The Color of Cold and Ice

by J. Schlenker

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  For the first time, he saw her anxiety tapering off. All it took was a little caring, a little actual human contact. That was something he had when he worked in the ER. Of course, it was more fast paced, more exhilarating, but something that just came naturally from the gut after seeing the wrenching cases that came through the ER doors. In his Manhattan office, he dealt with nothing similar. At least half of his days were spent treating something frivolous.

  “Okay, then, will you promise me that you will just rest, take it easy, maybe go to the park and walk. I know it’s cold out, but it would really do you good.”

  “Yes, the park. I live right across from it, but I hardly ever go there, I’m ashamed to say.”

  “Do this for yourself.”

  “I will.”

  “Make sure Doris has the number I can reach you at before leaving.”

  She looked at him, really looked at him, looked directly into his eyes, maybe for the first time since she started coming in several years ago and said, “Thank you.”

  * * *

  John felt good, lighter. Something had happened. Interaction, real interaction with a patient. There was the cold, the little Greek man, Mark, and his night with Allison. All the angles had converged at the right point. It was a coincidence that shouldn’t be ignored. He asked Doris, “Who is my next patient?”

  “It’s Craig Evans.”

  “And, Doris, would you happen to know when Mardi Gras is?”

  She gave him a quizzical look, like he was a victim of body snatching. She hesitated. “I don’t know for sure, but I think it may have been last week.”

  She handed him the file for Mr. Evans. Then she did a double take as she walked back to her desk. Had his demeanor changed so much? Had he been that awful? Was Doris thinking he was going to buy the biggest goose there was and send it to Tiny Tim’s house?

  Chapter 19

  Sybil, Josh and Emerald

  * * *

  “THERE WAS A guy that came in a little while ago. He was looking for a lost key. It was in the lost and found box. Said that was it, so I gave it to him.”

  “What did he look like?” Sybil asked.

  “Dark hair, leather bomber jacket,” Josh replied.

  “Yes, that was the guy I think.”

  “He was asking questions about Em. Didn’t know her name, but he described her. I didn’t tell him her name. I just said she doesn’t work here anymore. I didn’t want to give out any information about your sister. He ordered a latte to-go.”

  “Really? Well, that was good, that you didn’t give him any information,” Sybil said.

  “There was also another guy before him that mentioned Em, not by name.”

  “Who was this guy?”

  “He was some yuppie, middle-aged, came in this morning. Just said there was a girl working here yesterday morning with a short hair cut.”

  “Oh, well, maybe he missed her latte art.”

  “Right. Well, the second guy, the one with the leather jacket asked about maybe playing here some night. I told him he would have to see you.”

  “Maybe he’ll be back in. And, speak of the devil, here she comes. Did you get Chad off to school okay?” Sybil asked.

  “Yes,” Emerald said, putting her gloves in her pocket.

  “No problems?”

  “No, I’m fine, really. Actually took a different route.”

  “That’s good. Sit with me a while. We’ll have coffee together. We haven’t done that in a long time.”

  “One of us was always working, if not both of us.” Emerald took off her coat and placed it on the back of the wooden chair and made herself comfortable. “This feels different. I’m not used to being on this side of the counter.”

  “You’re popular. I don’t know if the shop can manage without you. Two customers have already asked about you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Josh said one was in here earlier, referred to him as a yuppie.”

  “You know, I bet I know who it was.”

  “You know him?”

  “No, not really. He was the doctor who was on duty the night Chad was in the ER. I wanted to thank him for saving Chad’s life, but we were busy. I didn’t get a chance to. He looked at me for a moment, like he might have recognized me. I don’t know how though. Doctors see so many patients, especially in the ER.”

  “I don’t know. You and Chad are special. He might have recognized you. So, what are you going to do with your first free day?”

  “Of course you think we’re special. We’re related. You know, I hadn’t even really thought about it. Well, actually, I awoke so early this morning, like I’m used to doing. I just lay there for an hour meaning to think about all of these plans. But instead, I just thought of nothing. Then I looked at the clock and realized I should be getting Chad up. So, really, I hadn’t gotten any further than thinking about getting Chad off to school.”

  Josh sat two mugs on their table.

  “Thanks, Josh,” Sybil said.

  “Yes, thanks, Josh,” chimed in Emerald.

  “I hope the heart meets your approval,” Josh said.

  “Yes, looks great. Syb, you have a keeper, here.” She gave Josh a wink as he walked away.

  “You have time. Plenty of time for a while,” Syb said.

  “Yes, and it’s a strange feeling.”

  “I think that guy was back in here.”

  “What guy?”

  “You know, the guy who left the key.” Sybil paused, studying Em’s expression. “Do I detect disappointment?”

  “Hmm, is it obvious?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Did you talk to him at all?”

  “No, Josh gave it to him. He asked about a gig. So, we’ve established that he’s a musician. He also asked about you.”

  “He did?” Emerald grinned like a school girl.

  “You don’t act too surprised. And you are definitely interested I can see,” Sybil said perusing her sister up and down, noticing the definite change of flesh tone of her face to pink before taking a sip of her coffee.

  “I don’t know anything about him. I barely spoke to him. He did kind of look the part, though, now that you mention it.”

  “What part?” Sybil grinned.

  “You know. The part of a musician.”

  “Oh, do they have a look?” Sybil said with a sheepish grin as she took another sip of coffee.

  “You know they do.” Emerald looked down at the heart before taking her first sip, fully aware of Sybil’s eyes on her.

  “I miss your cream art on the mocha,” Sybil said.

  “I think Josh already has the knack for it.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think he’ll get as good as you were at it.”

  “Do you want me to go back there and swirl you one up?”

  “No, no, that’s okay. I’m afraid if you did you would get stuck behind the counter all day. Plus, Josh might start to feel insecure if you did.”

  “Josh, insecure?” She took a sip and sat the cup on the table. “You know, Syb, I’ve been thinking about a trip.”

  “A trip might be good. Where to? Do you want us to take care of Chad?”

  “I was thinking Amsterdam.”

  “Wow, a big trip. Let me guess, the Van Gogh Museum.”

  “You know me well. I would take Chad with me. It would be the opportunity of a lifetime. And, you don’t act at all shocked.”

  “Do you know when you might go?”

  “I was thinking maybe spring break.”

  “Oh, then soon.” Sybil hesitated. “Em, maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, but I had a dream the other night.”

  “One of your infamous ‘I can tell the future’ dreams?”

  “Don’t laugh. You were there, in Amsterdam. And, you don’t seem surprised at this revelation.”

  “I’m not. Nor am I laughing. Why should I be? I have faith in your powers as an oracle. Please tell me this was a good dream.”

&nb
sp; “Yes, it was,” Sybil said with a smile.

  “I take it I have your approval then to go on this trip?”

  “Very much so.”

  Chapter 20

  Sybil and Clark

  * * *

  “HOW ABOUT SPAGHETTI tonight?”

  “You know I never turn down spaghetti,” Clark said, giving Syb a kiss on the cheek.

  “Even though the sauce comes from a jar?”

  “Really? I thought you made it from scratch.” He winked and gave her a hug. “I think it is the way you expertly put it in the pot and simmer it just right,” Clark said, wrapping his arms around her tighter.

  “I think we should open a bottle of wine,” she said.

  “Wine in the middle of the week. Are we celebrating something?” he asked.

  “The fact that you tolerate my cooking,” she joked. “Maybe we are celebrating something yet to happen.”

  “This wouldn’t be about this dream, would it?”

  “As a matter of fact it is.”

  “So, tell me the dream in detail. Yesterday morning you mentioned a man with blue eyes, a future boyfriend for Em.”

  “I think he may have been in the coffee shop today.”

  “So, he and Em have already met?”

  “No, not officially. She knows his name is Mark. That was from the first time he came in. She missed him when he came back looking for a key he had lost.”

  “Did he look like the guy in your dream?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You are rather vague. This would not hold up in a court of law at all.”

  She placed two plates on the table.

  “Oh, we are using the orange plates tonight?” he asked, as he pulled out the silverware from the drawer.

  “Yes, I’ve been feeling like orange lately.” She placed a loaf of French bread she had brought home from the coffee shop on the table.

  “Do you want parmesan?” she asked.

  “Yes, please. I love my cheese. You know that. Can you feel like colors?”

  “You know that stuff is bad for you. You need to have a healthy heart.”

  “As if all this pasta and bread isn’t bad for me?”

  “I think you can feel like colors. I mean, why do people say ‘I feel blue’? Em would certainly say you could feel like colors.”

  “Okay, so ease up on the cheese just a tad, but none of that nutritional yeast stuff you put on yours.”

  “That is good for you,” she scolded.

  He poured the wine and raised his glass in a toast. “2002, a very good year.”

  “The year we married. I thought we were saving that last bottle for something special?”

  “You did say we were celebrating something yet to come. So, what do we drink to?”

  “To a good trip for Em and Chad and possibly more.”

  “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.”

  “Okay, I know how your mind works. I’m supposed to guess how the color orange relates to this trip and what is yet to come.”

  “Only if you want to. You’re a good attorney. Let’s see you use your skills of deduction.” She placed her glass of wine on the counter. Like a couple in complete sync he handed her the spaghetti strainer.

  He took a drink of wine and leaned against the counter next to her and looked up at the ceiling as if in deep thought, something she imagined him doing during a court case. “Well, I know Em’s favorite color is orange, considering she had us painting most of the Java Bean Factory orange. Does it have something to do with coffee? Is she going off to the Colombian coffee fields? I hope not. I think that might be rather dangerous.”

  “No, you are way off.” She laughed. “And, I know you are kidding.”

  “Orange, orange, orange. I know, Florida. She’s going down to see your mom.”

  “Wrong again, but that was a good guess.”

  “Okay, I give. Where is she going?”

  “Amsterdam.”

  “Wow, really?”

  “Really.”

  “Okay, I should have guessed. It’s where Van Gogh was from. And, of course, orange is the color of Holland.”

  “But how does this guy in the coffee shop fit into the equation? And is there something yet to come other than the trip?” He placed some olive oil and a pepper grinder next to the loaf of bread.

  She related the dream to him as they sipped wine and swirled pasta around their forks.

  “And you think this guy who came in looking for the key he lost is the guy in Amsterdam, the guy you saw in your dream?”

  “Maybe. You know how these things are. They’re never what they seem. He could be someone entirely different. I didn’t see him after all. I don’t want to ask Em to describe him to me. She would suspect something. Better to let these things take their natural course.”

  “And the possibly more?”

  “What?”

  “You said we might be celebrating possibly more.” He pinched a piece of bread off and dipped it in the plate of olive oil.

  She poured more wine into the glasses. “I’ve been thinking about children.”

  “Do you mean us having children?” he asked almost blushing.

  “Or, a child.”

  “Just one? Speaking about natural courses, maybe with Em starting to do okay now, getting her life together, meeting that someone in your dream and living happily ever after, well, perhaps we should start thinking about ours.”

  “So, are we going to do this?” A smile lit across her face.

  “I’m game. Like you said, we’ll start with the one, and go from there.” He reached across the table and took hold of her hand. “Here, have some more wine.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I would think you are trying to get me drunk.”

  “Not drunk, just uninhibited.” He laughed.

  “Oh.”

  “Yes. We should at the very least have a bang up time trying. Don’t you think?”

  “I agree,” she said, loosening his tie.

  He grabbed the glasses and the bottle of wine and pulled her towards the bedroom.

  Chapter 21

  Violet

  * * *

  I’M THE UNION of body and soul. I am the link between heaven and earth, the purple irises of Van Gogh. I am the end of the rainbow, the personification of the rainbow.

  I am royal, imperial.

  I am the jelly on the peanut butter, the amethyst stone on the ring, the lilac, the sea urchin, the turnip and of course, the violet.

  I am the seventh chakra.

  I rule understanding. I am the connection with God and the divine.

  When in balance, I have an open mind, an open heart. I am both thoughtful and wise. I am connected to spirit.

  If I’m out of balance, I am not open-minded at all. My thoughts are rigid. I shun all things spiritual. I will be greedy and materialistic.

  Oh, but if there is too much of me, I overthink. I don’t trust my gut. I get easily confused. I am out of touch with my body. I forget it is my temple.

  To keep me in balance, meditate, meditate, meditate. See my light through your third eye. Ride my pulsing wave towards your spiritual purpose.

  Chapter 22

  Shelly and Mark

  * * *

  “COULD YOU PICK up your things? XXO.” That is all the text said. XXO? Really? What the heck did that mean? XXO was how she used to end her texts with him. Maybe it was automatic, something she did and couldn’t take back after hitting send. She should be working. Was she between scenes? Maybe she wanted him to go while she or Monkey Man was absent. It was Valentine’s Day. He had almost forgotten, but the flower and balloon vendors were hot and heavy along the streets. It was also Saturday, one of the busiest days. There were two showings of the play. She shouldn’t be home at all.

  “Tonight?” he texted back.

  “Yes, tonight,” she texted back. No XXO this time. Didn’t they have rules about texting during a performance? He had never thought to ask, bu
t she had never texted or even called before while at work. He looked at his watch, which still hadn’t recovered from the early morning hours in the park. It was now evening, 6:15 as near as he could make out. He would take his watch to a repair shop when he could afford it.

  All week, he had been in a slump, bigger than his general life long slump. He had gotten a little pumped up when reading about The Iceman, but after realizing the futility of it all and thinking about his life, his mood changed to one of gloom. So many times, he reached for his guitar that wasn’t there. He needed a gig. Yes, he had to go retrieve it, Monkey Man or not.

  He had been putting it off. He had the key. Why hadn’t he returned to get his stuff sooner? He knew Shelly’s schedule. He could have gone while she was at work, slipped in, grabbed his stuff, been out in no time. But he didn’t. Shelly’s words of him not amounting to anything and how he hadn’t written a song in ages kept playing over and over in his mind. He had mixed feelings about even picking up his guitar again.

  Should he ask? He stalled and then thought what the heck. What did it matter now? He and Shelly were history, or at least would be as soon as he picked up his stuff. He could use his clothes. He had worn what he had walked out in early Monday morning all week until Allison took pity and loaned him some of John’s clothes. She said they were going to Goodwill, anyway. That’s what he had come to, a goodwill case.

  “Is Monkey Man there?” He hit send.

  “I take it you mean Bruce. No.”