Brilliant Hues (7 page)

M
y hand ached. I’d been drawing for hours. First, I’d drawn every single kind of door I could think of: a barn door, an old-fashioned ornate door, a modern steel door, a sliding glass door, a red door, a church door, a hospital door, a clubhouse door, a train door, a car door, a submarine door, a rickety old wooden door. When I’d started on an elevator door, I realized maybe this wasn’t the best way to distract myself. So, I moved on to other kinds of escapes. Windows, hatches, trap-doors, secret panel doors. An escape. That was what I needed, and yet, I knew there was no way out. I’d have to tell the truth.

I turned to a fresh page and before I’d really thought it through, I realized I was drawing a close up of Karl’s face, his eyes shadowy and deep. Maybe because I’d been thinking about doors all afternoon, I shaded the silhouette
of a door into each of his eyes. I leaned back to look, and remembered someone, somewhere, saying something about eyes being windows to the soul. Well, maybe they could be a doorway, too. A way in or out. As far as I could tell, Karl needed out, out of whatever was inside him, torturing him.

I heard Dad pull into the driveway. Now or never. I walked downstairs and met him at the door. Higgins jumped up and tried to lick Dad’s face, but I grabbed his collar.

“Down, Higgins,” Dad said.

“Dad, I need to talk to you,” I said, sick with fear.

Dad set down his briefcase. “I heard about the documentary crew. Tyler called me at the office. Imagine my surprise when I heard Charlotte’s attending your camp.”

“Dad, please just come in and sit down.”

Grant and Mom were both on the couch already — they’d been watching the news. I switched off the television and faced them. Dad sat in his armchair.

I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans. Now that we were all here, I wasn’t sure I could do this. My tongue felt too big for my mouth, and I had no idea where to start. The clock ticked. I hadn’t realized how loud it was.

When I finally couldn’t stand the silence anymore, I said, “I have to tell you something, but I need you to listen to everything before you say anything. Okay? Promise.”

Dad made an impatient gesture, and pushed Higgins away. It really didn’t help that Dad had already heard about the film crew. But I could have told him sooner. This all could have been so much easier.

I pressed on, clenching and unclenching my fists. “You know the day I came to your office and went to get cupcakes?”

Dad nodded, and I realized I didn’t actually want to ask him questions. I wanted to just get this all out as quickly as I could.

“Well, that day, I got into the elevator to come back to your office, and Karl got in with me.”

I ignored Mom’s sharp intake of breath. “He told me about his sister, and asked me to convince you to take his side on things, and then he left the elevator. He didn’t do anything bad …”

When I looked around at all of their shocked expressions, I knew I still wasn’t telling the entire truth. “But I was scared. Really scared. And I knew I should come right down and tell you. But you’d already given me all these rules, and I felt all cooped up and I didn’t want you to worry, and I was pretty sure Karl would leave me alone after that.”

No one said anything, and there was still more to tell. “I did know about Charlotte attending camp. Jess showed us some of the campers, and I knew. And today, when I saw her looking scared, watching her dad … I don’t know if it was my fault that those people showed up today. Maybe it was just a coincidence. But I didn’t mean to do anything to hurt Charlotte, Dad, I really didn’t. And I know I’m probably in tons of trouble, and everything, for keeping secrets, but please don’t make me stop going to camp. Please? I didn’t think I even wanted to be there, but then today I met all the kids and I just … I want to be Charlotte’s friend.”

Dad took in a deep breath and blew it out. Then he crossed the room with unbelievable speed and pulled me into a tight hug.

When he finally let go, he held me by the shoulders and looked me straight in the eyes. “Sadie, if you ever, ever, keep a secret like that from me again, I don’t know what I’ll do. I love you. I’m trying to keep you safe. And if anything, especially my work, but anything at all, ever hurt you, I …”

Mom hugged me then, and they sat me down on the couch between them. Grant got up to leave, but Dad stopped him.

“We need to talk this through,” Dad said. “Either Karl is following Sadie, and that was how he found Tyler and Charlotte, or he’s following Charlotte or Tyler. In any case, the damage is done. Unless Tyler finds somewhere else to send Charlotte, Karl knows where Charlotte will be for the next few weeks. Tyler and Rebecca have their hands full with Cici at the hospital, so they have to send Charlotte somewhere. And if we station Grant outside the church, we can protect both girls at the same time.”

Grant leaned up against the doorway, his hands in his pockets. “The camera crew was pushy, but they weren’t working for a station. The woman said they were doing a documentary. And Tyler said he’d talk to them tomorrow in their studio.”

Dad shook his head. “I don’t know what to expect from either of them right now. Tyler’s close to breaking because of Cici. And Karl just won’t let up.”

Mom gripped my hand, as though she thought I might suddenly disappear. Was Dad saying they’d let me keep teaching at camp?

“Sadie, you have to realize how serious this situation is,” Dad said. “And you know there will have to be some kind of punishment for your lie. But I don’t think banning you from camp is the right thing to do, for you or for Charlotte.”

For the first time that night, I could breathe. He wasn’t going to lock me in my room.

Dad walked over to the window and stared out at the darkening sky. “Normally, we’d ground you in a situation like this. But I’m not sure that’s the right thing to do either. My work, and this totally out of your control situation, is partially to blame.”

“Maybe instead of losing more privileges,” Grant said, “Sadie could take on a responsibility instead?”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Dad said. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, Sadie, I want you to promise me, absolutely promise, that no matter how small, you’ll tell me any time you see Karl. Do you understand?”

I nodded, feeling like I might float up off the couch, feeling like poison had drained out of my body. Everything would be okay now.

Mom wrapped her arms around me. “Sadie, we love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Mom.” Her hair smelled like coconut shampoo.

“Stay for dinner, Grant?” Dad asked.

“Sure,” Grant said.

Mom and Dad hurried off to the kitchen and Grant clapped a gigantic hand on my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Sadie.”

The weight of his hand reminded me of what he’d said about responsibility, and I didn’t feel quite so floaty anymore. Not that I was worried about my punishment, really. But I suddenly realized how much I wanted Grant to stay proud of me. And now that I thought about it, telling my parents the truth only felt like the very first step.

“The girls are getting together tomorrow after camp,” I told him. “To talk about Margo. And I still don’t know what to do.”

“Sleep on it,” Grant said. “When the right moment comes, I think you’ll know exactly what to say.”

Hopefully, he was right.

T
he kids wiggled excitedly on the carpet, their faces eager, as Pippa sat in the teacher chair. I loved watching Pips talk to the kids, loved watching them listen. I could have missed all this, but I was still here. I knew I was grinning like a crazy person.

“Who can tell me what a picture book is?” Pippa asked.

Hands shot up all across the room. Even Jake raised his hand. Pippa called on him.

“It’s a book your mom or dad read to you before bed.” Jake said. “With pictures.”

A chorus of voices shouted out, adding to Jake’s answer.

“I read picture books all day.”

“I can read them by myself.”

“My sister reads them to me.”

“How many of you read picture books before bed?” Pippa asked, and just as they all opened their mouths to shout, she reminded them, “Raise your hands.”

The air filled with raised hands.

Pippa pointed to me. “Sadie has some picture books you might recognize.”

I held up
Where the Wild Things Are, Caps for Sale, Are You My Mother,
and
Knuffle Bunny,
and showed a few pages of each.

Pippa continued. “Picture books can have detailed pictures, or very simple pictures, but usually they combine words and pictures on each page. And picture books tell a story.”

I joined Pippa at the front of the room as she continued, “We want you to pick a question that doesn’t have an easy answer, like ‘Why is the Sky Blue,’ and write a story that answers the question. And for the next few days, we’ll work on making it into a picture book.”

“How many pages?” Fritz asked.

“As many as you want,” I said. “We’ll work on this project for the rest of the week, and on Friday, Jess will bind your books in her bookmaking machine so they look official.”

“What kind of question?” Jake asked.

“Something hard to answer, like why do birds sing, or why do leopards have spots?” I answered.

“Or what happens after you die?” Charlotte asked.

I choked a little before I could answer, “Yes, or what happens after you die.”

“What do you think happens?” Fritz asked.

My mouth went dry. Pips only shrugged, offering no help. Jess had left to prepare a snack, so I couldn’t pass the question off to her.

“Me?”

“Yes, Miss Sadie, what do you think?” asked Fritz.

I cleared my throat. I knew the answer I was supposed to give, but it sounded too light with Charlotte watching my every move with her piercing blue eyes. She didn’t want a vague, “You go to heaven.” She wanted a real answer, one that helped her understand. I’d let her down yesterday, and I didn’t want to do it again.

“It’s a difficult question, Fritz,” I finally said. “And I don’t know exactly how it feels or what it looks like. No one does.”

Charlotte didn’t take her eyes off me, giving me no easy out. I glanced at Pippa again, but she watched me, waiting for an answer like everyone else. This wasn’t the same as Jess asking me to be open if the kids asked about art and connecting with God. How had I been appointed the keeper of life’s deepest truths? But as I remembered the conversation we’d had with Jess, I thought about my paintings, and I realized maybe I could answer, in my own way.

“I can’t really picture heaven in my imagination,” I said, finally. “But here’s what I do know. Whenever I feel God come close to me, here, in my life on earth, the air becomes alive around me, the way it feels on a windy day when you can feel the air moving, but it isn’t cold, it’s warm with golden light. I think heaven will be like that, only better,

because God will be near us all the time. Usually when God comes close to me, it’s when I’m outside, or doing something I truly enjoy, like drawing, so that makes me think we won’t just sit around in heaven. I think God will keep us busy doing the things we love. Other people have different ideas about heaven, and that’s totally okay, too. We can’t really know, not until we get there.”

I stepped back, and thankfully, Pippa took the hint and switched back into teacher mode. “Why don’t you turn to someone sitting close to you and tell them what you think heaven is like.”

After they all shared their ideas, Pippa called, “Beetle!”

“Face,” they all said.

The wacky faces never got old. Jess must have taught the kids this trick to make herself smile when the kids were spiraling out of control. It’s hard to be upset when little kids make antennae fingers at you.

“So, remember,” Pips said. “You can write your picture book about any question. If you want to write about heaven, you can, or you can write about any other hard-to-answer question.”

The kids hurried back to their tables and started drawing right away. I circled the room. We had an excellent variety of stories starting. Fritz had titled his first page, “Why Superheroes Wear Capes,” and had begun with a picture of a superhero in a dressing room trying on different clothes. Isabel had begun by drawing a rose.

“What are you going to write about, Isabel?” I asked, not really expecting an answer.

She still hadn’t spoken in class.

She clamped her hand around my arm to pull me close, and whispered, “I’m writing about why roses grow in clumps instead of all by themselves.”

Amazing.

After studying what she’d drawn so far, I said, “I love the texture on your rose petals. They look like alligator scales.”

Her eyes lit up. “My favorite book is about an alligator. My mom used to read it to me.”

She slipped back into silent mode, but I knew this tiny conversation was still a victory. Had she finally spoken to me because I’d braved telling the class what I really thought?

Charlotte smiled at me when I walked over to check on her.

“I didn’t want to ask Cici about heaven,” she said. “Because I don’t want her to think too much about that. I want her to stay here with me.”

Her words tugged at my heart, but I knew she didn’t want sympathy. She wanted to speak her mind and be heard.

I took a closer look at her drawing, which showed a winged creature working at a blue workbench, shaping something with a small hammer. “So what are you drawing?”

“An ice city,” Charlotte said. “I asked Cici why she thinks every snowflake is a different shape. And she said it’s because there’s a city of ice fairies who chip each one, and because they’re artists, they never want to do the same thing twice.”

“How does Cici tell you all these things?” I asked, truly wanting to know.

“She’s not as far away as you think,” Charlotte said, touching her heart. “She’s right in here. Not like Jesus, different than that. But she’s paying attention to what I do and she can tell me things.”

I put a hand on her shoulder. “She’s going to love your book, Charlotte. I can already tell.”

Jess checked in now and again, but had to keep returning to the kitchen. Apparently her cake was prep-heavy. We let the kids draw until the end of the hour and sent them off to centers.

“Did you see Fritz’s cape story?” Pippa asked. “After he goes to the Super-hero mall and tries on super hats and super shoes and super shorts, he decides he needs something even better. And that’s when he finds a cape.”

“I love it,” I said. “I’m so glad we’re doing picture books. And by the way, thanks for your help on the heaven question.”

“What?” Pippa asked. “Your answer was amazing.”

“What would you have said?” I asked.

“Probably something like you see a light and then go to heaven, where no one cries or gets hurt. That’s what I’ve learned in Sunday school. But I liked your answer. And I liked that you told them you don’t know. I don’t think adults tell kids that very often.”

“We’re not adults, Pips.”

“No, but we’re ancient to these kids.”

I laughed, feeling like a door had opened between us. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard for me to talk to Pips about God in person.

With a start, I remembered I hadn’t told her yet. “Isabel talked to me, Pips.”

Pippa’s mouth dropped open. “No way.”

“She told me she was writing about why roses grow in clumps.”

“See? Good thing I didn’t jump in and rescue you, then. Wow. Jess will be so amazed.”

Grant opened the door and poked his head in. “Ready, girls? We’re off to Juliet’s house.”

We followed him out to the Hummer, and this time the parking lot, fortunately, was camera-crew free.