Color the Sidewalk for Me (28 page)

As I rang the doorbell I faltered, not knowing what I would say. I should have apologized years ago for what I'd done to Bobby and Melissa, but couldn't imagine bringing that up now.

“Why, Celia Matthews!”

Melissa's mother recognized me at once and graciously invited me inside, calling for her husband. “Would you like some iced tea?” she offered.

“No, thank you. I'm fine.”

“Where is that man, anyway?” Mrs. Westerdahl said under her breath. “Excuse me, Celia. I'll just go fetch him.”

I found myself standing before their fireplace, sweaty hands behind my back, gazing at photographs of Melissa, Bobby, and their children. Looking so happy and alive. Melissa's brown hair was cut to her shoulders, parted on one side, straight as always. Her face, a little fuller than I remembered, looked so content. She was sitting with Bobby standing behind her, a hand on her shoulder, their children around them. The smallest sat on her lap. The proud look on Bobby's face made my heart clutch.

“That picture was taken before she got sick. It's our favorite.”

I started at Mr. Westerdahl's voice. Turning from the photo, I pulled my thoughts back to the present. “It's lovely,” I murmured. “She looks wonderful.”

“Celia.” He took my hand. “It's good to see you. Please sit down.”

I searched for words to express my sorrow over Melissa's death but found only triteness. “I can't tell you how sorry I am. I'd have written or called if I'd known, but I didn't hear until just last night. I had no idea she was even sick.”

Mr. Westerdahl smiled grimly. “She went fast and was in a lot of pain. Lost a lot of weight. But she was strong to the end emotionally. Physically . . . well, it wasn't easy. But she praised God till the end. She always had such a strong faith.”

Did she? I thought of how I'd practically cut Melissa and my other friends out of my life while I was with Danny. Hearing her father's words, I was struck by what I'd done. How loyal a friend she'd been, and I'd turned her away.

“Yes,” I replied lamely, “she had a lot of faith.”

The Westerdahls told me about their grandchildren—how Robert Jr. loved baseball and how Clarissa was a talented artist. They worried about Jackie, once so vivacious, now taking on with such joyless determination the responsibilities of housekeeper, cook, and mother to her younger siblings. “Melissa was a good mother, so close to her children,” Mrs. Westerdahl was saying. “Now they're like little lost lambs.”

I knew the pain of loss so well and my heart broke for them. “How is Bobby doing?”

Mrs. Westerdahl looked at me sharply, as though I had treaded on sacred ground. “He's heartbroken but he's managin',” she said with curtness. “God's seein' him through it. He's got a good job at Farmers Bank in Albertsville, and they've been real understandin'.”

I nodded, unsettled by her reaction. I'd planned to tell them I would stop by and see Bobby, but it no longer seemed appropriate. “Are his parents still here?”

“Yes,” Mr. Westerdahl said, nodding. “His father's still at the bank and his mama helps a lot with the kids.”

“I'm glad to hear that.”

An awkward silence followed, the three of us gazing with feigned preoccupation around the room. The conversation turned to Daddy, Mr. Westerdahl posing polite questions, their smiles polite as I answered. I told them about Daddy's exercises, my hopes for him, my determination to see him improve. And Mama? Yes, I declared, she was handling it just fine.

“I'm so glad,” they remarked in stereo.

The conversation lagged once again, their straight backs beginning to slump. I wanted desperately to leave and finally made my excuse, saying I needed to get back to Daddy. We all rose and they held out their hands once more, thanking me for coming, thanking me for my kind words, apprehension at the thought of my seeing Bobby written all over their polite faces. I stepped out their door into the spring morning, went down their porch steps, turned to wave one last time as I smiled. Eyes on the sidewalk as I walked away, I marveled that after all these years and after Melissa's death, the Westerdahls would worry that I'd do anything to hurt Bobby Delham.

chapter 32

R
ain washed the streets of Bradleyville for the next week, the historically fickle month of April erasing blue skies with thunderheads. I settled into a routine of caring for Daddy and making lengthy calls to the ad agency. Daddy could now get to the bathroom with Mama's help and continued to approach his therapy with gusto. His speech progressed as we worked on sounds, the rain against his bedroom window a constant patter. Slowly his tongue was beginning to gain control of its own thickened motion. Improvements in his muscles were slight by comparison, but we rejoiced at the smallest accomplishment.

While Daddy and I grew into the “dynamic duo,” as John Forkes labeled us, the fracture between Mama and me continued to widen. It wasn't easy for two people in the same small house to avoid each other, but we managed. Meals were a challenge, Daddy in his wheelchair between us at the kitchen table, watching with grave intensity as we labored at chitchat, as if he saw right through us.

My questions regarding old friends gave Mama and me something safe to talk about. I learned that Barbara Dawson had married her boyfriend from Albertsville, where they were now raising four children. Mona Tesch had been an old maid by Bradleyville standards until finally marrying at twenty-five, her knight in shining armor riding into town behind the wheel of a lumber truck. Following in his daddy's footsteps, Gerald Henley had gone off to dental school and was now practicing somewhere in Tennessee. His wife was a nurse. Mama shook her head as she answered my questions about Mary Lee. “Still wild as ever,” she said. “Divorced twice, no children. She lives in Lexington.”

I thought of Mary Lee and her continuous stream of boyfriends from Albertsville. Apparently, she hadn't changed a bit.

As for Granddad's friends, Jake Lewellyn had died ten years previously at eighty-four. Hank Jenkins had made it to eighty-seven before slipping away in his sleep at the Albertsville Nursing Home.

“Whatever happened to the marble?” I asked.

Mama rolled her eyes. “Can you believe it? Jake willed it to the town as if it was the Mona Lisa. It's matted and framed and hanging in Tull's Drugstore.”

A pang of nostalgia shot through me at the name. I turned a sad smile on Daddy. “Perfect place for it, huh?”

“Yaa.”

“That silly old marble.” Mama ladled more gravy onto Daddy's plate. “Mr. Tull still shows that thing off like it's some jewel from a king's crown.”

I looked at her, astounded. “It is, Mama.”

She scoffed. “It's a piece of glass, Celia. And it was just one more way your granddad sought to exalt himself.”

I had determined not to dwell on the past during mealtime, but Mama's caustic remark opened a floodgate. Despite Daddy's presence, I couldn't ignore the hateful comment. Why had she held on to the same old bitterness after all these years?

“The marble brought Granddad joy, Mama,” I said evenly. “Just like all his battle stories.”

“Don't talk to me of his storytelling!” she retorted. “I didn't mention that.”

“You didn't have to.”

“Celia, don't you dare—”

Daddy thwacked his right hand on the table, startling us both. “Sstaapuh!”

“Oh, Daddy, I'm sorry.” I placed a hand on his arm. “I didn't mean to upset you.”

He glared at us. “Paaapuh! Rrrituh!”

“Sure, okay.” I pushed back my chair while Mama sat motionless, her cheeks flushed. “It's probably in the living room,” I blabbered. “Your pen too. We should think of a way to hang them from your chair so you'll always have them with you.” I exited the kitchen as I chattered, irrationally unnerved by Daddy's reaction. Not that Mama and I hadn't deserved it, but this new emphatic side of his personality still sent me scrambling. “Here we go!” I sang as I trotted back to the table.

Mama and I watched in silence as Daddy wrote with purpose. When he held up the paper for us to see, his face was grim.

No more fighting. Iwon't have it!

“Now, William, we weren't fighting.” Mama's tone was patronizing.

“Yaa! Wuhrr!”

“Daddy, we won't argue anymore,” I said quickly. “Will we, Mama?” I didn't like the redness in his face, afraid of what stress might do to him. The idea to call John Forkes and ask him about possible consequences flashed through my mind.

“Yyoo.” Daddy pointed at me. “Yyoo.” His finger moved to Mama. “Taawkuh.”

I almost laughed. Insisting that we talk without fighting was like asking a dog and cat to sleep side by side. “We are talking,” I replied lightly. “We're talking just fine.”

“Nnuuh! Taawkuh. Heer.” He hit his chest over his heart. “Taawkuh!”

As soon as the words exploded from his crooked mouth, his energy began to waver, then rippled away, his expression slackening. His eyelids drooped.

“Oh, Daddy, you're tired.” I jumped out of my seat again, placing a hand on his blanching cheek, pulling his chair away from the table while Mama watched worriedly.

“Rest now, William,” she crooned as I began to push him. “You've been up a long time.” She looked at me, accusation in her eyes. “Need help puttin' him to bed?”

“No, thank you. I'll do it.”

My words were as polite as those of Melissa's parents.

chapter 33

O
n Saturday the rains finally ceased, and under an azure sky I found myself yearning to escape the oppression of the house once more. As Daddy and I pushed through an unusually tiring therapy session, I decided to later venture out for another drive. Dr. Forkes was right—the exercises were gruesome and boring, and it was hard to exude the energy to keep up Daddy's spirits. How easy it would have been to let the second session of the day slide, but I wouldn't allow it. I thought of our deadline, one week now already gone. At some point I had to steal away long enough to go to Albertsville and discuss the untenable situation with Mr. Sledge.

My plans to escape alone were changed by the phone's ringing just before lunch. Jessie Harding was on the line, declaring she'd waited long enough to visit and, my goodness, if I hadn't seen the town yet, she wanted to be the one to show me around. “Such new sights,” she added, “all two blocks of 'em.”

Miss Jessie turned out to be just what my sodden spirits needed. She was as pretty and trim as she was the day I left Bradleyville, and I told her so. Laughing, she pointed to the crow's-feet around her eyes as testament to her ripe age of fifty-three. Mama appeared from the kitchen and they chatted briefly, Miss Jessie inquiring about Daddy's progress. I watched their exchange with growing curiosity; something wasn't right between them. As far as I knew, they'd always gotten along. I wanted to ask about this and so much more once we were in Miss Jessie's car, but I found myself tongue-tied.

We reached the intersection at Main Street, and the old memories came flooding back. I squeezed my eyes shut.

“So,” Miss Jessie said, “you haven't been downtown yet.”

I opened my eyes. We had turned the corner. “Well, I went up to the church,” I said, hoping I sounded normal. “But that was at night, so I didn't see much.”

“Oh, that's right.”

I frowned at her profile. “What do you mean, that's right?”

She laughed in embarrassment, as if I'd caught her at something. “You know Bradleyville, Celia; everybody knows what everybody's doin'. I heard you visited the cemetery the night you arrived.”

“You heard that? I don't know how anybody other than Mama would know that.”

“Oh, don't worry about it.” She waved it away. “Someone saw you, that's all, and word got around. You know gossip is hard to avoid in Bradleyville, even though I do my best. I've never been very comfortable around idle talk. But anyway, it's not important. What is important is what you're doin' for your daddy.”

“Good grief,” I breathed, anger stirring in my veins. “I've been gone all this time, and the very night I come back, people start yakking again.”

“Look, forget it. You grew up with this. Pay no attention; just go about your business. Now here we are. Let's walk around a bit.”

I worked to push down my irritation. “Sure.”

She hesitated. “You don't sound like you really want to.”

“It's just that I feel like a walking billboard all of a sudden,” I burst. “‘Here's Celia Matthews, folks!' Merely showing my face in town should give everyone a great topic of conversation at supper tonight.”

A hint of a smile graced her lips. “You never let it bother you before.”

Touché, Miss Jessie,
I thought.
But then I had something to fight for, didn't I?

Ruefully I smiled back, knowing she was the wrong target for my anger. It was true that she never spread gossip. Unlike her aunt Eva Bellingham. “No. I didn't let it bother me.” Firmly I opened the car door.

My grand tour began with her shop, in which four sewing machines whirred. Folks were now coming all the way from Albertsville for their tailoring, due to Miss Jessie's reputation. She introduced me to each employee. I was amazed at how the shop had grown, and told Miss Jessie so. How proud I was of what she'd accomplished.

“I haven't seen your aunt in over a week,” I remarked as we left. “I suppose she hasn't gotten out because of the rain.”

Miss Jessie paused. “Rain does bother her hands. I'm sure you'll see her eventually.”

She wasn't telling me something. I was trying to imagine what it was when I spotted a familiar green awning down the block. The thought vanished. “Oh, Miss Jessie, Tull's Drugstore looks just the same!” I stopped on the sidewalk, gazing at it. “It's late April and no chairs are out.”