Drops of Cerulean: A Novel

by Dawn Adams Cole

  As she opened the door, Lynn Anderson’s “Rose Garden” played on the turntable, a far cry from the usual television that glowed in the dark, her daddy in his undershirt with a Lone Star in hand. She saw her parents smiling and laughing, hand in hand, as they tried to keep in step, dancing around the living room. She never realized her daddy’s smile could illuminate his face so. Delphina stood on the perimeter, a smile creeping across her face. Their arms opened toward her when they noticed she was there, and she linked her hands with theirs to join the dance. Her parents joyfully belted out the lyrics as they let go of Delphina and wrapped one another in a full embrace. Delphina skipped around the room for the remainder of the A side of the album, retreating to her room at the start of “Sunday Morning Coming Down,” giving a wink to her Jesus statue, tickled by her parents’ new love of life.

  The next day, things returned to normal: her daddy’s dispassionate look as he cut his fried eggs with a fork, along with her momma thumbing through Good Housekeeping with hopeful eyes, as the green mud mask cracked on her face. Delphina regarded the night before as a loving memory, images of her parents laughing among images of roses, sunshine, and diamond rings.

  But now she knew the truth. The irony of the song’s lyrics profiled her parents’ marriage and life in general, and she was not planning on replicating their mistake.

  “TELL ME ABOUT SOMETHING YOU love to do, Delphina,” Dr. Stilton asked as he tilted back in his office chair, creaks sounding from the floor in the other room indicating their session was winding down and the next patient was waiting.

  “Write. Read and write,” she replied, thinking back to the story she had worked on the night before, trying to make good use of the time insomnia attempted to steal.

  “And tell me how you came to love it.”

  Delphina took him back to the summer before fourth grade, the summer she spent three days crouched behind her momma’s desk at the coffee plant with a book in hand, three days spent on the receiving end of the boss’ glares, because she had to join her momma while her babysitter recovered from an emergency appendectomy. She had caught a glimpse of her momma’s workday, including her momma’s fondness for spending her lunch break in her car in the parking lot, gazing at the east side of the Houston skyline, studying the intricacies of the buildings and contemplating stories of the inhabitants.

  “I wonder what the offices look like in that one?” her momma said, pointing to the bronze building with columns circling the top. “I imagine heavy carpets and mahogany desks, with secretaries who wear the latest fashions from Foley’s, with mod colors and delicate gold necklaces.”

  As they ate their olive loaf on white bread, Delphina offered her theory that the secretaries “drink coffee from a silver urn as they read Vogue in the lounge on their break.”

  Her momma had chuckled in approval, making Delphina feel guilty that she lifted the idea of the coffee urn from the mystery novel she was currently reading. She wondered if that was cheating.

  As the thirty-minute lunch ended, they headed back into the factory, stopping by the break room for a free cup of Maxwell coffee, an employee perk. The harsh lights, Formica tables, and slightly overweight ladies wearing polyester knee skirts and rayon blouses offered a stark contrast to the imaginary world they had been a part of moments ago in the car. Delphina had never thought about creating a fictional world to escape her own; she had only looked to nature for comfort.

  She returned to her spot behind the desk, excited at the thought of writing stories rather than just reading them. Her momma snuck her a few sheets of typing paper upon request, upon which she could write her idea for a creative story inspired by their lunchtime reveries.

  Delphina resembled a medium communing with another world, her pencil spilling prose onto the paper, stories of the inhabitants of the bronze building filling two sheets, front and back. She reread the piece and, knowing her momma would be equally pleased, tapped on her leg as she lifted the story to her.

  Her momma had looked down into her eyes with a wrinkled forehead, the spark of hope dashed, the one that was present at home after her drive or at lunch during downtime. Momma was mired in reality with a stack of typing against a five o’clock deadline. Delphina lowered her story, realizing that a secretary was a secretary, and it was irrelevant if the typewriter was in the coffee plant or the bronze building.

  Dr. Stilton stared at Delphina a moment longer before jotting a few notes in her file and concluding, “I’d like you to bring in one of your stories next week.”

  Assuming her best game face, she rose and headed toward the office door for what was the most interesting part of each session: making eye contact with the next patient. It served as confirmation that she was not the only one who was crazy; other kids saw the psychiatrist, too.

  She stepped into the waiting area, which at one time served as a living room. The apathetic expression Delphina worked so hard to conjure melted as soon as her hazel eyes met the red-rimmed ones of the little boy waiting. She offered a sympathetic smile of understanding, her heart resonating with his struggle.

  “And how was it?” her momma asked once they were in the car, her shifting eyes revealing her nerves over her daughter’s attempt to find peace.

  “Please don’t ask, Momma,” Delphina said, admiring the houses along Heights Boulevard.

  “Mind if we stop by Kaplan’s?”

  “Of course, not. I like it there,” Delphina replied. And then quickly she added, “Just please don’t tell the story again.”

  “Fair enough. I think I’ve already told everyone who works there anyway,” her momma said with a giggle.

  Patricia loved to regale the salesclerks with the story of the first time Delphina went to Kaplan’s Ben Hur: “We entered over there on the Twenty-Second Street side. Delphina asks to go to the restroom not more than a step or two in the store. I ask her, ‘Can’t you wait for just a minute?’ and she responds, ‘But it is just around the corner there. I won’t be long.’ I asked her, ‘How did you know that?’ and she replies, ‘Because I’ve been here lots of times.’ Lots of times! Lord, she’s my child! She has a sixth sense when it comes to shopping!”

  Delphina and her momma parted ways in the store as they usually did, her momma heading to the crystal and china while she headed to the stationery and cards. She figured some of the sales ladies had to be in their seventies or eighties; their kind smiles and gentle greetings took her back to another time. She was certain at least one of them had been alive in 1913 when it was only a feed store.

  Delphina’s heart began to settle as she made her way through the store. With only three sessions under her belt, she could not say for certain if Dr. Stilton himself was the source. What she did know for sure was that she liked the experience of attending the sessions, starting with the drive from East Houston and the ramped excitement she felt when the University of Houston Downtown Building came into view, signaling they were crossing to the other side of the city. The building held fond memories for her from the day she awoke to it on their drive from Granger. She liked the symbolism of its location on the edge of downtown, as if dividing the east and west.

  Her heart calmed as they made their way down Heights Boulevard, where enormous trees framed the street and esplanade. It amazed her how every house was unique, quite a difference from her street with her family’s floor plan popping up multiple times on every block.

  Victorian mansions and bungalows were interspersed with one another, the size in no way a prerequisite for charm. She wondered who lived in the houses, as well as who had once lived in the house that now served as Stilton, Dean, and Associates, a dignified cover for a child psychiatry practice recommended by her pediatrician.

  And then all she had to do was prattle on for an hour about her fears and worries, with her stories from the week’s events at school and on the block working their way into the mix, as she answered the smattering of questions Dr. Stilton posed to keep her rolling. He scribbled a few notes befor
e offering a parting smile, and then to top it off she scored a trip to Kaplan’s, a store that ended up being a sanctuary for reflection. A part of her felt guilty for not outing herself to her momma. They could save a heck of a lot of money on Dr. Stilton and just drive to The Heights for free.

  SHE HEARD HER DADDY MAKING his way to her room the next morning, which signaled that it was nearing half past six, the time he arrived home from the graveyard shift. He wrapped his hand around her doorknob, careful to turn it so he would not wake her from her sleep. He assumed it had been a usual restless night, but he did not realize she had not slept a wink.

  Delphina feigned sleep while his eyes cased her body to make sure all was well. She felt his gaze bear on her closed eyelids, and giving into the desire to tease, she opened one eye and growled, “Arrr! Matey!”

  Benny jumped back with a bellow, slapping his palm over his mouth so as not to wake Patricia. Delphina followed suit, burying her head in the covers in an effort to stifle her laughter from traveling through the thin wall that separated their rooms. It was Sunday morning, a time when the family could sleep late without the fuss of work, school, or appointments with Dr. Stilton.

  “You were up all night, weren’t you?” Benny asked as he took a seat on the edge of her bed, looking into her bloodshot eyes.

  Delphina remained still for several seconds, weighing the benefits of a lie versus the truth.

  “Yes. But I studied and made good headway on my research paper,” Delphina replied, pointing to her desk covered in notecards and stacks of books.

  “You seein’ it again?” he asked, Delphina knowing his words referenced the mansion and the brown-eyed boy.

  “Yes. Please don’t tell Mom,” Delphina pleaded, knowing her momma’s limitations in dealing with her nightmares.

  Benny nodded as the two settled into the silence in her room, Delphina placing her hand over his with a pat.

  “You need to get some sleep, Daddy.”

  “I believe the same is true for you,” he said, rising from the edge of her bed, baffled at how to help his only child find a peace she had yet to know. “Did you mention it to the doctor yesterday?”

  “No, but I will next week,” she assured, knowing it would come to light when she brought the warm-up piece she had written for Mr. Lopez. “Daddy?”

  “Yep, Lil’ D?” he said, holding the cracked door in his hand.

  “I feel like there is a purpose to all this … just like Mr. Lopez talks about themes in literature. It’s like I have a theme. I just need to figure it out.”

  “Got me a wise young lady here,” he said as her eyes started to get heavy, her body knowing it was easier to sleep when both parents were safe under the roof. “I know you’ll figure it out.”

  DELPHINA

  Spring 1992

  “WILL ANYONE TAKE A GUESS?”

  A thick silence coated the room of second semester seniors. Delphina’s eyes met those of her teacher, and just as her lips parted to begin, Mrs. Merriweather said with a wink, “Anyone other than Delphina, I should clarify.”

  Delphina retreated into her seat to study the sky as the other souls shifted in their desks, looking around the room and rummaging through their backpacks in an effort to avoid eye contact. She drowned Mrs. Merriweather’s attempts to solicit any morsel of participation from the others, her mind wandering to the cerulean sky that hovered above the navy clouds.

  “Even the most harrowing of storms will pass,” she murmured without much care whether anyone heard. The rebuffs over the years had evolved into an unspoken respect. As one of the smart ones, her station as one of the quirky intellectuals had earned her a place at the table, albeit at the very end.

  A splinter of lightning illuminated the sky. “One … two … three … four,” she whispered until the thunder interrupted her count, reverberating through the desks and to the floor.

  With less than a minute remaining, Mrs. Merriweather succumbed to the squeals of the class while managing a reminder, “Everyone needs to study for the final exam! Some of you are on the brink of not graduating, and even those of you who are could stand to finish strong.”

  “Everyone other than Delphina, I should clarify,” Stacy said with a giggle as the bell rang.

  “You know, it’s not too late to join me in living the life of a nerd,” Delphina replied.

  “Well, it is far too late to do that here, but I do plan to channel you from my dorm in Nacogdoches.”

  “Fair enough. You know nerds enjoy happier adult lives,” Delphina teased as they exited the classroom.

  “It’s not too late to join me, you know. I think it would serve you well to move away.” Stacy said.

  “I agree, but I’m already taking out a loan for school. I can’t imagine it being any more than it already is. University of Houston will suit me just fine.”

  Delphina made her way to the library, waving to the assistant as she walked to her normal seat at the back window table that faced the courtyard. She took out her calculus homework and gave it a once over as she unwrapped her sandwich. It would not take her long, but she wanted to get it over with, knowing she would rather spend her evenings reading on her own.

  She knew she should pay a visit to her school counselor, Mrs. Graf, but Delphina’s agitation remained palpable. She should not have smarted off to her as she had, especially in light of the kindness Mrs. Graf had extended her over the years, Delphina’s source of comfort away from Dr. Stilton, who was in the process of transferring her records to an adult psychiatrist—someone to monitor and adjust her medications as needed.

  Delphina spent countless hours in Mrs. Graf’s office, beginning her freshman year when she barely made it through the first day, overwhelmed by the exponentially rising number of decisions that came with growing up. The thought of transitioning between two floors every fifty minutes was only the beginning, and now lectures and advice on post-secondary plans monopolized her thoughts on how she should direct her life. And with her indecision came more waves of nervousness, feelings manifesting as portents for tragedy.

  Delphina ate her sandwich, watching the torrent of rain pound the courtyard, waiting for the dark sky to lift and reveal the calm that rested overhead. She knew Mrs. Graf meant well when she used the word hope. “I hope you find the peace you are looking for, Deli,” Mrs. Graf said. She did not know why the word hope struck a chord, but the one word that brought tremendous comfort to others gifted her with a visceral reaction.

  “Hope is not a strategy, Mrs. Graf. It’s a too damn passive approach to life,” Delphina snapped as she grabbed her bag a little more forcefully than intended. As Delphina left the office, Mrs. Graf shook her head, weary of the recalcitrant nature she had tried to soften over the past four years.

  On paper, Delphina looked forward to matriculating at the University of Houston. She looked forward to declaring an English major and to selecting her own classes. She looked forward to focusing on humanities, knowing that she would score high enough on her advanced placement exams to test out of the minimum mathematics and science credits she would need. She looked forward to the time between classes when she could do whatever the hell she wanted to do without someone asking for a hall pass or whether she had completed a ridiculous homework assignment that in no way made her a better thinker.

  Taking a deep breath, Delphina attempted her assignment despite her mind wandering to the recurring dream from the night before: the mansion, sterile with light radiating from every window. The colors made it more vivid. It was night, yet the sky was bright blue while the house was shrouded in darkness. She surmised it was an extension of the surrealist movement she recently studied in art history, Rene Magritte’s Empire of Lights seared in her mind from the moment her eyes rested on the work during a field trip to the Menil Museum.

  Well after her classmates had meandered to the other rooms, Delphina stood in front of the painting, even taking a seat on the floor with tears in her eyes, reconciling the familiarity of the house w
ith the one from her dreams. She begged her momma to drive her back to the Menil the weekend thereafter, Patricia well intentioned but puzzled at her daughter’s fixation. Delphina remained silent on the ride home to East Houston, pondering her attraction while clutching the tube that carried the poster of the work.

  Delphina made it through a few problems before the bell to sixth period sounded, prompting her to peer out the window and notice the clouds beginning to part, revealing exactly what she knew was there all along: a Magritte sky radiating peace for those who had the patience to wait.

  CADMUS

  Autumn 1992

  ROBERT WALKED INTO THE HOUSE, sorting through the mail as he made his way down the hall.

  “Another request for the home tour,” he read.

  Cadmus saw the Heights Association symbol on the letterhead as he carried a bottle of wine to the counter.

  “Throw it away,” Cadmus replied as Robert reached for two glasses high overhead in the cabinet.

  “Maybe it’s time to tell our story, your family’s story,” Robert suggested, resting the glasses on the counter.

  Times were slowly changing, the evolution for gay rights afoot. It saddened Cadmus to think that his mother had not lived to see it, for he regarded her as the first progressive he knew.

  He thought back to the call Mr. MacDougall had placed a few months ago regarding his granddaughter, who had applied to Rice University last year. MacDougall had remembered that Robert’s “friend,” the professor, taught at Rice University and hoped Cadmus could put in a good word or review her essay. Robert saw it as an opportunity to continue the merger of his worlds, happily making the introduction.

  Cadmus had attended only a few events at Robert’s firm since his remarkable victory years ago; the occasion of Robert’s victory had resulted in a fleeting tolerance after the AIDS epidemic, people fearful of the “gay disease.”