Color the Sidewalk for Me (31 page)

“It don't—doesn't matter, Celia. Leave it alone.”

“Except for Mr. Rose. He actually smiled at me when you sat down.”

“Celia.” Danny cast me an exasperated look. “Will you quit readin' something into everything that goes on around you?”

“Well, you know it's true.”

“I don't know nothin'. All's I—”

“Anything.”

He tapped a finger against his green plastic tray. “I don't know
anything.
All's I know is that I'm sittin' here with you. And here come Mona and Barbara, and Bart's headed this way; none a them's looking like anything's wrong. Besides that, half a the things you think people're thinking, they're not really thinking at all. You're just gettin' a chip on your shoulder. And that's something you got to watch. I should know; I carried one around for long enough.”

Mouth tightening, I studied him, unable to admit he was right. His upbeat attitude was most annoying. For someone who faced my mama's appraisal in little more than twenty-four hours, he seemed as unconcerned as a baby possum crossing the road. I opened my mouth for a retort, then closed it. Fine then. If he was nothing but excited about tomorrow, I'd leave him to it.

I was terrified enough for both of us.

Danny's carefree demeanor did not last. On that inauspicious Thursday evening he arrived late, sweating and nervous. Granddad, Kevy, and Daddy greeted him warmly. “So sorry, Mrs. Matthews,” he blurted. “At the last minute Daddy took the truck and I had to walk.”

You mean run,
I thought. He'd probably sprinted the whole way in the heat.

“That's all right, Danny,” Mama said, smiling coolly. “Supper's not quite on the table yet.”

Months later I would view that evening as the first drop of fitful rain before a torrent. But at that moment I knew only anticipation. Danny was everything I knew he would be—he was polite, he watched his grammar, he complimented Mama on her food and responded with humility when Daddy thanked him again for saving Kevy. Mama watched Danny carefully with an I'm-boss-here expression. Danny must have been intimidated, but he didn't show it, and I chose to believe I saw grudging respect for his poise in Mama's eyes.

And then came the moment when it all changed. Mama asked him what he wanted to do in the future.

“Cousin Lee's promised me a good job at the mill,” he replied innocently. “But eventually I'd like to travel, see the world.”

The air chilled.

“Sounds good,” Daddy offered a little too jovially.

Disapproval moved across my mama's face like sand blowing off a seashell, and I felt my hopes spin away. Danny glanced at his plate, flustered. My heart ached for him. How hard he was trying to please. And how stupid I'd been, neglecting to warn him about mentioning his dreams of travel.

“How did I do?” he whispered anxiously as we sat later on the back porch steps in the few moments Mama had allowed us before Daddy drove him home.

I smiled reassuringly, longing to promise everything would be all right. “You were wonderful. You are wonderful. I'm so proud to be with you.”

His hand furtively found mine on the wooden slats between us. “No matter what, I love you, Celia,” he said. “With all my heart.”

“Thank you, Mama, for lettin' him come.”

We stood in the kitchen doing dishes after Daddy left to take Danny home, Kevy riding along. I'd desperately wanted to drive Danny myself; I'd recently gotten my license and ached to be alone with him. But I hadn't dared ask.

“You're welcome.” She was busily putting leftovers into containers.

“He's nice, don't you think?”

“Very nice.” She sounded troubled.

“And he's already got a job lined up once he graduates.”

“Uh-huh.”

I pushed a large blue sponge underwater and watched it expand. “Can he come again?”

“He's not content to stay in Bradleyville, Celia.”

I slid a plate under the lemony suds, feeling my legs go weak. “Would you, if you were Anthony Cander's son?”

No reply.

“He just wants respect, Mama. And it's a little hard for him to come by here.”

“No, Celia, that's not what he wants. What he really wants is to see the world.”

“What's the matter with that? Lots of people want to travel.”

Firmly she snapped the lid over a plastic bowl. “It's more than that. I see it in his eyes; I know that look all too well. It's a yearnin' so deep, so . . .
selfish
. . . that it becomes more important than any other thing or any other person. And regardless of who it hurts and how badly it hurts them, it can be rationalized away. With great pride.”

“He's not like that, Mama,” I whispered, tears biting my eyes.

She came to stand beside me, nudging my chin up with her hand. “I've tried to overlook things,” she said quietly. “I've done what I could for you, whether you believe that or not. But this . . . He'll break your heart, Celia.”

I could not utter a word. Never before had she been so gentle with me. Pain stabbing my heart, I realized how long I'd yearned to see such an expression on her face. After sixteen years, here was the mothering I'd witnessed when Danny sobbed in his mama's arms. But it was all for nothing—for some distant disappointment apparently suffered in her own life, now unfairly projected upon Danny and me.

“I love him, Mama. You can't change that.”

She took her hand from beneath my chin, turning away. “I suppose not, Celia. I've never been able to change your mind about anything.”

My hands were hot and slick in the soapsuds, steam dampening my forehead.
What do you want from me?
I raged silently at her retreating back.
To throw my arms around you, gush appreciation for along overdue moment of tenderness? Say, “You're right, Mama” and toss Danny away just because you finally showed me a little love?

“He hasn't done anything,” I said thickly. “Please let him come over again.”

She was too busy putting food in the refrigerator to reply.

I couldn't bring myself to tell Danny.

“Your daddy and I got along real well,” he told me joyously at school. “I was feelin' so good about everything, I even asked him if I could take you out, can you believe it? He said he'd have to talk to your mama. Kevy was in the backseat, thinkin' the whole thing was right funny.” He beamed at me, bouncing a fist off my locker door. “Isn't that great! It's gonna work, Celia. After all this time I think it's really gonna work!”

“Just remember,” I countered, “Mama's the hard one.”

“But she liked me, too, didn't she?”

I adjusted the books in my arms. “She said you were very nice.”

He shot a blissful look toward the heavens.

Mama's warning rose unbidden in my head. “If this does work out, will you think twice about leaving at the end of the year? Will you wait for me here?”

He nodded decisively. “Somehow I'll do it. I don't know how I'll take care a the farm and Mama, but I'll do it. As long as we can be together, I can do anything.”

For three weeks we held on to our hopes. “I go to sleep thinkin' about being with you someplace other than here,” Danny said after school one Friday as we stood on the sidewalk. “I dream about it. I wake up thinkin' about it.”

“We'll be together soon, somehow,” I replied. “It's driving me crazy, too. Daddy and Granddad have both talked to Mama about having you over again, but she hasn't made a decision yet. She keeps tellin' me to wait a while longer. I don't know what she's waitin' for. Sometimes I think she believes that if she just pushes it from her mind, it will all go away.” I fell into silence as Bart passed us, mumbling hello. “How's your mama?” I asked.

“Anxious. Tryin' not to do anything that'll set Daddy off. And she's worried about all this with us. She wants so much for me to have a better life than she's had.”

Life is so unfair, I thought. “And your daddy?”

“Mean as an old goat. Asks me who do I think I am, tryin' to be with you? I have to work hard to keep my temper around him.”

“He knows about us?”

“He can't be drunk all the time.” Danny scuffed his shoe on the cement. “Celia, I got to see you; it's been a whole month since the river. It's all buildin' up inside me—the worry over what your mama'll say, the watchin' my daddy every minute I'm home. I just can't go through another year a this. I was so happy bein' at your house, so sure it was all gonna work out.”

“It will work out,” I reassured him. “Somehow. I'll ask Mama if you can come to supper tomorrow night. I'll beg her. And if you can come, I'll call you.”

He nodded tiredly. “Okay. Otherwise I'll see you Monday.”

But Mama said no when I begged her. Not this week. Perhaps the next. I was bitterly disappointed but she'd given me some hope.

And then everything fell apart Saturday afternoon.

chapter 37

T
he late September weather was nippy that day, trees on the hills turning their brilliant fall colors. Granddad was feeling better than he had for some time, and he asked if I'd drive him to Tull's for a soda. It had been too long, he said; he needed to “git outta the house for a while before people think I done up and died.” I was happy to take him. Kevy had just come back from playing at Reid's, his bike carelessly thrown on our front lawn. Mama made him put it away before he could go with us.

It was too cold to sit under the awning. Granddad and his friends slid into one of Mr. Tull's red vinyl-covered booths inside while Kevy and I placed our orders at the counter. People were coming and going through the store, the chilled air swirling at their feet as they stepped inside. Dustin Taylor, Mary Lee's big-bellied, jovial daddy, happened in and chatted amiably with the men for a few minutes before saying he had to be on his way. Mrs. Clangerlee bought some medicine for an early-season cold, and Mr. Henley picked up a prescription for Gerald's little sister's earache. There wasn't enough room in the booth for Kevy and me, so we sat on stools at the counter, watching Mr. Tull's birdlike movements as he made milk shakes. Gazing idly out the big glass window, I was none too pleased to see Mrs. B. pulling up to the curb. “Oh, great.”