Color the Sidewalk for Me (34 page)

“Well, I don't know what the job is yet.”

“But where does Lee's great uncle live?”

He hesitated. “Miami.”

The sidewalk dropped away beneath my feet. “Miami.
Florida?”

He nodded, biting his lip.

“Miami.” Miami was a world, a planet, away. It had never occurred to me that he would leave Kentucky. “Miami's on the ocean,” I blurted, accusation in my voice. “Miami's got beaches and sand.
Our
beaches.”

“Celia, it would be perfect, don't you see? Once you're done with school, you can come, too. I'll save the ocean for you.”

“But we were supposed to see it together. You weren't supposed to go see it first, without me.”

Hurt painted his words. “You think I want to go without you? You know if there was a way, I'd stay right here. But you and I can't make a life here, plus I got to take Mama away. I'll git everything set up for you. I got to do it, Celia; I got no money now, nothin' to offer you. I can't ask you to leave your family to live in a shack. You don't know what it's like to be without.”

“I know what it's like to be without you. Anything else I can stand. But I can't be without you.”

“It won't be forever.”

“It'll be a whole year. I can't live without you a whole year. And why is it so easy for you all of a sudden?”

He closed his eyes. “It
ain't
easy. Nothin's ever been easy for me. But Celia, my whole life I done my best and nothin's worked. Don't deny me this. Don't deny me the chance to make somethin' outta myself.”

I wanted to throw my books down on the sidewalk and cling to Danny and cry. Why couldn't he find a job in the state? Or Ohio or Tennessee. I could even bear to think of him in Lexington, where Mary Lee would be attending the University of Kentucky. But the ocean. The wild ocean, where seashells rolled in from distant beaches and the endless horizon made you think you owned the world. Between me and it, which had he loved first? Which would he choose if circumstances demanded it?

“Danny, you already are somethin'; you're the one I love. Why isn't that enough?”

Forgetting restraint, he reached out to grip my shoulder. “It is. But we can't love each other the way we want.”

“Wait for me, then,” I pleaded. “Just one more year. Until we can go together.”

His arm fell away. “Celia, I can't. I got my mama to think of. I've got you but she's got nobody. She'll wither up and die if I don't git her outta here.”

“That's just an excuse! You just want to travel; you always have. You want to see the ocean. And if you have to leave me to do it, you will!”

He turned his head aside, stung by the words. “No. I want you. I will always want you, always love you. Please understand. If a job comes through, it's gonna be hard enough, tryin' to get Mama away without Daddy finding out and killing her first, trying to scrape money together to even git there.” He faced me, his jaw tight. “And if I happen to find a job where I've always dreamed a being, why deny me that? Why not be glad for any little happiness I might find while I'm waitin' for you? It'd be like letting a wild bird out of a cage.”

Tears fell, turning icy on my frozen face. “And what do wild birds do? They fly away, Danny. They fly away and they don't come back.”

“Celia, I'll never fly away from you. You're the only girl I've ever loved. I love you so deep that nothin' can change that, not miles between us or the ocean or fanciful dreams. If a job opens up, I'll go and I'll wait for you. Then we'll be together forever.”

I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand. “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

His emerald eyes misted with pleading, the shock of hair across his forehead dusted with snow. He held his books loosely in one hand against his coat, worn and barely enough to keep out the cold. I heard the sounds of youngsters squealing at thrown snowballs, and the door of the school building slamming in syncopated rhythm. Melissa had already left, long ago learning not to wait for me. Mona and Barbara, Randy, Gerald and Lyle and Bobby—they'd all left, too. I hardly talked to any of them anymore. Word was, Bobby couldn't take being near me, knowing I cared not a whit for him. Only Kevy would wait to walk me home. Shivering on the sidewalk, I realized I'd isolated myself from the town almost as much as the town had isolated Danny. And the thought of next year without him left me colder than the air swirling about us.

“Then go,” I said, voice catching. “Take care of your mama and wait for me. And when I come, we'll dig our toes in the sand.”

He smiled faintly. “Run along the beach. Camp out under the stars.”

“Yeah,” I replied, managing to smile with him. “We will, Danny. We will.”

chapter 40

T
hree days after Danny told me about Miami, Granddad suffered a heart attack. It struck suddenly after lunch, during which he'd impatiently informed his “overprotective daughter” that he was as healthy as an ox. By the time Kevy and I arrived home, the ambulance from the Albertsville hospital had come and gone, Mama riding in the back with him. She'd left a hasty note taped to the front door, saying she'd call as soon as she could.

Numb with shock, I wandered into Granddad's bedroom, running my fingers over his medals and the German canteen, rolling Jake Lewellyn's marble in its little cup. In the dining area I picked up the phone and dialed Danny's number. His daddy answered. I hung up.

“Celia,” Kevy asked, lip quivering, “Granddad's not goin' to die, is he?”

I pulled him down on the couch, putting my arm around him, his head on my shoulder. Poor Kevy. Seeing his hurt only added to my own pain. “No, Kevy, he won't die. We love him too much.”

Even if surgery could have helped Granddad, he was too weak to withstand it. So the doctors sent him home after five days, gray, his face stubbly, his legs so unsteady that Daddy and Mama had to practically carry him to bed. I helped prop him up on pillows, refusing to leave him at supper time, feeding him soup. We tiptoed around the house, not wanting to disturb his naps. During lunch at school I'd use the office phone to call Mama, checking on him. After school Danny and I would speak briefly; then I'd rush home with Kevy, afraid of what I might find. In the meantime no further news had come about a job for Danny. Either that or he simply wasn't telling me, knowing how bad the timing would be.

Granddad's body may have been failing but not so his mind. He'd still entertain Kevy and me with long war stories, some of which we'd never heard before. Those I suspected he was making up. Jake Lewellyn came to visit one afternoon and was met with the same temperament Granddad had always bestowed upon his best friend. “Jake, you ol' coot, whatcha doin' in my bedroom?” Granddad struggled to rise a little higher against his pillows. “Celia, go over and hold that marble afore he steals it right out from under me.”

I pulled a chair near the bed, supporting Mr. Lewellyn as he sank into it. “Now, Granddad, be nice. Mr. Lewellyn's come to visit; you could at least show him some respect.”

“Respect? Since when did he ever show me any respect?”

“Oh, hush, Thomas.” Mr. Lewellyn shook his head. “I'm here, ain't I?”

“Well, good for you. Can you still play checkers?”

“Can you?”

“'Course, ol' man. I ain't dead yet.”

Jake Lewellyn sighed. “Well, that board's an awful long ways away.”

“I'll get it,” I offered. Fetching the game from the dining table, I stopped to pick up a folding tray. “Here,” I sang cheerily, “we'll put the board on top of this and you can play just fine.”

Granddad snorted. “No tray's goin' to help Jake Lewellyn's game.”

In the following weeks it seemed as if everywhere I turned, emotion roiled. Mama was beside herself, afraid her daddy was going to die. I'd catch her staring sightlessly out the kitchen window, ironing the same spot on a shirt until she'd nearly scorched it, rubbing her forehead as if she could rub away all the wasted years. She'd hover over Granddad, trying to nurse him, only to purposefully flee the room when his talk of battles began. Watching, I was torn between feeling sorry for her and wanting to tell her off. I knew her pain was real. But she could not let go of her stubbornness and give Granddad the one thing he'd always wanted.

“Mama,” I burst one night after following as she marched from his room, “can't you just stop a minute and see what he's doing?”

She shot me a disdainful look, as if I had the mentality of a two-year-old. “I see what he's doing.” Her voice was edged with bitterness. “He's going to his deathbed hangin' on to empty heroism, that's what he's doing.”

“It's not empty, Mama. It's his life.”

“His life.” She leaned against a wall, eyes closing. “Yes. His war stories. And you. That's been his life. Never me.”

Stunned, I touched her arm. “He loves you, Mama. He loved you long before I ever came along. Can't you see how it hurts him, not havin' your respect? The whole town admires Thomas Bradley. And you, his daughter, are the only one who doesn't.”

“I can't give him that, not after all he's taken from me. He's got everyone else's admiration; he doesn't need mine.”

“Yours is what he
does
need. Hasn't it ever occurred to you why he insists on tellin' his stories in front of you? He keeps thinkin' that if he tells them one more time, maybe you'll
get
it, maybe he'll finally be a hero in your eyes.”

“He was a hero to me, Celia,” she spat. “And then he went off to war.”

Dear God, I cried inside, crossing my arms over my chest, what was I doing here? Why was I between these two adults, trying to fix something I'd never understood? Danny was leaving me, Granddad was leaving me, and Mama, wrapped in her own grievances, didn't understand my pain. I felt as if life were slipping right out from under my feet.

“Mama,” I replied evenly, “don't do this. Don't let him die without givin' him what he longs for. All you have to do is tell him you're proud of him. Pick up one medal, hold it to the light. Tell him he's a hero in your eyes.”

She pushed away from the wall, straightening her back. “You're still a child. You understand nothin'.”

“I am not a child!”

“Don't raise your voice at me! And don't tell me how to treat my own daddy.”

I turned away, throat tightening. “No wonder you can't understand my love for Danny,” I seethed. “You have none in you at all.”

She inhaled sharply, as if I'd kicked her in the stomach. Then without a word she retreated to the kitchen.

I returned to Granddad.

I watched Granddad's demise. Every day I saw it in his labored breathing, his trembling hands. But I couldn't accept it.
He'll get better,
I told myself.
It's just taking longer than we expected.
Granddad had always been the victor, even when death stared him in the face. At the Volturno River, in Korea, Granddad always won.

I should have known from his crying. I'd never seen him do that before. Now tears would trickle down his face onto the white pillow. At first I thought his eyes were simply watering after staring too hard in the afternoons at the checkerboard balanced between him and Jake Lewellyn. But as I brought him a drink of water one evening, I caught his chin trembling.

“Granddad.” I placed a palm against his cheek. “What is it?”

He wrapped weakened fingers around my arm. “I'm tired, missy.”

“I know. You just need some rest.”

“No. I mean your mama and me. I'm givin' up. I'm tired.”

“Oh, Granddad, no. She's upset, that's all, and worried about you. She loves you so much, she can't stand to see you like this.”

His mouth flickered. “She'll never understand how much I want her forgiveness.”