Cadmus sat in the nook, his books strewn about and hair disheveled.
“And I do think you would feel better if you had a bath.”
“You’re not going to bathe me!” he barked in astonishment.
“No, sir, I wasn’t planning on it. I can call a nurse to assist you a few times a week.”
Cadmus struggled to find the words to respond. He nodded his head without looking at her, grateful that she left the house without saying another word. He thought they had anticipated it all when it came to their end-of-life plans, mostly due to Robert’s unwavering pragmatism to direct the course of their lives. All their papers were in order, everything taken care of to authorize one another to act as a spouse needs to act in the resolution of affairs. They had even talked about The Oaks, a luxury senior center, should the time come when their needs exceeded their desire to reside at home. They did not know how they would enter as a same-sex couple, the buzz that would certainly stir up the place. Robert’s death had resolved that final loose thread.
In his heart, Cadmus thought he would be devastated if Robert predeceased him, but intellectually he recalled that he had spent his first thirty-seven years without a life partner. He figured he would find his solitary path once again, albeit in deep mourning. A part of him believed Robert’s death would usher his own, so he would not have too long to suffer. What he did not anticipate were the waves of overwhelming agony he would feel after losing his soul mate or that time remained stagnant, that a day felt like a week.
He also did not realize that grieving would conjure more guilt over Ilona. Now that he knew the misery firsthand, he could not believe what his mother had endured for so many years after his father passed, and she had to look two children in the eye the entire time, two souls who carried her husband’s life force. Contrary to what his sister believed, Ilona had not been weak. She held together as best she could, creating a stable place for her children with her volunteer work to keep her busy when they were at school. All the while, beneath her placid mien was a tormented soul, one whose actions led to the death of her husband. And then her support for her son correlated with an alienation from her daughter. Cadmus was amazed that, even at his age, life mercilessly continued to deepen his understanding of her suffering.
DELPHINA
Spring 2014
DELPHINA KNEW AINSLEY WOULD BE fast asleep by the time she arrived at their bungalow, buttered up with lemon and lavender lotion from the farmer’s market. She opened the garage door leading to the house, preparing herself for Victor’s questions. He did not understand why she spent so much time at work at night, and a hint of jealousy started to color his questions.
Hearing Patsy Cline’s voice gave her confidence as she opened the screen door. Seated at the back porch table with a Lone Star, Victor’s eyes squinted as he carefully cut another wing from the sheet of balsa wood.
“The plane is coming along well?” Delphina asked, making her way over to him.
“The novelty wore off with Ainsley after about … ummm … five minutes?” he replied, continuing with the X-Acto knife, not taking his eyes off the wing. “And that’s a generous estimation.”
“I’m slower than molasses tonight,” she said with her best accent, hands rubbing the back of his shoulders. “Forgive me.”
He laid down the knife and lowered his head.
“You been keepin’ me so long, I think my pickle’s been dilled.”
“Your pickle? Hmmm … I think that crosses the line.”
“What? My grandmother used to say it!”
“Even more troublesome.”
Victor’s snicker gave way to a hearty round of laughter, Delphina joining in. She took a seat next to him at the table, and placing her hands over his, she tried again, “I’m sorry I’m so late.”
“I accept,” he said before adding playfully, “and you can make it up to me by flipping the vinyl and bringing me another Lone Star.”
Delphina returned after a few minutes, placing two beers on the table, much to his surprise.
“You’re drinking one?”
“It’s good to do new things. Dance with me,” she replied, as Patsy sang about searching for love.
“You’re not gonna tell the guys I drink this stuff, are you?” he asked, rising to lead her in a two-step around the porch.
“Hmmm … now I can’t make any promises, Mr. Walsh.”
“Now there’s nothin’ wrong wit a good ol’ bottle of Lone Star,” Victor teased in his grandfather’s twang, lifting Delphina’s arm to give her a twirl.
“Are you with me now? Or are you at your grandfather’s ranch enjoyin’ a bottle of Coca-Cola while he’s sippin’ a cold one?”
“Oh, I’m with you now, where I am meant to be,” he said, drawing her in for a kiss.
THE MANSION WAS ILLUMINATED AGAINST the dark sky, but this time the front door remained wide open with shouts emanating from within. The boy appeared in one of the windows, with dark hair and wide brown eyes staring at her as she was seated in a car, his palms pressed flat against the upstairs window. Delphina bolted upright and noted it was just after two o’clock in the morning. She walked to the alarm pad and then to the living room, starting her routine to the garden.
She heard a thud at the front door that caused her body to jerk as a reflex. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the reflection; it was times like these that she wished they had a solid door. Peering out the glass door, she noted an empty yard and street, but as she looked down at the porch, she noted two dead birds in front of the bay window. A small yellow-breasted bird lay cradled on its side facing a much larger black bird; the larger bird was resting flat on its back with its head facing the other one. The reason for the loud thud.
What an odd combination, Delphina thought as she opened the door and knelt, studying them with sympathy and fascination, the morbid curiosity of death hooking her attention with the unusual sight. They resembled a mother and child in their final rest. The likelihood of such an occurrence, especially at night, was difficult to fathom. She thought, perhaps, we all seek that in our moments of despair—to know that we are loved and that we are not alone—even if that love comes from a stranger in your moment of need. She thought back to a Buddhist writing about seeing your parents’ face in everyone. There are no strangers, really. Then it occurred to her that she had never looked up the meaning of dead birds in dreams.
She returned to the house, tiptoeing into Ainsley’s room to kiss her cheek. Her connection with her daughter pulsated through her being, and she felt guilty that she had once questioned if she could really love a girl child. It was as if they were meant to be a pair.
Delphina pecked away on her laptop, overwhelmed at the number of interpretations of black birds in dreams. Positive and negative; freedom and shackles: She could not discover much on her own other than that it might serve her well to seek guidance. And as much as she tried to disregard the advertisement for a psychic in the lower right-hand corner, it continued to appear throughout her research, despite her attempts to click it away from the screen.
DELPHINA WAS THANKFUL FOR THE drive through the hill country, the nightmare of the mansion robbing her of another night’s sleep. Her heart longed to bring peace to the little boy who was appearing more and more often in her dreams, his face filled with pain and longing. Time in nature would serve her well.
She attempted to still her mind, taking in the wildflowers that draped the countryside with seas of color—vibrant yellow, fiery orange, and midnight blue flooding the landscape. It was only when people stopped to take the obligatory family photograph in a blanket of bluebonnets that they noticed the individuality of each stem. Each flower, unique and purposeful in its own way, joined the chorus of flowers that bloomed every spring.
“Look, let’s head over there,” Delphina gestured to Victor as he clumsily balanced Ainsley in his arms. Contriving a carefree child’s pose in bluebonnets, as many Texan mothers know, can be quite difficult. The sea of blue
that appears as delicate as a watercolor is only a sheer cover for the patches of stickers that serve as a haven for rattlesnakes. Quite a contrast from the idyllic street view, and it was one whose symbolism was not lost on Delphina. Battles, both large and small, are often waged under a calm countenance.
She carefully navigated her steps, pausing at what might be a contending area for the photograph, a small clearing about a foot and a half wide. Delphina laid her daughter’s favorite baby blanket on the ground, a faded pink cotton that would blend in with her dress from afar. A good choice visually, but now as Ainsley whined about the stickers, Delphina realized that maybe the blanket would also offer a bit of solace, just enough to score a good photograph.
Victor lowered his daughter to the blanket, offering a kiss of encouragement for her to let go, but her arms remained locked, clinging stubbornly to his neck. Delphina swooped in to position her bow, offering animated reminders that the Blue Bell Creamery was a stone’s throw away and that surely there was an ice cream with her name on it.
“Really? How do they know to put my name on it? How can they write on ice cream? With icing?” The comment did the trick. Ainsley released her grip and allowed her mother to position her on the blanket, captivated by the idea of personalized ice cream.
“It’s a figure of speech. Your name will not literally be on it.”
“C’mon, Ainsley. Deli, move to the side. Ready … Say mint chocolate chip!”
After a series of shots, interrupted by comments about ice cream flavors, how many samples are offered, and several readjustments to the pale pink hair bow, Victor eventually scanned the photographs and gave a thumb’s up. It was time to get ice cream.
“Are you sure you captured some good ones? Let me look through the photos, just for a second. We’re here, after all, and we can always squeeze in another round if need be.” Delphina’s attempts to sound casual fell flat.
“Nope, not this time. We have some good ones. Remember, it does not need to be perfect.” He held her gaze for a few seconds before picking up Ainsley and abruptly turning toward the car.
As he tilted his head to follow Ainsley’s finger that was pointing toward the sky, she caught a glimpse of his cheek. He was not as annoyed with her as she had incorrectly assumed. His dimples unapologetically revealed a good mood, betraying his attempt to feign frustration. Victor must have felt her gaze, because he turned back to offer a wink before mouthing the words, Let’s go.
Delphina smiled and bent down to collect the blanket. Her eyes were distracted by an elderly couple slowly making their way across the field, arms linked in a sturdy embrace intended equally for affection and stability, with a twenty-something man leading closely in front, camera in tow. They wore smartly pressed, pastel yellow Oxford-style shirts, with a three-quarter inch sleeve and a strand of pearls on the lady that offered a subtle, feminine contrast. An anomaly in this crowd of young families, the wind tousled the woman’s fine hair as she gingerly made each step on the uneven ground, offering furtive smiles as she spoke to the man who appeared to be her husband. The creases in the corners of his eyes indicated he was smiling broadly, although it was difficult to see with her windblown hair masking part of his face. Delphina wondered if she and Victor would one day resemble this couple—so seemingly content and peaceful in old age. They were a striking couple in the way that some elderly people are: silver hair, lean physique, wrinkles that reflected a lifetime more of delight than struggle. As much as Delphina loved Victor, she could not imagine growing old with him. She feared it was a sign that life planned to intervene and cut their time short.
As she bent down to shake out the blanket, Delphina’s bracelet fell to the ground. Carefully kneeling to reach for it, she brushed up against a particularly full bluebonnet, standing proud with a slight lean to the left as if nodding in salutation to the sun. Its petals looked more periwinkle than the cobalt hue admired from a distance, and its symmetry was askew with fine, intricate petals missing on each level. Whether it was natural or the tromping of photography subjects that had caused the bloom’s variation, she could not tell. What she did know, however, was that the intentional design was evident, a microcosmic blueprint of the universe.
“C’mon, Deli, let’s go,” Victor called as he opened the car door, breaking her reverie. “It’s time for Blue Bell.”
Delphina smiled to herself as she headed back to the car, reminded of her childhood fascination with nature that was more like a secret to which only she was privy. Amid the seemingly random conglomeration of life events, there is a foundation that is ever present to those who pause long enough to see it. The bluebonnet field emanated this message, but it was difficult to notice when competing with ice cream, perfectly pressed clothes, and the search for the quintessential photograph.
She approached the car and touched her daughter’s face as it peered through the open window.
“Do you have any idea how much I love you, Ainsley?”
“Mommy, I have a question. Will your ice cream say Delphina or Mommy?”
CADMUS
Spring 2014
“HELLOOOO? DR. DOYLE?” THE NURSE called from the hallway.
“Yes, in here,” Cadmus replied from the library nook.
“Thank heavens!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been calling for several minutes.”
“I didn’t hear you,” he snapped. “Perhaps it would be a good idea if you called. I didn’t expect you today.”
“Dr. Doyle, I come every day,” she replied, looking at the photo albums strewn about the room. “May I put these away? I’m afraid you might trip over them.”
“Do not put them away; just stack them into piles,” he barked, holding on to an open album, staring at family pictures.
“Was that your mother?” She asked, finger tapping one of the photographs.
“Was? This is my mother,” he corrected. “She’s looking for me.”
The nurse stared at him, not knowing how to respond.
“She is the best person I know. And I treated her terribly that last day.”
The nurse sat in the chair next to him, placing her hand on his forearm.
“I believe that she knows you love her and that you are sorry,” she said with a quiet confidence.
With a furrowed brow, he nodded his head while keeping his eyes on the photograph, “I hope so. I plan to tell her myself when she finds me.”
The nurse patted Cadmus’ forearm, caressing it as he began to weep.
“Let me help you to bed, Doctor,” she soothed.
A few tears fell on the photograph as he shook his head no. Using the sleeve of his pajamas, he wiped it dry.
“I do think you will feel better after a nap. Please let me help you.”
“Leave me the fuck alone!” Cadmus screamed with wild eyes as he threw the photo album at her.
She hurried from the home and placed a call to Clementine. It was time for her to find another nurse.
HE CARRIED HIS HANDKERCHIEF, DABBING his eyes while he damned the Greek blood that ran through his veins. His grandparents had lived well into their eighties, staring through their window at Lawndale, keeping an eye out for their children who passed before them, Arianna the last child remaining.
“Your suite is the largest they offer, but it is not big enough to house everything. Choose carefully,” Clementine said as they made their way through The Doyle House, Cadmus placing his hand on the pieces he wanted to take with him.
It took them most of the afternoon, Cadmus first selecting a table and lamp from the sitting room, as well as the loveseat upon which Dear Ernestine had stroked his mother’s face when she arrived home that fateful night. She had not realized her husband was dead when he watched her from the staircase; her tears were a result of the exposed infidelity.
The library contained most of furnishings he wanted to keep, including his father’s mahogany desk and the two chairs tucked in the nook, along with the liquor cabinet, sofa, and tables that marked the contents of a roo
m that had served as the epicenter for generations of Doyles. He nodded at her mention of the rugs, and of course, he wanted his husband’s paintings. The second and third floor held little interest for him, but he did take a few pieces here and there.
Cadmus returned to his place in the nook, looking at the roses swaying in the breeze. No one other than a Doyle had lived in this home since its creation. He did not know what to think of the realtor’s sign in the yard, but he had enough wits about him to know it meant dollar signs. Dollar signs meant Ilona’s legacy would continue. In addition to another scholarship, he pledged the money for a new, twenty-first century media center. The Doyle-McClelland Foundation would serve the students of Heights High for many generations to come.
DELPHINA
Summer 2014
GENTLE SCENTS OF OILS SURROUNDED Delphina as she entered the store. For a moment, she stood still, taking in the new environment that was in strong contrast to the noisy strip outside. It was a feast for the senses—a CD of waves crashing into the ocean and crystals in the window case reflecting the natural light, one in particular that claimed to foster creativity. For a moment, she considered purchasing it to help with her own writing. Perhaps the crystal would nudge her in the right direction. She laughed to herself at how seamless the transition from skeptic to participant was when hope could be made tangible with a crystal.
“May I help you?”
“No. I mean, yes.” Delphina felt her face reddening. “Yes, please.”
The woman smiled warmly, an authentic smile that was not often given, which made Delphina think there might be something to say about the power of crystals. This woman radiated a sense of peace, someone who would not scoff at wonderings of dead birds in dreams, someone who just might inherently understand her fascination with pattern, with purpose.
Drops of Cerulean: A Novel Page 35