks,” she said. She leaned forward on her elbows. “I heard your music while I was outside. It reminded me of Lauren teaching us the shag on the beach. Do you remember?”

  The lemon bar melted on his tongue as he washed it down with iced tea. “Yeah. I was a pretty good dancer. You were lousy.”

  She threw back her head and laughed. “Really, Linc. You should try to be more honest.”

  An involuntary grin crossed his face. “It was like you had three feet. I thought you were going to hurt yourself.”

  Still smiling, she said, “Careful. You might hurt my feelings.” She took a bite out of a lemon bar, severing it in the middle, and chewed thoughtfully before swallowing. “But Lauren was wonderful. She could really move. It was almost as if the music were part of her.”

  Uncomfortable, he took another bite and turned away, spotting the star chart and noticing how she’d highlighted certain stars. After all these years, still looking for a new star, something with a one-in-a-million chance of happening. But she actually believed she could. He looked back at her, at her filled-out cheeks and her solemn eyes, and wondered where she found her resources of such boundless faith. He admired it in her, but would be damned if he’d ever admit it. He had no allies, and she had proven herself firmly entrenched behind enemy lines sixteen years ago.

  Her voice was soft. “You know, we can tiptoe around it or we can start by talking about Lauren now. Either way, we need to talk.”

  He stood abruptly, brushing powdered sugar from his fingers. “Okay, fine. Since you’ve softened me up with sugar, I guess that makes me ready. I loved Lauren, she disappeared and everyone, including your father, Lauren’s parents and the chief of police, thought I’d killed her and tried pretty hard to prove it, despite the fact that they had no body and no evidence. They let me go, and I left. That’s pretty much all of it.”

  With deliberation, she stood and carried the dirty plates to the sink. “Not quite, Linc. You’d never have come back here if that was the end of the story.” She rinsed off the plates and then turned off the faucet. Not turning around, she said, “You told me the other night that home is where the ghosts are. Maybe you’re right. And maybe we’re both here because they’ve asked us to come back. Maybe there’s unfinished business.”

  Slowly, she turned to face him, and her eyes were troubled.

  He walked toward her and stood close enough to smell the fragrance of ocean breezes in her hair as he placed his empty iced tea glass in the sink. Quietly, he said, “Maybe you’re right.”

  He stayed next to her for a long moment, somehow unwilling to move away. Then, with a hard mental shove, he forced himself to leave her side and strode across the kitchen toward the door. “I’ve got to get back to work. Thanks for the lemon bars.”

  He had barely made it across the sand when Gracie came tearing after him, a plate with lemon bars wrapped in plastic wrap balanced precariously in her hands. “Jilly-bean wanted you to have these.”

  Unable to help himself, he returned her smile. “Thanks. They’re pretty good.”

  She swayed in front of him with her hands behind her back. “The necklace looks good on you.”

  He looked down to where the sand dollar necklace lay against his shirt. “Yeah, it sure does.”

  “Are you going to wear it all day?”

  “Of course. It’s my favorite necklace. Wouldn’t even dream of taking it off.”

  “If it gets in your way, you can tuck it inside your shirt.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  She waved, then turned to go before stopping suddenly. “You should ask Jilly-bean to show you that thing.”

  “What thing?”

  “The thing Lauren talked about. Remember? I told you before.”

  Without waiting for a response, she waved again and took off over the sand toward her house.

  He stood watching her, the plate of lemon bars in his hand shaking slightly. Why was the fertile imagination of a little girl so disturbing? And almost so convincing? Trying to clear his thoughts, he made his way back into his house.

  After placing the plate next to his boom box, he flicked it on and settled back into the rhythm of working with his hands, listening to beach music and trying not to remember too much the feel of a warm, slender body in his arms as he danced in the sand. Or the solemn brown eyes of a ghost from his past who was very much alive and who seemed to know how to weaken his defenses with sugary confections from her kitchen. If only she weren’t so wounded. If only she weren’t so fragile. If only he didn’t care.

  He flipped off the radio, preferring the silence for now, and bent over his work, allowing his hands to mold and create and temporarily exorcise a past that was best left buried.

  CHAPTER 7

  IN THE GRAY LIGHT OF DAWN
, JILLIAN SAT UP IN BED, NOT SURE WHAT it was that had awakened her. Her gaze drifted around the room, finally coming to rest on the bedside table. She leaned forward and pulled open the drawer. Her fingers groped until they grabbed hold of what they were searching for. Leaning against her headboard, Jillian stared down at the smooth, wooden box, the beautifully scripted Ls sitting on top.

  Slowly, she opened the box and pulled out the well-creased paper, not opening it, but smoothing it between her fingers. The voices from her past seemed to speak louder to her now, as if the box were a transmitter to the deepest reaches of her memories.

  The door creaked slightly and she looked up, startled. Spot, in feline nonchalance, strolled into her bedroom before stopping for a moment and then jumping up onto the foot of the bed. Settling down into a black ball of cat fur, he meowed, as if to make sure Jillian realized she was in the presence of greatness, and stared at her and the box.

  A cool breeze brushed her neck, and she looked up to see if the air-conditioning vent was pointed at her. That was before she remembered that there weren’t any air-conditioning vents anywhere in the house. She looked back at Spot, who seemed to be staring intently at something in the middle of the room, his head moving almost imperceptibly as if following the movement of a person slowly walking across the rug toward the door. The door creaked slightly again as it shifted on its hinges, and then Spot snapped his head back to stare at Jillian. Her eyes widened as she scooted up against the headboard. His hair stood completely on end.

  Gracie.

  She dropped the box next to her before jumping out of bed and moving across her room, intent on reaching Grace’s bedroom as quickly as possible. She passed through the hallway with all the lights still on, their bright glowing bulbs defying the gloom of the morning.

  Placing her hand on Grace’s partially open door, she paused, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Grace was talking, her childlike voice low but animated, as if in intimate conversation with a close friend.

  Jillian pushed the door open farther, and the talking stopped. She peered around the door to scan the room for another person. Finding it empty, she turned to Grace on the bed, her calm voice surprising herself. “Who were you talking to, sweetie?”

  Spot came up behind Jillian and stopped, not even approaching when Grace patted her bed in welcome.

  Biting her lower lip, Jillian glanced down at the cat, noticing again how he seemed to be watching something at the empty side of Grace’s bed. Firmer now, she asked, “Who were you talking to?”

  Grace glanced briefly toward the side of her bed before sliding farther down into her covers. Quietly, and not very convincingly, she said, “Nobody.”

  Jillian again glanced down at Spot, who had tilted his head back as if watching something much taller than he approach. Without a sound, he turned tail and ran out the door. It was then that Jillian noticed how cold it seemed in the room, making her think of the nonexistent air-conditioning vents again. She noticed with some detachment that every hair on her arm stood on end. At the same time, she realized that Grace was speaking.

  “Don’t be afraid. I’m not.”

  The coldness seemed to evaporate with the suddenness of a switch being thrown. She looked behind her, trying to make sense of what had just happened, but all she saw was the rose wallpaper and the lone burning lamp on the bookshelf.

  Slowly, she approached Grace and sat down on the edge of the bed. She didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to know. But somehow, she heard the words coming out of her mouth. “What’s going on, Gracie? Who were you talking to?”

  Somber, frightened eyes peeped up at her from over the edge of the covers. “You told me you didn’t want to hear her name again.” Spot appeared as if conjured and leapt up onto the foot of the bed before nuzzling up against Grace’s side.

  Jillian felt her chest tighten. Not with fear, but simply with not knowing. “Lauren?” she asked, staring intently into her daughter’s eyes.

  Gracie simply nodded.

  “She’s not real, you know. You do understand that, right?”

  Grace stared at her for a long moment before slowly giving a brief nod of her head.

  Jillian stood, leaning on the footboard. “Okay, then. Let’s forget all about this.” She clutched her hands together and looked about the room, her gaze coming to rest on the window whose drapes had been thrown wide, allowing the pink rays of the early sun to wave its good morning.

  The little girl sat up in the bed. “I opened the curtains to see the sun rise.”

  Jillian looked out at the dunes, taking in the gentle surf and the swaying sea oats moving gracefully in the breeze as if stretching after a night’s sleep. Her blood seemed to swish slower in her veins, and for a brief moment all was right in her world again.

  With an optimism she hadn’t felt in a very long time, she turned to face her daughter. “It’s low tide right now. If you can get dressed in a hurry, I’ll take you to the creek and maybe we can spot an egret.”

  A smile lit Grace’s face. “Can I wear what I wore yesterday? It’ll be quicker.”

  Jillian’s gaze followed Grace’s to the pile of clothes on the floor. She couldn’t suppress a grin. “Sure. Just don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

  Impulsively, she kissed Grace on the forehead before heading toward the door.

  “Jilly-bean?”

  A note in the child’s voice filled her with apprehension as she turned around. “Yes?”

  “The light bulb in the living room lamp is burned out. You might want to take a new one down with you to replace it so you won’t be scared tonight.”

  The tension slid away from her. “Thanks. I will.”

  After quickly dressing, Jillian grabbed a light bulb from the upstairs linen closet and headed downstairs. It wasn’t until she’d reached the tenth step that she remembered the living room lamp had been turned on after Grace had gone to sleep. So how could she have known it had burned out?

  Jillian descended the rest of the stairs, promising herself that she would ask Grace about it later. Later, in the bright light of day, when it was so much easier to hear the answer to questions she didn’t want to ask.

  Jillian and Grace wore matching wide-brimmed straw hats that Jillian had bought when they’d stopped for gas right after crossing over the border from Georgia into South Carolina. Despite it only being March, the sun beat down on them as they let themselves out of the front of the house, and sweat began to trickle between Jillian’s breasts. They were fuller now, preparing to nourish the child that grew inside her, and felt heavy beneath the cotton of her blouse.

  Pausing in the heat, Jillian pressed her hand to her swollen belly, feeling the baby kick. Martha had given her the name of an obstetrician in Charleston, and Jillian had every intention of going. Soon. It was so easy to let nature take its course: her swelling body and growing child, the engorged breasts and increased blood pumping through her veins. She felt like the marsh at high tide, teeming with life-giving substance, yet completely uninvolved in the entire process.

  As they crossed the road that ran the length of the island, sandwiched between the ocean and the creek, Jillian found herself holding her breath. It was as if she were afraid that her beloved marsh would have disappeared along with her grandmother, pulled from her grasp finger by finger until it was no more.

  The pier jutted out into the creek, and they walked slowly down the length of it, letting their senses slowly accommodate the scents and sights of the marsh. Gracie helped Jillian spread a beach towel at the end of the pier, and they sat down side by side and stared out over the creek at low tide. The roots of recently exposed plants gleamed wetly at them as they swung their legs in unison, as if both hearing and keeping the beat of the marsh’s liquid music.

  Using the brim of her hat to shade her eyes, Jillian stared out across marshy land, seeing an old friend after a long absence, and felt her heart tighten in her chest. She had always had an affinity for this place, almost as if salt marsh wa
ter ran through her veins. She squinted at the intertwining rivers and creeks of the island stretched out before her. They wove a treelike pattern: tentative fingers of water reaching forever outward, searching for the source that filled their banks with teeming life, craving with outstretching arms the one thing that increased their territory and made their depths dance with being.

  Jillian took a deep breath, smelling the salt and the cordgrass heated by the sun, and let her gaze rest on an osprey nest settled in the high branch of an exposed bald cypress. I’m home, she thought, feeling her grandmother’s touch in the warmth of the sun on her back. It was as if her heart, cold and rigid, had been suddenly plucked from the wet marsh mud and rinsed clean in the salt water, jolting it into beating again.

  With quiet alabaster poise, a great white egret moved from behind tall grass, standing in the shallows of the marsh creek. It craned its long, crooked neck over the surface, searching for food, oblivious to its own gloriousness.

  Grace slid her hand into Jillian’s, her skin warm and smooth.

  Startled, Jillian looked at the small hand clasped in hers, then down into the pale brown eyes of her daughter and at the smattering of freckles on her upturned nose, as if she were seeing this child for the first time. She cleared her throat. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Grace kicked out her feet, and Jillian noticed the old sparkly red shoes again. The same ones that were a size too small and had already been thrown away once. She opened her mouth to say something about them, but the softness of her daughter’s profile as she stared at the snowy egret made her close her mouth without saying anything. Jillian turned back to look at the beautiful white bird, her own legs swinging in rhythm with Grace’s.

  Grace whispered, “Is this your favoritist place in the whole wide world?”

  Jillian felt a small smile start at each corner of her mouth. Without taking her eyes off the egret, she said, “Yes, I believe it is.”