The Color of Heaven

by E. V. Mitchell; Julianne MacLean

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Matt was distant during the sunset drive back to Wellesley – so distant that he barely spoke to me. He kept his eyes fixed on the road, and when we came to a set of lights and had to stop, he reached across for a package of cigarettes in the glove compartment.

  He didn’t look at me as he dug into his pocket for a pack of matches, nor did he ask whether I minded if he smoked. He lit the cigarette and dragged on it with relief – as if he’d been waiting all day to do just that – then he shook the flame from the match and dropped it into the ashtray.

  He draped a wrist over the steering wheel and hung the other arm out the window. “Come on, come on,” he said impatiently to the traffic light while the cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth.

  It was the first time I had seen him smoke since he’d re-entered my life. I had forgotten that he’d ever taken up the habit.

  I rolled down my window. “So what are your plans for the rest of the week?” I asked.

  “Don’t know.”

  He switched on the radio. The light turned green; he stepped on the gas. We drove out of town, farther away from the sea until I could no longer hear it or smell any trace of it.

  I sat back in the seat and said nothing. He made no effort, either, to initiate any conversation.

  A chill wind blew in through the open window. The scarlet light of the evening cast a queer glow on the trees at the side of the road. Matt turned the silver knob on the radio, pushed through noisy, obnoxious static, found music, and turned up the volume.

  We drove for miles in silence. Eventually I just pretended to be asleep.

  By the time we arrived back at Wellesley, it was full dark. Matt turned onto the campus. I reached over without asking and switched off the radio. It was quiet at last.

  “Why don’t you pull over right here,” I brusquely said, feeling a powerful urge to hit something. “I can walk the rest of the way.”

  I didn’t want him to drop me off at the main doors because I knew I would need time to wrestle with my mood before I faced anyone.

  I also needed a few final minutes to chastise myself for becoming infatuated with Matt after a mere two days in his company. Hadn’t I learned a long time ago that he was not capable of finishing what he began? It was why he left Camden. He could not manage the long haul of personal relationships or commitments. His personality could go from hot to cold in the space of a single heartbeat. He was fickle. When anything became too familiar, he was no longer interested.

  What was I thinking, imagining that what I felt for him was more meaningful than what I had with Peter? Peter wanted to marry me. He wanted to commit to me for the rest of his life. He had been my constant, devoted friend since we were children. He had never strayed from that friendship, and my happiness and well-being meant everything to him.

  He had even warned me about Matt. He’d wanted to protect me as he always did, because he loved me. He had been sensible and prudent, as always.

  Matt pulled over under an oak tree. He did not turn off the car, which only fuelled the fires of my hostility. He made no mention of seeing me again, nor did he thank me for spending the day with him. He stared straight ahead, as if I had offended him in some way.

  I suppose I had – for I allowed myself to adore him.

  A single oak leaf floated down through the air like a feather onto the windshield.

  I wrapped my hand around the door handle and thought about getting out with a mere, “See you around,” but couldn’t do it. It was not my way. Unlike Matt, I communicated my feelings, and I was going to be very frank.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” I said, “but you haven’t spoken one word to me since we left Marblehead, and I want you to know how disappointed I am. I thought we had a nice time today, but now you’ve ruined it.”

  He finally looked at me.

  “Did you think I was going to expect something from you?” I asked. “Is that what you’re afraid of, that I might want a promise from you, or a marriage proposal? Have you been trying to tell me – in your own rude, cowardly way – that you’re not interested? Well, you needn’t worry, Matt, because I know you better than that. I know how quickly you get bored, how you hate to be boxed in. I know enough not to expect anything from you.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He said nothing for a few seconds, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet. “You should probably go.”

  He might as well have hit me in the face with a baseball bat.

  Fighting tears, I picked up my bag, opened the door and got out. “You really are an ass, Matt. Do you know that? I never wanted to believe it before, even when Peter told me I couldn’t trust you, but I guess I have no choice now. But I’m not letting you leave without telling you that you have broken my heart, because I never cared for anyone the way I cared for you. I thought we were the same, but now I have to accept that we’re not. Because I’m not like you. I don’t shut out the people I love.”

  I slammed the door and turned away, then let the tears gush from my eyes. Quickly, I made my way across the dark lawn in the direction of my dorm. I didn’t allow myself to look back and see if he had driven away, even though, to my eternal chagrin, there was a part of me that hoped he would come running after me and tell me he was sorry, and plead with me to forgive him.

  If Peter were here, he would tell me not to entertain such foolish hopes – that no, we could not be friends, because Matt could not be trusted. I was better off never seeing him again. For as long as I lived.

  I stopped suddenly and wiped the exasperating tears from my cheeks. I could not walk into my dorm like this. I had to stop crying and catch my breath.

  A car door slammed.

  I turned around.

  Matt was striding across the lawn toward me, with long, purposeful strides.

  Oh, God…

  My heart throbbed painfully in my chest. I couldn’t breathe through my embarrassing shuddering sobs.

  A part of me wondered if I should take off and run in the other direction. Then all at once he was upon me, backing me up against a tree, taking me into his arms and crushing his lips to mine.

  I dropped my bag with a thud. My arms flew around his neck. It was like being swept out to sea. I couldn’t find the resolve to kick against the current, because despite everything, I still wanted him with a passion that overcame reason.

  I have no idea how long we stood up against that tree, kissing in the darkness while his hands explored my body, as if the world were coming to an end.

  Finally he dragged his lips from mine. “I’m so sorry.”

  Stunned and emotionally drained, I blinked up at him.

  “I never should have come to see you,” he said. “It was selfish. I shouldn’t have taken you sailing today. I should have just left it.”

  “But why?”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head.

  Something was wrong. I could feel it. We had shared so much over the past few days. There had to be a reason why he pushed me away like this, and it was not what he had explained before.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me,” I said.

  He grimaced, almost as if he were in physical pain.

  “Tell me.” I took his face in my hands.

  “I’m sick,” he finally confessed. “I have to have an operation in a couple of weeks, and if I don’t have it, all the doctors tell me the same thing. That I won’t live to see the spring.”

  I stood staring up at him, unable to move. “What kind of operation?”

  “I have a tumor in my brain,” he explained. “It has to be removed.”

  I felt like I was going to vomit. “Can they do that? Can they remove it and cure you?”

  “I’m told there’s a fifty-fifty chance.”

  “Fifty percent,” I repeated in a daze, clinging to the hope that it would be successful. Of course it would. It had to be.

  He stepped back, giving me a moment and some sp
ace to digest this. I moved away from the tree, wandering off a little ways to comprehend what he’d told me. I looked up at the dark, star-speckled sky.

  “When did you find out?” I asked.

  “A month ago. I was having headaches, so I went to see someone.”

  I turned to face him. “Do you still have them?”

  “Yes. I have one now.”

  I wished I could take that pain away, but knew that I couldn’t. I could do nothing to change what was happening. “Does your father know?”

  “Yeah, but he’s been keeping his distance. He hasn’t called or anything since I told him.”

  I fought to contain my anger at the man who had abused Matt as a child, then drove him away from Camden, and who now could not bring himself to offer support when it was most needed. “I don’t understand that,” I said. “You’re his son.”

  Matt merely shrugged. “I’m through with hating him. When something like this happens, you let go of all that stuff. I’ve forgiven him. That’s all I can do. And I’ve told Gordon that. I’ll want Dad to know it.”

  “Don’t say things like that,” I quickly said, almost scolding him with my tone. “You’re going to be fine. Gordon won’t have to tell him anything.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  A breeze whispered through the branches above us.

  It would soon begin to rain. I could smell it in the air.

  “Where will they do the operation?”

  “In Chicago,” he replied. “It’s why I have to go back next week.”

  “Let me come with you,” I said, wondering what Peter would say, but knowing that for once, it wouldn’t matter.

  “No,” Matt firmly replied. “You don’t have to do that.”

  I stepped closer. “I want to. I want to be there with you when you’re in the hospital. And we could spend some time together between now and then.”

  He spoke harshly. “I said no, Cora. I don’t want you there.”

  “Why? I’ll give you space when you need it. I’ll give you whatever you need. And what happens afterward, we can decide that later. I won’t expect you to marry me or anything like that. Just let me spend the next few weeks with you. Just that. Please.”

  He gently touched my cheek, while I waited for his answer.

  “I’m scared,” I said.

  His expression grew tender, then he took me into his arms again. Tears returned to my eyes, and I convulsed with weeping.

  “Don’t cry,” he whispered, stroking my hair. “Please don’t cry.”

  “Just let me come. Let me be with you.”

  The rain began to fall in a fine, silvery mist, cold upon my skin. Fog crept low along the ground.

  Sophie

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  I stood up at the kitchen table and shook my head at my mother. “I don’t want to hear anymore. I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can,” she firmly replied, “and you will, because you have to hear it. You’re not the only person in this world who has suffered, Sophie. Life is hard. It’s cruel sometimes. It’s merciless and unfair, but we all go through difficult times, one way or another. You’ve had more than your share of knocks lately, I’ll give you that, but it doesn’t mean you get to quit. No one gets to quit. You keep fighting, every day, and sooner or later, the grief fades a little. You grow stronger, find joy again, and everything gets easier. You come out of it more equipped to handle the next wave, which will come eventually. There will always be waves.”

  I heard what she was saying, but my mind was fixed on something else she had told me about that night on the lawn at Wellesley. I’m scared, she had said to Matt.

  I sat back down. “Megan told me she was scared. When she was in the hospital, in those last few days… She said she was afraid of dying.”

  My mother inclined her head at me. “And what did you tell her?”

  “I told her that there were kind and beautiful angels waiting for her in heaven, and that they would love her and take good care of her.” I swallowed over the jagged stone of despair in my throat. “But then she asked if I would be there, too, and I had to tell her no, I couldn’t go with her. That she had to go alone.” My throat was closing up. I barely managed to get the words out before my voice broke. “And she said, ‘But I want my mommy.’”

  I covered my face with both hands.

  I had not told anyone about that conversation, not even Michael. I had never been able to repeat it aloud. I could not even bear to think of it.

  “You said the right thing, Sophie.”

  “Did I?”

  Oh, God….

  “Yes, you were a wonderful mother. No one will ever be able to take that away. Not from you or her. Megan had a beautiful life with you. She was loved more than any child could ever dream of being loved.”

  The tears in my eyes blurred my vision, and I struggled to blink them away.

  My mother stood up and fetched a tissue from the box by the telephone. She handed it to me, and I wiped the tears from my cheeks.

  “Did he have the operation?” I asked, wetting my lips, reclaiming the steadiness of my voice. “Did you go back to Chicago with him? Did he let you stay?”

  “Yes.” She sat back down.

  “What happened?” I was desperate to know the answer. “Was it a success? Did he live?”

  My mother turned her gaze toward the window and took a deep breath before she told me the rest.

  Mountains

  Chapter Forty

  Cora

  After Matt told me a bit more about the operation, I went back to my dorm room when all I wanted to do was stay with him, to get back into his car and drive far away for hours and hours. Tearing myself away from him was – up until then – the most difficult thing I had ever done.

  I didn’t sleep a wink. I tossed and turned and cried. Eventually I got up and sat in the window. When the sun finally appeared over the horizon, I waited until a reasonable hour, then called Matt at his brother’s place and asked him to come and get me right away.

  He said no. He told me to go to all my classes, and that he would meet me outside afterward. That was the condition. He didn’t want to be responsible for me flunking out of Wellesley.

  We went out for dinner again that night, and walked around town holding hands, talking about anything and everything. Not just his illness. Good things, too, like the book he had been working on.

  The leaves were changing, but the air was balmy. We walked for a long time, sat under a tree for a while, and I was never so content or so grateful just to be alive and in his presence. Despite the terrible news he had delivered the night before, I felt extremely fortunate to be spending those hours with him. Everything was magical – the smell of the autumn leaves in the air, the sound of his voice, the familiar scent of his skin.

  I knew, as the night wore on, that Matt was my true soul mate, and that nothing I’d ever experienced with Peter could compare.

  Don’t misunderstand me. I loved Peter deeply and felt guilty for this betrayal, but what Peter and I shared was different from this. Our relationship was practical and sensible. We were best friends, and I respected him. He was decent and honest and had been raised in a good family. My own parents adored him – they never cared much for Matt – but none of those things mattered as much to me as the harmony I experienced with Matt. Whenever we were together, all was right with the world, and I knew I was going to have to confess this to Peter and my parents.

  Oh, how I dreaded the thought of it.

  o0o

  I didn’t wait or put it off. I felt it was important to do the right thing. It’s what Peter would have expected of me, and I of him if the situation were reversed.

  So, again, I slipped a coin into the slot on the payphone, sat down on the stool, and with a heavy lump in my stomach, listened to the coin fall inside.

  A moment later, Peter picked up on the other end of the line.

  “Hi Cora,” he said. “I hope this is important because I�
��m really busy. I can’t get this balance sheet to balance.”

  I swallowed uneasily and considered doing this another time…

  When I didn’t’ speak, and the seconds ticked by like minutes, Peter asked, “Is everything okay?”

  Struggling to steady my nerves, I sat up straight on the stool. Heartache throbbed inside my chest.

  “Not really,” I replied. “I have some bad news. It’s about Matt.”

  Another awkward silence rolled through the telephone wire and filled my heart with dread.

  “Well…” I didn’t know where to begin. “He’s not doing so well. He’s sick, Peter. He has…” I paused. “He has brain cancer.”

  Just saying the words out loud caused a hot ball of fire to ignite in my gut. I took a deep breath and forced myself to continue. I couldn’t fall apart.

  “My God,” he said. Neither of us spoke for a few seconds. “Is he going to be okay? Can they do anything for him?”

  “They’re going to operate to try and remove the tumor,” I explained. “He told me there’s a fifty percent success rate if he survives the surgery. He’s young and healthy, so that’s a good thing.”

  “Fifty percent. Those aren’t great odds, Cora.”

  My stomach churned and I shut my eyes. “That’s not what I want to hear right now,” I said. “It’s not helpful. And besides, I disagree. I think they’re excellent odds. We need to stay positive and hope for the best. Promise me you’ll do that.”

  He was quiet for a minute. “I just think we should prepare ourselves, that’s all. I’d hate to see you get your hopes up.”

  God! I was so angry with him in that moment! I wanted to shout into the phone, reach through the wires and shake him. He was always so cautious about everything. I’m sure if it was up to him, he’d tell Matt to go check himself into the hospital right now because there was no point in doing anything else. And while he was there, he should write his obituary so it would be ready to go into the morning paper after the operation. Just in case.