“And you’re inviting me to join you?” Cadmus asked, knowing he had yet to attend an event at the firm.
“Yes, siree, I am. MacDougall slapped me on the back after the call, in awe of the God-almighty dollar signs headin’ our way. You’d laugh your ass off if you coulda seen how he hemhawed, not knowin’ how to say it,” Robert continued, and Cadmus knew he had already enjoyed a few, his trailer park roots coming through with his loosened accent and tongue.
“MacDougall looked from side to side before he startin’ whisperin’ and shit, ‘Um, please invite your friend. It’s about time we met The Professor.’ Can you fuckin’ believe it? After all this time?”
“I’m on my way,” Cadmus replied, his heart full of excitement as he grabbed his sports coat and made his way from the office.
His desire to freshen up dissipated by the time he made his way to the car. Cadmus knew he was well dressed every single day, one of Harold’s best customers long before Houston celebrities flocked to the store on Nineteenth Street. He gave thanks for the impromptu nature of the evening. Had he known he would meet Robert’s colleagues, he would have spent the day preoccupied.
Cadmus walked confidently through the lobby. He knew this place, had breathed it as a child when he came here with his father. He smiled as he stepped into the elevator, pressing twenty-six and giving a slight bow to the ghosts of the operators from another time.
Champagne corks popped as the elevator doors opened, cheers and squeals wafting from the library and conference room. Cadmus stepped off the elevator, buttoning his sports coat as he cased the floor for his husband. A beautiful woman leaning against the interior staircase noted his arrival. He saw the look in her eye as she made her way toward him. Lord, here we go again, he thought to himself as she greeted him.
“Yes, I am looking for the man of the hour, Robert McClelland,” Cadmus said with a wink, noting her disappointment as she gestured to the library.
He took a deep breath as he turned the corner into the grand room, his eyes searching for the Irishman who had stolen his heart. Robert met his gaze despite the crowd gathered around him, the new attorneys clamoring for one bit of what he had. His head nodded as Cadmus approached, and Robert placed his arm around his shoulders: Endearing but still casual, it exhibited the right dose of familiarity a gay man should when introducing his husband to others not accustomed to their world.
Robert’s allure transferred to Cadmus. His colleagues wanted to know more about his work at Rice University and his publications in the works. Cadmus enjoyed the attention, his own reaction catching him by surprise given his private nature. Mr. MacDougall motioned Robert and Cadmus over to the lobby, and Cadmus wondered what might be next when he saw the gleam in his husband’s eye. They followed him into MacDougall’s office, where he poured them another glass of champagne.
“Okay, Mr. McClelland. Your wish is granted.”
“As I suspected it should be, given today’s accomplishment,” Robert said with confidence.
Cadmus looked back and forth between both men as they eyed one another, their silent smile one of personal acknowledgment.
“You have fifteen minutes,” MacDougall replied, pointing to the office door that now framed a building security guard.
Robert nodded his head toward the door, and Cadmus followed close behind. When he pressed the up button on the elevator, Cadmus realized the extent of the favor Robert had cashed.
Cadmus and his husband circled the cupola, champagne in hand as they took in a 360-degree view of the city.
“I couldn’t have done this without you, Cadmus,” Robert said.
“This achievement is yours alone, Robert,” Cadmus demurred, placing his hand on Robert’s arm as the security guard turned away to walk to the other side.
“No. I was shootin’ in the dark before I met you, and I admit I had a pretty good aim,” Robert acknowledged. “But you gave me purpose. You’ve shown me how to love.” Knowing the security guard was out of sight, they embraced before indulging in a moment’s kiss.
“And now for a photograph to rival Patrick and Ilona’s!” Robert called as he made his way around the cupola to look for the security guard. “The view is damn pitiful now with all the buildings closing in against it, but I do think it still stands strong on its own.”
The security guard took the camera, waiting out Robert’s indecision on the angle.
“This is the place,” Cadmus said, positioning himself at the northern end. “And please try to capture the University of Houston Downtown, even if it’s just a smidge,” he said, pointing to the right of the seventy-five-story skyscraper blocking the full view. He and his husband wrapped one arm around the other while toasting their champagne glasses.
As Robert thanked the security guard, Cadmus took a moment to look out on the city. He sent his love to his parents, wondering where their souls had gone.
DELPHINA
Autumn 1986
“PLEASE DON’T WAIT ON ME tonight, sweetheart. You go on over to Stacy’s house right after school with the other girls. Bea’s expecting you.”
“Momma, I want to wait for you,” Delphina said.
Patricia inched her car farther along the carpool queue, taking a deep breath and gripping the steering wheel. Delphina geared up for the lecture, staring intently out the window at the students loafing on the perimeter of the school yard and wondering when school had become a drag for so many—so much to learn and so little enthusiasm with which to learn it.
“Delphina, stop being so scared all the time! Nothing bad will happen!” Patricia shouted in frustration, pounding her right fist onto the seat.
“You don’t know that!” Delphina yelled back, angry not only at the comment but at the timing.
Mornings marked an easier time of day, spent as she was from a night of tossing and turning, her anxiety hollowed to a shell. It filled again as the day passed, her energy restored and primed to stir the waves of trepidation. She was calm through her morning classes, but as students barreled down the breezeway to the cafeteria at lunchtime, anxiety took root again. And now today, thanks to her momma, her nerves awakened before the opening bell.
“Delphina, you need to live your life. Living in fear is not living at all!” Patricia pleaded as Delphina opened the car door.
“I’ll live my life like I want to live it!” Delphina declared as she slammed the car door and ran down the sidewalk to the school.
Delphina rarely slept over at a friend’s house, in part because she had few friends. Making her way into the school, she saw Stacy with the other favored girls at the entrance, their huddle cemented by shrill laughter, a cue for others to keep their distance. Just yesterday, Delphina stumbled upon one of them sobbing in the bathroom, lamenting that her friends back-stabbed her over the weekend. Delphina struggled to reconcile how or why that girl would reassume her position in the ring so soon after the drama.
Stacy saw Delphina from the corner of her eye and called out, “I’ll see you tonight!” as her clique stared, stupefied by their leader’s shout-out.
Delphina offered a tender smile to her secret friend, her beloved neighbor from across the street with whom she shared lazy summer days, stretched out in their backyards and running through the sprinklers to cool off, sipping Mellow Yellow, and reaching down into a bag of Funyuns that rested between their lawn chairs. Crushes, teachers, fashion, friends: Not one teenage topic remained uncovered, the difference between their daydreams and gossip being that they were examined through the lens of rapt, almost-dispassionate observers casing the events of the past school year, attempting to make sense of their middle school world in the hopes of a wiser start for the next. The chimes from the ice cream man’s truck served as a subconscious signal that the time for daily philosophizing was drawing to a close, both girls belting out joy as they ran to the street, giddy while they waited behind the little ones, black exhaust from a dilapidated truck hollering at their shins.
Stacy’s appreciation o
f Delphina’s wisdom left her with open feelings of envy; she admitted to Delphina that she wished she did not care what people thought. Delphina stayed away when the other cheerleaders paid Stacy a visit during the summer, despite her friend’s pleadings to “give them a chance, Deli, really. They will like you once they know you.”
Stacy’s countenance betrayed her words. They both knew Delphina would not be welcome, but they also both knew their seasonal friendship was more substantive than a school year of football games and passing period gossip. Inviting Delphina, the only one who did not own pom-poms, was a big step for Stacy, but it would be an act of courage for Delphina to leave her home for the night.
Delphina was the first to arrive in her English class, relieved to start the day in a place that gave her space to think. Reading and writing calmed her heart. Mr. Lopez opened the new short story unit with a warm-up: In one page, write a scene of a scary story. Delphina knew it was a good exercise, not only because Halloween was approaching, but also because it captured interest; everyone had a story to share. And although the topic came easily for her, she regretted it was assigned on this day, the already fragile day she had to keep together so she could be in good order for the party.
Ten minutes later, choruses of “Me! Me! Me!” filled the room, and once chosen, the students revealed images of monsters and murders and blood and guts. Mr. Lopez gave them healthy latitude, joining in the fits of laughter as each participant milked his or her story for all it was worth. At the end of the exercise, he paused, noting her in the back corner looking out the window at the sky.
“Delphina, will you share your piece?” he asked. She knew he could count on her to elevate the discourse and draw them back to the lesson.
“The white lights streaming from the windows beckoned me down the opaque, desolate street. The only sound I could hear? Shells crackling beneath my feet. Or were they bones? My feet crumbled the matter beneath me, the cartilage turning from powder to ash as it covered my bare feet.
The muffled shouts became louder as I approached the mansion, screams of terror and breaking glass filling the night air. My eyes raced, but there was not a soul to be found. I tried running to the front door, but the ashes acted as weight, and as I bent down to brush my feet clean, I noticed the particles in movement, swirling around like bugs, anchoring me to the ground.
I tried peering in the windows, but the radiating light blinded me. As my eyes came to, I saw the brown-eyed boy, eyes welled with tears as his arms stretched toward me, begging me to save him. I reached for him, but the ash beneath me turned to quicksand, engulfing me back to the earth as I joined the chorus of screams.”
She looked into Mr. Lopez’s eyes after reading the last word, his mouth open in surprise.
“Wow, Deli. Now that was even more amazing than I thought it would be!” he praised, the class bursting into a round of applause, the popular boy who never acknowledged her nodding his head in awe. Although the day had many other mishaps in store, she would look back on this experience as the day she earned her place as one of the smart ones, her fictional account a seventh-grade masterpiece. She dared not correct that it was a real nightmare and had been so since before she could remember.
Delphina went through the motions of school that day as she always did, attempting to focus on the tasks at hand to relieve her wandering mind. The 3:00 bell posed another round of challenges for her, because she needed to remain at school as long as she could, lest Bea and Stacy come across the street to look for her.
She nestled into the far corner of the library, ostensibly in the name of research for the history fair. The librarian shooed her out as the clock neared 4:00, leaving Delphina to walk through the halls to find something else to delay her walk home. Seeing the door open to the art room, her good fortune continued at the sight of her art teacher rinsing brushes. He welcomed her offer to help tidy the room.
At 4:30, Delphina began her walk home, estimating she could stretch it to thirty minutes if she took the long route. Her momma left work early on Fridays, and Delphina knew she would be home by the time she arrived. She would walk in the house to find her momma safe and then pack a few things before heading over to Stacy’s. Taking a few deep breaths, she offered a prayer to St. Christopher for safe travel for her, her momma, and her daddy. She held doubts as to its effectiveness, but she surmised no harm could come from whispering but a few words to the heavens.
The late-day sun persisted, coloring the air with its autumn palette, knowing it was the penultimate day before the clocks painted early evenings in opacity. Delphina’s mind swirled in veneration, giving thanks to the evening star and the pine trees scattered throughout the neighborhood. Her eyes searched for the patches of weeds sprouting from cracks in the road, murmuring, “Life finds a way” at each sighting. Her heart ironed out the wrinkles of anxiety, even more relief coming as she turned the corner onto her street, knowing that she would soon enter her house to see her momma home safe. She would do her best to stall until her daddy was home, but she knew that might be a tough one to manage, seeing that he often met his friends for a beer on Fridays after work.
The rolled newspaper at the foot of the driveway signaled something was amiss. Her watch marked her momma’s standard arrival time as thirteen minutes prior, time enough for her to apply her formula: newspaper, mail, and 360-degree scan around the block to see if there was a neighbor to greet.
The equanimity of the walk dissipated as she picked up her gait, nearing the house to look for signs of her momma. Chants of the “Mighty Mustangs” thundered from across the street, prompting Delphina to look to the sky in gratitude that the group was ensconced in Stacy’s backyard. She snapped up the stack of mail and newspaper before scurrying through the front door, the stale air inside still saturated with the scent of bacon from breakfast.
In the minute it took her to make it to the thermostat, Delphina’s mind had spun an elaborate web of tragedy, from a mugging in the parking lot of the coffee plant to the misfortune of a flat tire during rush hour. She turned on the television, hoping to catch the local news in the event of an accident report on the east freeway. Murders, fires, rapes … the reported tragedies overwhelmed her. Her mind returned to her momma’s comment from the morning, Nothing bad will happen.
“The hell it won’t, Momma!” Delphina shouted to the empty house. Eyes filling with tears, she headed to the front window to peek through the curtains for any sight of her momma. She caught a glimpse of red and white pom-poms in Stacy’s front yard and retreated to her room to wait.
Opening the door to her closet, she curled in the corner and wept. She wept for the murdered and the victims of arson and rape. She wept for the impending tragedy that would befall her family and for her complicity. Her unkind words to her momma and her slamming of the car door, the disappointment of being an odd daughter—certainly these thoughts were twisting through her momma’s mind when the car veered off the road.
Delphina heard neither her momma enter the house nor the band of girls who followed, her sorrow acting as a cloak, isolating her from the world. She looked up when she heard the closet door opening, her body coiled in a blanket. Through her swollen eyes and matted hair, she counted six additional sets of bright eyes around her momma staring in bewilderment.
They held one another’s gaze for only a moment, but during that time it was understood that it marked another episode of the hysteria that resulted when Delphina’s fears took on a life of their own.
“You got your test back from Meany Feeney, didn’t you?” Cheerleader #1 concluded, prompting Cheerleader #2 and #3 to nod in understanding.
Delphina had, indeed, received her math test from Mrs. Feeney. She scored a ninety-four, which still ticked her off, considering it was a trick question she got wrong. She took advantage of the assumption, milking it as her classmates had earlier that day in English.
“Yep. I have never scored so low! I don’t know what happened!” she wailed, burying her head in her knees t
o stifle the laughter.
“I’m tellin’ you, Mrs. Cizek, that woman is pure evil! The test was so unfair,” moaned Cheerleader #2 as she pointed at herself while commiserating, “Fifty-two.”
“I’m just lucky I could still attend the slumber party with my sixty-four,” Cheerleader #3 lamented. “I begged my parents … told them I would study math all day Sunday.”
“C’mon, Delphina. Forget about Meany Feeney! It’s time to party!” Stacy cheered, holding out her hand to help her off the ground.
“I know you can’t help yourself, Deli. This kinda stuff is way harder on you,” Cheerleader #1 said as she patted her on the back. “You’re one of the smart ones.”
As the girls headed to the front door, Delphina and her momma shared a smile. Her momma gave her a hug at the front door and whispered in her ear, “I’ll call the doctor on Monday.”
DELPHINA DID NOT ENVISION HERSELF as a wife or mother. The other girls talked about who would make a good husband and how many children they wanted. Delphina played along and offered a few morsels on her crushes from over the years, but she only offered the names of boys that most girls found attractive.
The roles of wife and mother were fine in theory, but the subject left her wary. Her fears that something bad would happen to someone she loved made it easier to limit those close to her. Committing to a marriage was also a risk in other areas, whether it was unhappiness or divorce, and her parents did not make marriage seem worth it. Patricia and Benny were together, an accomplishment as compared to some parents, but a veil draped their relationship, as if they were two strangers in one house, both longing for different things in life.
Delphina burrowed in her sleeping bag in the early hours of the morning, reminiscing about a particular summer evening when she had been in elementary school. The streetlights had acted as a conductor calling attention to the league of cicadas, the intensity of their night song filling the darkening sky. This was her cue that it was time to head home, scraped bare feet, sticky hair, and all, signs of a well-lived day on the block.
Drops of Cerulean: A Novel Page 25