The Color of Home: A Novel (10 page)

“He saved you.”

“I wish he hadn’t.”

In front of the East Coast Grill, Brayden wrapped his arms around Sassa and pulled her close. “Thank you for telling me about the accident.”

“I’m glad I told you.” She loved when he hugged her from behind. In position to escape or lean into him, for the first time, the accident had no weight. The heaviness she’d experienced for years anytime she talked about it had lifted. What had happened? Leaning back, she said, “Let’s skip brunch, go back to your apartment, and spend the rest of the day in bed.” A wide grin spread across her face.

“Let me lead.” Sassa pulled Brayden toward the bed, unbuttoning and removing his oxford shirt along the way. “Lie down.” She pulled off his shoes, his socks, his pants, and his boxers. Without touching him, she bear-crawled up the bed directly over him, until her lips brushed his ear. She whispered, “I’m leaving now.”

He laughed. “Not a chance.” He reached up and pulled on the knot of her halter top.

“Hey, I’m leading. Put that back.”

He laughed again and re-tied the knot. “There you go.”

She rolled off the bed and, with a bounce in her step, walked over to the window. “Better air flow. By the way, I’ll start over each time you try to lead.”

“Oh.”

Slowly, she removed her halter top, her shorts, her panties, and pirouetted her way back to him. On top of him, she led through the first waves, guided by an unknown rhythm from deep within her, where trust was even more important than love. Why did she feel so strong, so in her skin? Turning over, she let him lead until they balanced out, equal in strength, equal in surrender, just equal. Afterwards, she nestled up against him. He’d done her a world of good; she’d done herself a world of good, too. She stroked his chest, intimate with gray hair for the first time.

“Can you do me a favor?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“I’ve never had a back massage.”

“Never?”

“Always said no in the past.”

“Roll over on your stomach.”

“It’s okay to do my whole back.”

After the massage, Sassa dozed off and fell into a deep sleep. She dreamed she was back in Indiana at a summer picnic on the lake with her extended family. Water skiing, she’d just completed a perfect jump off the ski ramp. Her dad, watching from the dock, sprung out of his lawn chair and lifted a piece of cardboard with the number “10” magic-markered on it. She woke convinced the picnic had actually happened, and draped her arm over Brayden.

Staring out his bedroom window, Brayden appeared to be deep in thought. “Would you like to meet my daughter?”

A couple of weeks later, Sassa’s stomach rumbled, chock-f of marbles jockeying for position, as the car pulled up to Chloe’s house early Saturday morning. Part of her wanted to meet Brayden’s daughter, but part of her didn’t. Why did he have to have a daughter? Why couldn’t she continue with him without any outside interruptions? Why couldn’t she have him all to herself?

On the way over, Brayden had filled in the details. Chloe lived with her mother, Juliet, in Somerville, in the same house Brayden and Juliet had purchased when they’d first married. They’d lived together seven years and had Chloe in year two. The marriage ended explosively one weekend after Juliet confronted him with two months of evidence she’d collected about a blonde coed. He’d denied the relationship at first, but later admitted to the infidelity, along with many others, in an hour-long acrimonious rage. During the blow-up, he’d accused Juliet of causing the affairs, along with every other one of their long list of marital problems. After the divorce, he vowed to never marry again.

Over the years, Chloe had come to forgive her father for his choices and felt grateful that he was consistently involved in her life. He shared custody with Juliet, and their proximity allowed flexibility. On a common week, he might spend time with Chloe two or three times for a quick dinner, a mall visit, or a trip to the cinema. In addition, he dedicated time to her every other weekend. In divorce, he’d become a good father.

When he’d first asked Chloe if she wanted to meet Sassa, Chloe had responded instantaneously with two questions: “How old is she and does she have blonde hair?”

Chloe scuffed out to the car, her mom watching from behind the screen door.

“It’s so early, Dad.”

“You can sleep in the back seat.”

Chloe slipped into the car. She bubbled a piece of gum until it broke.

“I’m Sassa. Nice to meet you.” Sassa reached back and shook Chloe’s hand.

They departed Cambridge for Mt. Wachusett. A cracked window diluted the smell of bubblegum. Sassa day-dreamed out the window, twirling her hair with one finger. The ride, the countryside, and the silence calmed her, helped her push her initial Chloe stuff below the surface; helped her remember what she’d been like as a teenager.

On the first day back to school after her family’s death, Sassa had stepped into the classroom, head down, and sensed the whisper-whisper increase. She’d scissored off her hair close to the scalp the day before, and was dressed in layers of black men’s clothing to hide her body. In the back of the room, two girls and a guy huddled and whispered.

Glaring right at them, she strode to the back of the room. “What are you saying about me?”

“Nothing,” the uglier of the two girls said. “Do you think you’re God or something and we, you know, have nothing better to do than talk about you?”

“Just look me in the eyes and say it. What are you afraid of?”

“Not you, that’s for sure.”

By that point, all of the kids in the room had hushed and turned toward the four of them. Sassa hated them all. She wanted to be left alone. Or better yet, to strike out and punch them. The teacher directed her to her desk.

After a short stomp to the front of the room, she slid into her seat. She bit her lip and salty blood flowed across her tongue. Anger tasted good. Underneath her desk, she pushed her open pen through her jeans, into her thigh, until she started to bleed.

She had stuff in common with Chloe.

“Lolo, we’re here. Start waking up,” Brayden announced softly.

“Dad, don’t call me that.”

“Sorry.”

Chloe stretched and yawned. “Do we have to go all the way to the top?”

“Let’s give it a try and see how it goes.”

After a quick consultation with one of the park rangers, the three of them reached the Harrington trailhead and began their two-hour hike to the summit. Chloe positioned herself between her dad and Sassa. They were the only ones on the trail. The smell of pine needles infused the crisp morning air. Temporally, the sun drew on the ground with maple and oak brushes.

“Do you know I call my dad Hank?” Chloe asked.

“Why?”

“Hank seems like a better name for a womanizer. My dad says you’re twenty-nine.”

“I am.”

“A little older than the girls he normally dates, though you’re still a blonde.”

“I’m glad you see me as different.”

“Too early to tell.”

“That’s fair. Maybe we can come back to your view after a couple of months and see what you think then?”

About fifty yards in front of them, a doe and her fawn crossed the trail, paused, and seemingly acquiesced. Sassa, Brayden, and Chloe froze, and didn’t make a sound until the doe led her baby into the woods, into safety. Brayden had warned Sassa that Chloe would likely test her at the start, so she entered the day ready for anything. She could handle Chloe; she was the older of the two.

“What do you do for work?” Chloe asked.

“I’m a chef. I’d be happy to make something with you in your dad’s kitchen sometime.”

“Restaurant girl. Not into cooking. Anyway, first let’s see how long you last. The odds are against you.”

“Chloe, there’s no need for that,” Brayden said.

“It’s okay. It’s another fair comment.”

Chloe ran her finger along her dad’s back and maneuvered to his other side, away from Sassa. “Why do you like Hank? He’s so much older than you.”

“Let’s see . . . where to start . . . He’s intelligent. He’s handsome. I learn from him. We like a lot of the same things.”

“And he’s good in bed. He sure has a lot of experience,” Chloe said.

Sassa took Brayden’s hand right before he was about to say something. She’d once marched in on her parents making love, and her father’s matter-of-fact handling of it had stuck with her ever since. Your mother and I are making love now. We’ll be done in an hour or so, so go ahead and read for a bit. Later, we can all go out to Sunday brunch together. “You’re right, Chloe. That’s an important part of any relationship and he’s good that way.”

“Look, Hank’s turning red,” Chloe sang out.

Sassa shot Brayden a look. She had this one. If Chloe was anything like her, it was best to deal with her head on. And she did know a few things about growing up without parents in the house. “It must have been hard for you when your parents split up.”

“Like death.”

“I get that. When I was a little younger than you, both of my parents and my sister died in a car accident. I know what you’re describing must have felt like death, but it’s not the same. You see your dad all the time and you live with your mom. I’d give anything to see my parents and sister again.”

“It felt like death.”

“I know. But it’s not,” Sassa said.

“Whatever.” Chloe reached over and grabbed her dad’s hand.

They continued to climb toward the summit. After Sassa told Chloe about her parents, the fabric of the conversation shifted to chitchat. School. Good ice cream places in Cambridge. Chloe’s love of soccer. An occasional mention of a boy. Throughout, Sassa remained calm, firm, wise, like her mother, and earned a pass for the rest of the day.

When they reached the summit, Sassa climbed onto the highest rock. She reached back to help Chloe up. Chloe took her hand and, avoiding a stumble along the way, pulled equal with Sassa. With an athletic jump, Brayden joined them. The weather, clear and sunny, allowed a view of Boston. The three of them stationed themselves and admired the city.

“It’s beautiful. I’ve never been here before,” Chloe said.

“My first time, too,” Sassa said.

“The city seems so small.”

“Distance will do that.”

Chloe went to the edge of the rock and took imaginary jump shots toward Boston. The starting guard on her high school team, she seemed to know what she was doing. “Do you like the Celtics?”

“I’m learning to.”

“Maybe we can go to a game sometime?”

“Sure. My treat.”

Brayden’s shoulders lifted and squared. His face glowed, making him appear ten years younger.

A month later on a late fall day, Brayden and Sassa wended along the Charles River promenade. The promenade brimmed with Harvard students walking, biking, or stealing sun one last time before winter arrived. Crew boats lined the water, a common sight that time of year, and centipeded down the river.

“Brayden, why are you with me?”

“I love spending time with you.”

“But why?”

“We’ve both grown.”

She had grown. She’d taken in all that Brayden offered during their first six months together. He taught her what he knew freely, openly, and supported her as her own ideas blossomed, especially when they differed from his own. But she’d also grown restless, unbalanced, like she’d taken too much and not given back, like on everything other than sex, she hadn’t met him in the middle. Had he grown? “I’ve grown for sure, and I’m thankful, but what do you get out of our relationship? How have you grown? Don’t you think it’s one-sided?”

“We’re in different places along the way, that’s all.”

“How so?”

“You’re searching for something, but you aren’t sure what that means yet. You know there’s more for you out there, but you’re not sure how to find your way.”

“Did you find your way?”

He reached over and put his arm around her. “It’s taken me a long time, but yes, I did that here. So, our time together has helped both of us figure things out. Now I’m helping you find your way.”

“That’s enough?”

“It is right now.”

“But not in the long run?”

“Who’s to say that the most meaningful relationships in life are those that last the longest, anyway? Two people can come together for a short time, and their experience can be profound. Sometimes lives cross in ways unanticipated, with depth, with love, and that shakes up everything.”

“Agreed.”

“When that happens, as it has for us, it’s an extraordinary gift of healing and clarity.”

“Agreed.”

“Wow, you agreed with me twice in a minute.”

“Every now and then.”

“We should cherish and nurture the gift until it runs its course. And when it does, we should let it go.”

“And to think you’re a math geek.”

“Every now and then.”

She slid her finger through the belt loop in the back of his pants, one of her favorite things to do when they walked. The promenade faded from view. Warmth radiated throughout her body. Weightless and at the same time connected, the silence filled her up as they made their way toward the Mass. Ave. bridge. Close to the bridge, they rested on a riverbank bench. The sound of moving water made her sleepy. Her voice deepened, like she’d just woken up, as she said, “I love you.”

Brayden draped his arm over her shoulder, and caressed it with one finger for a long time. “I love you too . . . but you’re passing through, Sassa. At some point, I won’t be on the path of most resistance. We both know that time is coming. ”

She glanced out. A flock of geese skated to a stop on the river. Their landings were beautiful; the water was like ice until they skid to a stop and sank. “Do you mind if I take Chloe shopping on Saturday? Girls day out, my treat.”

“She would love that.”

A few weeks later, Sassa slouched down next to Brayden on the floor and leaned against his sofa. The Celtics-Knicks game held his attention, with the Knicks leading by a point in the fourth quarter. With both hands, she raised his hand to her lips and kissed it. Leather, Musgo Real, and chalk—a combination she’d come to love. Ever since they first talked about it, the thought of moving on had taken hold and burrowed into her mind, until the fear was almost gone, until she could hold continuing on the path of most resistance and losing Brayden romantically as the right choice.