The Colour of Broken

by Amelia Grace

  I stood tall and looked in the mirror. I held my eyes in my own before I looked to my right cheek. And there it was, partly exposed from my tear. The scar. The scar of terror and broken dreams. I lifted my chin in defiance and applied the make-up. I was good at making the scar look invisible. Three years’ experience works a treat. I moved my face from the left to the right, checking my scrupulous application.

  I took a deep, calming breath and left the powder room and walked back to the workbench. Gramps was sitting in the corner on a chair, his hand under his chin. ‘Sorry,’ he mouthed.

  I gave him a thumbs-up. I couldn’t speak to him. Not yet.

  I gathered the white peonies, blinking away my tears. Gram didn’t deserve this. Bad things aren’t meant to happen to good people. And Gram was the best. I grabbed a white square tin as a vase and placed the peonies into it. White on white. Pure white. Pure. Like Gram’s heart.

  Gramps was in front of me then. ‘Beautiful. Thank you.’

  ‘Created with unending love, for Gram.’ I sniffed an ugly sniff, trying to stop the flow of tears. ‘I want to know the details of the tests ... when it’s just you and me. Come at closing time.’

  Gramps swallowed. ‘That would be best. I’ll be here.’

  I walked around the workbench to Gramps and pulled him into a tight hug. ‘Good things are coming. We have to believe it.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Give my love to Gram. Tell her I’m thinking of her every minute of every day, and sending healing, Godspeed.’

  Gramps pressed his lips together and picked up the peonies. ‘I will. Love you, Yolande.’

  He left through the front double doors. He stopped at the bicycle and ran his hand over the handlebars with a look of despair. He shook his head, took a deep breath and walked off.

  Flowers for Fleur. Love for Fleur. A cure for Fleur ...

  I brushed my hands down my apron and closed my eyes. I had to be strong. For Gram.

  I walked to the sales desk. Jobs to do. People to serve. With kindness and a smile.

  Like Gram. For Gram.

  ‘Flowers, tea, coffee or books?’ The man who stood before me was in good physical shape. A gym junkie to be succinct. He was the colour of dark orange: deceit.

  ‘Since I’m florally repenting, I’ll need flowers,’ he said without blinking.

  ‘Florally repenting?’ I asked, filled with disbelief at the words I heard.

  ‘Aaah ... yes.’ He placed his hands into his pockets. He wasn’t florally repenting at all.

  ‘Really?’ I narrowed my eyes at him.

  He touched his mouth then frowned. ‘Yes ... yes I am.’ He pointed as he spoke. Liar. He needed a good dose of flowers for a fibber.

  I looked down and nodded my head. ‘For him?’ I knew it would be a she, but I wanted to stir him a little.

  His eyes bulged for a fraction of a second before he stepped back, looked away and shook his head. ‘Always for a woman,’ he said, his voice stressed.

  ‘Repenting, as in an apology?’

  ‘Hmmm ... no. I’m not sorry for what I did.’

  I tilted my head to the side a little and frowned at him. ‘I’m confused ... you’re ... florally repenting, but you’re ... not sorry—is that correct?’

  ‘Exactly.’ He raised his eyebrows at me.

  ‘So ... these flowers are to—’

  ‘Say sorry for what I did, even though I’m not sorry. But I need to act sorry for hurting her feelings,’ he explained.

  ‘Because ...’

  ‘To look good in front of her friends, and to make her look good in front of her friends. It’s simple.’

  ‘Clearly.’ Not. I frowned. ‘You’re in luck today. I’ve created a display of “sorry” bouquets, over in the right corner of the store.’ I pointed to the colourful tulips, perfect for apologies.

  He looked over and smiled, then pulled out cash to pay for his floral repentance.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, and watched him sashay over to choose a bunch of tulips. He chose white, and left the store.

  Arms wrapped around me from behind and I stiffened. ‘Are you okay?’ It was Charlotte. I hoped my chest scar couldn’t be seen.

  ‘Yes, just confused,’ I said, and pulled the top of my dress over my chest higher to make sure my scar was hidden.

  ‘Confused?’ Charlotte repeated.

  ‘Yes. That guy wanted to say sorry for what he did, even though he wasn’t sorry. He said he was “florally repenting”, to use his term ... can you believe it?’ I shrugged my shoulders. ‘He’s bad news!’

  ‘Hmmm ... wouldn’t it be good if women saw a warning colour or something with those types,’ Charlotte said.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, and raised my eyebrows. What would she say if she knew of my colour visions?

  ‘And then we would all stay away from those deceitful “bad boys”,’ she said.

  ‘Absolutely,’ I agreed. Mia liked those smooth, deceitful, bad boys. She revelled in playing the flirting game with them. That’s how we got into our situation on that terrible day of the scars. Only, she didn’t realise how truly bad those two men were, until it was too late ...

  ‘Thanks for coming in again, Charlotte. If it was just me and Darcy, I’d go insane!’

  ‘I don’t know ...’ Charlotte looked over at Darcy. ‘A good-looking man in the kitchen who can make a killer coffee and bake cakes is a win-win, I think.’

  I looked over at Darcy. He was a keeper. My protector in the store and therefore my hero. ‘Yep. He has all the boxes ticked for husband material,’ I said.

  Charlotte looked at me. ‘Your husband?’

  ‘No.’ My eyebrows snapped together and I shook my head. He knew too much about me and what I had been through. ‘He feels like ... a big brother to me.’

  Charlotte tilted her head to the side and considered him. ‘Maybe for you, but I think he’s rather cute!’ She waggled her eyebrows at me.

  I smiled at her and picked up a piece of paper. ‘Here’s your list of jobs to do between flower sales. It’s considerably less than yesterday—so it’s a bit of a cruisy day!’ I smirked at her, then walked away to the workbench. It felt like I had a trillion orders to make and have delivered.

  *~*~*~*~*

  The rain started its gentle pitter-patter when I closed the store doors at 5pm. By the time Gramps arrived at 6pm, it was a heavy and burdensome deluge, apt for Tarrin’s “more”.

  Gramps shrugged off his coat and hung it in the wet room. I walked over and embraced him. When I stepped back, I watched as he wiped a tear from under his eye.

  I felt an ache at the back of my throat as I tried to stop my sadness from surfacing. ‘Tea?’

  ‘That would be best.’

  I walked over to Darcy. He should have left by now. But I had been here long enough to know that he never left before me—like my security guard. I assumed he did that for Gram as well.

  ‘I’ll bring you a large pot of tea, two teacups and cupcakes. Sit by the window,’ he said with soulful eyes.

  ‘Thanks, Darcy. Are you a mind reader?’

  ‘No. Just observative. When your Gramps walked in at 6pm, he could only be here to have a conversation with you that can’t be said on the phone ... tea is liquid wisdom, it will help you through the conversation ...’

  My stomach quivered. I had invited Gramps back to the store because I needed to face him and read his emotions while he spoke. I twisted my fingers together. ‘I’ll clean up after we finish. Or maybe ... I will sit and wallow and scoff the rest of your cupcakes ...’

  Darcy raised an eyebrow at me. ‘You know that Yolande with a belly full of cupcakes is bad news. I suggest you refrain from over-indulging on my baking, for the sake of everyone you know.’

  ‘Advice heard and considered ... time for tea with Gramps. See you tomorrow!’ I placed my hand on his arm. His skin was warm and sent me a strange soothing comfort, like having a warm blanket wrapped around me on a freezing winter’s day.

  Wh
en I turned to my preferred table, Gramps was already sitting there, looking out the window, lost in his thoughts. I took one step towards him and stopped.

  Anxiety rumbled in my stomach. I stretched my hands to use some excess energy from the anxiety, then continued my path to sit opposite Gramps.

  Darcy placed our teapots, teacups and cupcakes onto the table once I had sat down. Gramps turned his attention to the teapot. He turned it three times to the left, and three times to the right, then poured our tea.

  ‘Meniere’s disease,’ Gramps said, stirring sugar into his amber brew.

  ‘Many what?’ I picked up my teacup and wrapped my hands around it, absorbing all the warmth I could while a shiver ran down my spine. Gram has a disease ...

  ‘Meniere’s disease,’ Gramps repeated. ‘There’s no cure.’

  Everything inside and outside of me froze. Except the tear that slid down my face. On that side of my face, revealing my past. ‘No cure!’ I said in a whisper that cracked my heart. I put my teacup back onto the table.

  ‘Debilitating vertigo, hearing loss, tinnitus, nausea, brain fog, loss of balance, depression—’

  ‘Gram will go deaf?’ I stood with an abruptness that caused my chair to fall backward onto the floor, landing with a bang. ‘She can’t, Gramps—she lives to hear your voice. It’s how you met. When you sing, she floats around with a beautiful smile on her face and ... and—’

  ‘That’s enough, Yolande! Sit down and listen.’ Gramps ran his hand over his face.

  My expression fell as I up-righted the chair and sat on it gingerly. I wrapped my hands around my teacup again, lifted it to my lips and took a sip. A long sip.

  My erratic heart rate returned to a calmer beat, and I watched Gramps stir his tea, unnecessarily.

  ‘How did Gram get this ... this ... Meniere’s disease?’ I asked.

  ‘No cause,’ he said. His voice was low.

  ‘No cause, no cure!’ I pinched my eyebrows together in frustration, then wiped a tear from my face.

  ‘Yesss ...’ It was an exasperated yes from Gramps. He put his hands over his eyes. ‘One of the tests was brutal, Landi ...’ He dragged his hands over his nose until they rested together in front of his lips, like he was praying.

  ‘What did they do?’

  ‘It was an electronically controlled chair that rotated from side to side ... Gram had a severe vertigo episode because of it.’

  ‘But that’s good ... right?’

  ‘I guess so. The doctors could truly see how debilitating her vertigo was.’

  ‘Where’s Gram now?’

  ‘In hospital. She’s been started on some new medications to see if it helps alleviate the symptoms.’

  ‘And if it doesn’t?’

  ‘Once they have exhausted all oral medications, comes the invasive intervention—grommets, injections into the middle ear, a vestibular nerve section, where they cut the balance nerve to the affected ear ... or they remove the inner ear, Yolande ... remove it!’ Gramps frowned and shook his head, then continued, ‘A labyrinthectomy—’

  He stopped speaking and looked out the window. ‘Why has this happened to my beautiful Fleur? Why is this ... this ... Meniere’s disease even in existence? Why can’t the doctors fix it?’ Gramps took a long, deep breath, and looked back at me. ‘What are we going to do, Andi?’

  There. Right there. That is when the heavy weight fell onto my shoulders and crushed me, and any hope I had of returning to my career. I looked out at the storm. I missed my old job. I missed the high security. I missed my uniform. I missed my dog tags, and I missed everyone I worked with. I especially missed the intense meetings at the round table.

  After an almighty boom of thunder, the rain stopped. The storm clouds broke, and a rainbow appeared. Perhaps it was a sign. A promise. Gram would make it through her storm.

  What are we going to do, Andi? I looked back at Gramps and put my hand over his. ‘We give to Gram what she has always given others—love, care, kindness and hope. We take each day as it comes and work together to get Gram well again, even doing our own research to find something that will help her. She needs to know, above all else, that we are here for her, fighting the battle with her, and that she’s never alone,’ I said with resolution.

  A tear rolled down Grampapa’s face. My chest tightened, and I swallowed the sob that rose from my chest. He looked into my eyes and gave me a nod.

  ‘Let’s celebrate, Gramps,’ I said, eyeing off the cupcakes.

  ‘How can you even think of celebrating after this news?’ His voice cracked.

  ‘The doctors know what Gram has, and that means we can educate ourselves about the disease and start to work towards her wellness. That’s what we’re celebrating!’ I handed him a cupcake. He held it up and I touched my cupcake against his.

  ‘To Gram!’ I said, then shoved the entire cupcake into my mouth and savoured the taste.

  Chapter Eighteen

  GRAMPAPA’S OPERATIC SINGING FILLED THE HOUSE. I could see Gram, but she couldn’t see me. She was sitting in her teal-blue wing chair. Her dress was a beautiful combination of

  pastel colours with its floral pattern, as it should be, since

  Gram is Fleur the florist from Flowers for Fleur. Her dyed blonde hair fell gently around her face, making her stunning blue eyes stand out.

  ‘I hope you don’t have those ugly work boots on, Yolande!’ she called. She was the colour of a fuscia lipstick kiss of family, warmth, acceptance, and unconditional love.

  I smiled to myself and looked down at my feet. Yep, there were my work boots; steel-capped and capable of inflicting serious pain, enabling me time to get away from any assailant who decided I was the weaker sex and thus fair game. I lifted my boot up and stretched it from behind the wall so she could see it.

  ‘I demand you remove them at once, young lady!’ she said.

  I stepped out in front of her, grinning from ear to ear. She was being bossy. That meant she was feeling better. Maybe the medications the doctor had her on were working. I twirled around in my dress—a black floor length, high neck, sleeveless gown to hide my safety boots and the scar on my chest. It was perfect.

  ‘Yolande ... you look stunning! Are you going somewhere?’

  I walked over to her and curtsied before I gave her the ballet ticket. ‘Yes. I’m going to the ballet ... with you.’

  ‘Caleb Lawrence, come here at once!’ Gram called.

  Gramps stopped singing. He was in trouble. Big trouble.

  ‘You should keep your natural hair colour, dear.’ Gram’s comment to me was curt. She was annoyed.

  ‘No Gram. I like my hair dark.’ I had dyed my blonde hair dark brown after that terrible day of the scars. Dark haired girls didn’t get the amount of attention that blonde haired girls did, in my experience. And I liked it that way. It made me feel safer.

  Gramps stopped before Gram with a tea towel over his shoulder. ‘Yes, dear?’ He was the colour of blue, like a clear sky, giving a sense of peace and calm.

  ‘You knew about this ... this ... ballet scheme.’ Gram waved her hand in the air. ‘That’s why you said I should dress up tonight ... and the candlelit dinner ... it was all a part of the plan, wasn’t it?’

  ‘No, Gram,’ I butted in. ‘Xander left tickets for the ballet in the flowers of your bicycle. It’s a thank you gift for allowing him to use your bicycle. It was my idea for Gramps to do the candlelit dinner and to dress up ... I thought you might stress about going out to the ballet if you knew too soon ... and it might ... you know ...’

  ‘Oh, Landi ... that’s so sweet of Xander. But I can’t go ... just in case of ... you know ...’

  ‘I know. But your medication is working, and you sound like your normal self ... I have arranged the seating so we’re close to an exit, just in case of ... you know ...’

  Gram stared at me as though my words were toxic. But she stood, as if testing how she was feeling. She closed her eyes for a moment and let out a sigh. ‘No. I’m sorry.
I just can’t do it, in case of ... you know ...’

  ‘But Gram ... look at you—you are radiant and standing taller than I’ve seen you stand for a while now. Some of the research about Meniere’s disease says the vertigo comes in clusters and then goes away for a while. You might even be in remission now that you’ve started on some medication ...’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you love the ballet ... remember when I was young, and we would see every ballet that came to the theatre with my mother, and she would sit there giving me a million reasons why I should choose a career in ballet instead of engineering.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No, you don’t remember, or no, you won’t go.’

  A tear ran down Gram’s cheek. I had said too much. ‘No. I won’t go.’

  I closed my eyes and brushed my hand across my forehead.

  ‘It’s fear, Yolande. I know you will understand, perfectly.’

  I turned away from her and caught my tears on my fingers.

  ‘Too well,’ I said, my voice quiet.

  ‘Please face me when you speak, so I can hear you...’

  I turned back to her. Gram was losing her hearing. ‘How long have you had this disease for?’

  ‘Seven years. I managed to hide it from everyone except Gramps. But it’s getting worse instead of better. At least I have a name for it now.’

  ‘And medication that can help,’ I added.

  Gram gave me a weak smile.

  ‘Surely your fear of spinning, and my fear of being attacked, combined, will make us a dynamic duo.’

  ‘More like a formidable one ... aaah—yes, I’ll go to the ballet with you. If you’re digging deep for courage, then I can do that too! Besides ... the medication is making me feel better.’

  I held out my hand to Gram. She took it in hers. ‘I’ll look after you,’ I said.

  ‘I know.’ Gram squeezed my hand. The same hand that Mia once held on to ...

  ‘We’d better get going then. Gramps, will you drive us to the theatre? I don’t think my bicycle is built for two girls with party dresses!’ I said.