Color the Sidewalk for Me (45 page)

“He's not ready to go back to work, Celia; he never will be.” Mama shoved a kitchen chair under the table. “He can't handle the stress. Who knows if he can even do the math anymore? Failin' will only depress him.”

“He can do it. His mind is clear; it's just his body that needs to heal, and that's happening before your eyes.” My voice dropped. “This is not about failing and you know it. This is about you and your fear of being left alone. This is about you controlling him, just like you've controlled the rest of us. Now he's finally strong enough to stand up to you. And I'm glad of it!”

“You're not thinkin' about your daddy at all; you're thinkin' about yourself.” Her eyes narrowed. “And as far as controlling you, I never did that your entire life, much as I tried, as any mama would. I tried to raise you like a good Christian girl, but you've fought me since before you could walk. Well, this is one time I won't let you fight, because it'll only hurt your daddy. I'm glad for you helpin' him get better, but that's as far as it goes. You've done a lot a damage today.”

I was almost too livid for words. “I come back here to help Daddy after not seeing you for years, and you tell me that's as far as it goes? Do your job, Celia, then get on out of Bradleyville; you're not needed here anymore!”

She tilted her head, eyeing me as a hawk eyes its prey. “Isn't that what you've wanted since the day you came? Pay a debt, then leave?”

Her words hit home but I stood my ground. “Maybe at first but not now. If I wanted to leave as soon as I could, I'd be gone by now; Daddy's a lot better. But I don't dare leave, because if I do, you'll be on him, nagging him every day, fixing it so he'll never return to work. And that'll kill him!”

“How do you know? He might like stayin' home!”

“Come on, Mama, you saw his face! He wants to feel productive; good grief, he's not that old. What would he do every day, go downtown and gossip with the old men?”

“Celia”—she smacked a hand on the counter—“I'm through arguin' with you. I'm tellin' you, don't push this anymore.”

“Well, I'm going to, Mama, so you might as well get used to it!” I jabbed a finger against my chest. “I've promised him. And nothing's going to make me go back on that promise.”

“Just listen to yourself!” Her cheeks were mottled. “Why do you have to fight with me about everything? Why must you stir up dissension wherever you go?”

Suddenly I was exhausted. I closed my eyes, shoulders slumping, the disappointments of the past whirling through my mind. “I don't stir up dissension,” I said, my voice thick. “You do! Everybody in this family got along except you. You were the one who wouldn't let Granddad tell his war stories. You were the only one who wouldn't give Danny and me a chance.” Tears filled my eyes, infuriating me all the more, but I could not blink them back. “While Danny tried so hard to prove himself, all you did was tell me how bad he was for me! You say I fought you since before I could walk. The truth is, you fought me. I colored the sidewalk as a present for you, Mama, remember that? And you wanted to spank me for it! When will you ever color it for me? You haven't wanted me since the day I was born!”

She reeled back, breathless. “That's not true, Celia. I wanted you.”

“Then why, Mama?” My words choked. “Why didn't you want me to be happy? Why didn't you let me be with Danny? Maybe if you had, he never would have left. I'll never love anyone else like that again, never!”

She swallowed hard, stammering for words. “I . . . I was only tryin' to keep you from bein' hurt.”

I laughed scornfully. “Oh, that's great, Mama, that's just great! Because in trying to keep me from being hurt, you hurt me! And all you can say is, you were looking out for me; just like you claim you're looking out for Daddy!”

“Stop yellin' at me, Celia.” She gripped the counter, hand shaking. “You don't know how hard it was for me; you have no idea of my own hurts. You were always so busy thinkin' of yourself. But I always tried to do what was best for you.”

The pain of my losses, of every time we had fought, of every hug and kiss and I-love-you that never came, injected a bitterness in my voice so caustic that it burned my throat. “Well, guess what, Mama. You
failed.”

I stalked away on shaky legs.

“Celia!” Her call crashed into my arched shoulders. “Come back here!”

“Back, Mama?” I whirled around to her, a lifetime of tears on my face. “Back to what?”

chapter 52

M
ama and I could not bring ourselves to speak after our fight. She wasn't about to apologize and, although I wanted to, I couldn't seem to find a way. I'd had the last word but I felt anything but victorious. The longing within me for her love, a longing I'd felt since I was a small child, only deepened. Why had she always been so cold to me? The rest of the afternoon I slumped on my bed, feebly throwing my demands for answers at the heavens. They reached no farther than the ceiling. God was through with me.

In the next few days, amid the acidic atmosphere between Mama and me, Daddy's mood turned fragile, contentious. What's more, his improvement seemed to have peaked. We saw no gains whatsoever in strength or coordination. His eagerness for therapy waned and our sessions became wearisome. I berated myself for ever having mentioned his returning to work, regretting both the argument that had ensued and the bubbling impatience it had placed within him. Nothing Mama or I did was right. He snapped at me when I tried to button his shirt, snapped at Mama for not reading the newspaper loudly enough. Daddy even snapped at John when he arrived Tuesday after supper, informing the doctor, “My haart's fine!” At John's gentle insistence he finally agreed to a quick examination, bristling in his wheelchair all the while.

When he was done, John motioned with his eyes for me to walk him outside. “What's going on?” he demanded as we stood on the sidewalk.

Wearily I told him of my argument with Mama, wishing he could hold me. “I don't know how much Daddy overheard, but he can certainly sense the mood between us, and it's upsetting him. I understand that, but he shouldn't allow it to affect his therapy. In a way he's acting like a child.”

“You and Estelle need to get along, Celia,” John responded with impatience. “Your daddy doesn't need that kind of stress.”

His reaction was far from the understanding I'd expected. Stung, I struggled to remind myself he was Daddy's doctor first. “You think I don't realize that?” I challenged. “Believe me, I'm doing everything I can under the circumstances to keep the house quiet. I'll try to work things out between Mama and me. But it's a little hard, you know, after a lifetime.”

His face softened. “You're looking pretty stressed yourself.”

My eyes closed. “There are just so many things going on right now, John. In the house. And with you. Sometimes I think I just can't handle it anymore.”

He nodded, frowning. It occurred to me how much inner turmoil he must feel as he discussed wedding plans with Sharon, her face lighting up over the details, and plotted how he and I could see each other.

The curtains moved inside the house. I turned away. “Mama's watching.”

He took a deep breath. “Listen, Celia.” His words were low, hurried. “I have a little hunting cabin about an hour's drive from here. I use it to get away once in a while. Next time I go, I want you to meet me there, even if it's only for an hour or two.”

I grew breathless at the thought. “John, I don't know. I want to, but I just—”

“Think about it. Think about us, Celia. I want to be with you, have time to talk to you alone.”

My throat tightened. “And I want to be with you.”

“Then think about it. We'll discuss it Friday. Okay?”

In the next moment he was gone.

I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to talk to someone. Late that night, in hushed tones over the phone, I told Carrie about John.

“Oh, Celia,” she said, sighing. “What are you getting yourself into?” “I don't know. But I want to go see him so much. Too much.” Tears pricked my eyes. “It's very hard here, Carrie, with everything in the present and memories of the past. I'm just so tired of being lonely.”

“I know.” Her voice was gentle. “I told you someday you'd find someone. But this someone is already taken. And he's being deceitful by being with you. Is that the kind of person you want?”

I closed my eyes, not wanting to hear the words that I knew were so right. “You can't understand. Being here, I miss Danny more than ever.

Some nights I feel him so closely, I ache with it. But he's gone forever, and meanwhile John's here. How can I let this chance go? Maybe John's not supposed to be with his fiancée at all; maybe he's supposed to be with me. Maybe he's the one who will finally help me forget Danny.”

“Whoever he's supposed to be with, I can tell you one thing. He should be truthful and so should you. If he's worried about marrying the wrong person, he should postpone the wedding, take time to think about it. But sneaking around—that's no foundation for a relationship.”

Her words hit home. How could I even think of being with John when it meant causing his fiancée so much pain? Just like I'd hurt Melissa. Would I never learn from the past? “I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

She sighed again. “Okay.”

I played with the phone cord. “How's Andy?”

“Still great. We're seeing each other often.”

“I'm glad,” I said, meaning it. “Don't lose him, Carrie; keep him close.”

“Oh, don't you worry.”

I could hear the irony in her tone. Here I was, the potential other woman in one man's life, trying to protect Carrie's relationship with another. “Well, guess what,” I said, steering away from the subject. “This Saturday I'm finally seeing Bobby Delham. I talked to him today.”

“Oh! Was he surprised to hear from you?”

I smiled, remembering the conversation. “He was very glad. Said he'd hoped I would call.”

Carrie laughed. “And they say nothing ever happens in small towns. A doctor, now a widowed ex-boyfriend. Wouldn't it be a riot if you two really hit it off after all these years? Imagine ending up with him after all, just like your mother wanted!”

I rolled my eyes. What I could imagine was the gossip.
Poor, nice Bobby Delham. Got her hooks in him again.
“Yeah, Carrie, there'd be a riot all right.”

Miss Jessie called Wednesday, inviting me to meet her downtown at Tammy's Café late that afternoon. “It's always a quiet time,” she hastened to add. “We'll probably be the only ones there.” Nerves frayed, I jumped at the chance to get out of the house.

Seated in a vinyl-covered booth, coffee and Tammy's home-baked oatmeal cookies between us, I spilled to Miss Jessie what was going on at home. I knew she would understand and not judge. She had always been so sweet to me when I was a child. I told her that the rift between Mama and me dated back to when I was very young, and was surprised to hear that Miss Jessie already knew. She had noticed it herself, she told me, particularly beginning the summer Kevy was born.
Of course, I thought, the summer I colored the sidewalk.
And finally we spoke of my teenage years, when Mama and I had fought so much over Danny.

Danny.

Miss Jessie grew quiet when his name slipped from me. She had so tactfully avoided any mention of it. The topic suspended between us with the fragility of blown glass as she searched for something to say. All these years, and I'd been so afraid to ask anyone about him. Selfishly, I couldn't bear to hear of his happiness with Rachel. But suddenly I longed for news of him.

“Miss Jessie,” I said, plunging in, “how is he?”

Her expression softened. “Oh, Celia, he—” She stopped abruptly, pasted on a quick smile. “He's doing very well. Still works for the cruise lines, although it's a different one. He switched to another company soon after he went to Greece. Now he's risen high in the corporation. Danny's such a hard worker and they noticed him, little by little giving him more responsibilities. Eventually he went to college, taking a few courses at a time as he worked. He's been settled in Greece for a long time now, although he has business in New York three or four times a year.”