Color the Sidewalk for Me (11 page)

“Whew!” I gasped, drawing an arm across my face and whipping back my hair. I glanced at Danny. “You're soaked.”

“So are you.”

I examined my clothes in exasperation. “I can't seem to run into you without lookin' like a drowned rat.”

“It don't matter; you're still beautiful.”

My eyes jerked to his face, but he was already in profile, keenly aware of crossing a line. A splinter dug at my chest as he flushed with embarrassment as if he'd done something wrong. Why did I keep going back to when he'd punched Gerald Henley in the nose? I felt now as I did then—wanting to put my arm around Danny and tell him to relax, everything would be all right.

“Thank you,” I said quietly. And that was that.

Lying in bed that night, gazing at the gleam across my ceiling cast from the corner streetlight, I played that moment over and over again in my head.
It don't matter; you're still beautiful.
The window was open a little, emitting a humid breeze that smelled of rain. Fingering the tiny stitches on my Appalachian quilt, I remembered the warm clasp of Danny's hand when he'd pulled me up after the torrent had passed. As soon as I was on my feet, he'd quickly let go, busy with gathering his pole and tackle box.

How long had we been under the trees? It seemed five minutes but it must have been more like forty-five. We talked about Kevy. I told him about my brother's return from the hospital and what I'd felt when he was missing from our supper table. I thanked Danny again for what he did. He responded that if it hadn't been for me, both he and Kevy would have drowned. We also talked about school, teachers we liked, teachers we hated. I said Mr. Rose was someone I respected but didn't explain why. As for Miss Hemington, no wonder she still wasn't married; she was a witch underneath that perky little face. He laughed at that.

“I threw mashed potatoes on her once,” he said.

“No, you didn't. You slung 'em at the ceilin' and they fell back down on her nose.”

He was sitting with arms wrapped around his knees. “You remember that?”

“Of course, Danny. Everybody does. We remember lots of things you did.”

He let a hand fall to pluck an acorn from the grass. “I'll bet.”

There we were, hitting that wall of his again. I'd been thinking of his antics and victories on the baseball field; he was remembering the fights over his daddy.

Neither of us had wanted to leave but I didn't dare push it with Mama. I casually mentioned I might go fishing again next Saturday if she allowed it. Danny shrugged, saying he might mosey on back if his chores were done.

I rubbed my quilt, wondering if Mama would let me go. Surely she'd guess Danny would be there. And I'd have no excuse this time; I'd brought the bucket and pole home.

Mama did let me go the following week, but only with Kevy as chaperone. He didn't mind cutting into his play hours with Reid Barth; to Kevy, time alone with his sister was a treat. However, he was, as Mama ordered emphatically, to stay on the bank. She also instructed him not to leave my side. Kevy shrugged at this further directive, unaware of her pointed look at me as she proclaimed it.

Shortly after we arrived at the river, Danny showed up “unexpectedly.” Kevy was thrilled, carelessly tossing down his new pole to hug his rescuer with unabashed adoration.

“Danny and I are going to sit under some shade around that bend for a little while,” I told Kevy, pointing upstream.

His eyes widened. “But I'm supposed to stay with you.”

“You'll be all right.” I ruffled his hair. “You're not goin' in the water, are you?”

“No way.”

“All right, then. It'll be our secret. You can't tell Mama.”

Guilt flicked across his forehead, dusted his freckled cheeks, then was gone. He shrugged. “Okay. I'm big enough to fish by myself anyhow.”

“School's out in two weeks,” Danny remarked once we were beneath the oak canopy, a blade of wild grass in his mouth. “What're you gonna do this summer?”

I shrugged. “Not much, I guess. How about you?”

He spat out the grass and picked another blade. “I always just stay around here. Got lots of work at home.”

“Do you ever wish you had a brother or sister?”

“Sometimes. Why?”

“Well, I just wondered what it would be like not to have any.”

“You're real close to Kevy, ain't you?”

I resisted the temptation to tell him not to say ain't. “Yeah.”

He looked into the distance at nothing. “Almost had me a brother or sister once.”

“What happened?”

“The baby died.”

His face held that drawn, Gerald's-blood expression again, defining his jaw with pencil strokes of sadness. “Before it was born, you mean?” “Yeah.”

Gazing across the rocky bank, I watched a redbird flit across the water, its wings a brilliant sheen in the sun. I'd slipped out of my sneakers and socks, the thick, shaded grass cool between my curled toes. “How?”

I shouldn't have asked. Clearly, Danny wished he hadn't brought up the subject. There was so much about him I didn't know, and I sensed that his detachment from me, from the rest of Bradleyville, ran as deep and cold as a mountain river current. The barrier I kept being swept against was the wall of the dam that held it back, rock solid and fortified by an inner pain I couldn't reach. I wanted to break through it, but I was far too clumsy, asking my nosy questions. The truth was, the barrier would never come down unless Danny wanted it to.
It couldn't be comfortable, living with something like that inside you,
I thought. Gazing at his lowering eyes, the narrow slant of filtered sunlight that danced across his shoulder, I thought that maybe he'd hidden behind that barricade so long, he didn't know how to live without it.

“Mama had an accident.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.” I was imagining the details he'd left out.

“Yeah.” He looked thoughtful, as if making a decision. “It was a couple years back. Anyway, I . . . changed after that.”

“What do you mean?”

He smiled wanly. “I started listenin' to Mama. She has a strong faith in Christ, you know, even through everything. I don't know why I changed then; you'd think somethin' that awful would make me shake a fist at God. But for some reason I realized I really needed Jesus in my life. One night, with Mama's help, I turned my life over to him. And I felt different inside. I didn't get in trouble no more after that.”

I searched for words, amazed that he'd said this much. “I'm a Christian, too. I went to the altar at church when I was nine.”

He nodded. “And all your family? Well, I know your granddad is; everybody knows that.”

“I don't know about Mama,” I said slowly. “She talks the talk and everything, but she doesn't always . . .” The thought died away. “She has this thing with Granddad and me. She's so harsh sometimes and I've never known why. As for Daddy, he's pretty quiet about his faith but he sure lives it. Granddad talks to me about it quite a bit, though.”

Danny chuckled. “Your granddad and Mr. Lewellyn sure do have their fights.”

“Yeah, but that's just for fun; people know that. It's entertainment for them and the town. Goodness knows, nothin' else happens here.”

Enough had been said. Our conversation veered away from personal issues after that, and we both worked at making small talk. After traipsing back downriver, we congratulated Kevy on his four trout. “Think you can do any better next week?” I asked him, making sure not to look at Danny.

chapter 12

E
xcept for Saturdays, once school was out, I was encumbered with boredom. When I wasn't baby-sitting Miss Jessie's kids, I'd go over to Melissa's or Barbara's house, where talk of boys was the highlight of our social agenda. I remained quiet during much of the slumber party chatter, amused that details of my afternoons with Danny would have set off the biggest squeals of dismay and delight. He and I had fallen into a ritual of meeting at the river once a week while Kevy fished for our family's supper. I still could not bring myself to talk about him, however.

“Why're you so quiet?” Barbara asked during a sleep-over at her house in mid-July. She was wearing pink baby-doll pajamas that flounced over her voluptuous figure, an inquisitive finger against her cream-petaled cheek. Her brown hair hung genie-like down one shoulder from a ponytail on the top of her head.

“She hasn't seen Bobby enough lately to add anything to the conversation,” Melissa teased. I played along, raising my eyebrows. Bobby. I hadn't thought of him in weeks. “Oh, look at her; she does have something!” Melissa pointed her hairbrush at me, rosebud mouth pursed. “Out with it, Celia.”

“Well,” I said slowly, “actually, I did run into him at the IGA last week. Mama had sent me down to pick up some things, and I was rummaging around in the frozen section when he came up behind me and squeezed my neck.”

“What did you do?” asked Mona. She pushed her glasses up her sweaty nose with one finger, then played with a curly pigtail.

I shrugged. Feigned interest was a hard thing to sustain. “Just talked awhile, that's all. He did walk me home.”

“Whatdja talk about?” Melissa was brushing her hair again as she pranced about the room. She could never keep still for very long.

Remembering the affected bravado in Bobby's voice, the courtly precision with which he'd offered to carry my grocery bags, I couldn't help but chuckle. Poor Bobby. “He made a point of telling me that when he turns sixteen next year, he'll be allowed to drive his daddy's car around town.”

Barbara's hazel eyes grew wide. “Ooh, he wants you along. Before you know it, he'll be askin' if he can take you out.”

“For what it's worth. That's a lifetime away.”

“Wouldn't you want him to?”

I grabbed a pillow and hugged it to my chest. “My mama's not goin' to let me date until I'm seventeen anyway.”

Melissa sighed. “Mine either.”

The magic age in Bradleyville. When a girl was seventeen, a boy could formally ask her parents for permission to date their daughter, or “come to call,” as older folks termed it. Asking permission was an anxiety-filled event for the boy standing before the parents of his heart's desire. If he was approved, he could take her on dates to Albertsville, to the bowling alley maybe, or to sit in the park. But their behavior had to be impeccable.

My friends were moaning that they'd never even be kissed before marriage if their mamas had their way. Lying on Barbara's bed, I found my thoughts drifting to Danny. Mona's breathy voice ran the gamut of inflection as she went on and on about Wendell Roberts, her new heartthrob in eleventh grade. Danny and I had met seven times now, not counting when Kevy almost drowned. Mama knew I was meeting him, although we never talked about it directly. She'd quiz Kevy but I'd trained him well. “They just talk,” he'd answer, not bothering to add that we'd typically walk upriver to our shade trees. Things were so much better between Mama and me that I think she was relieved that the only price she had to pay for peace was letting me out to fish once a week. At least we weren't fighting about Albertsville anymore. Now I lived for Saturdays.