Color the Sidewalk for Me (20 page)

“When are you goin' to mail 'em?” I asked on Friday as I placed a stack of folded clothes on his dresser.

“Soon. But I cain't get your mama all riled up about it.”

“You don't have to say anything; just mail them quietly. The ceremony's not until November. That leaves us lots of time to work on Mama.”

He picked at a spot of hardened skin on his hand. “Well, I got a few days yet. I don't wanna part with 'em any longer'n I have to. They may not seem like much to anybody else, but I'll tell ya, when you seen men and boys blown apart, those medals mean the world. They mean you fought hard to save a few a those dyin' souls, and the Good Lord saw fit to let you come home to your family.”

I gazed at his medals. As respected as Granddad was in Bradleyville, I sometimes thought he'd left the greatest respect behind in the battlefields of Europe and Korea and now lived his life trying to regain it. Being honored in his own state as a triple hero would mean the world to him.

“I got to get on it, though,” he declared. “Like Jake was remindin' me, the deadline is August 11. That's only a week and a half away.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, really. I thought Mr. Lewellyn wasn't talkin' to you.”

He chuckled. “Jake Lewellyn ain't been talkin' to me for near sixty-five years now, and he's said plenty.”

“Is his cough any better?”

“Sure, all gone,” Granddad replied with a sniff. “Fat as that man is and with as much hot air as he has in his lungs, he'll probably outlive me ten years.”

I patted his arm, feeling the bones of his wrist. “You couldn't let him do that, Granddad. That'd be bestin' you for sure.”

“Yep,” he said, crimping his jaw. “That it would.”

His expression changed. “You goin' to see Danny tomorrow at the river?”

I nodded. How could I not go? Since my talk with Granddad, I'd thought of little else. The idea of seeing Danny again set my heart pounding with anticipation; the threat of his not showing up terrified me.

Kevy and I played a quiet game of Monopoly that evening while Mama sewed and Daddy read the paper. Granddad was in his room, most likely mulling over sending in his medals. I had said nothing to Mama about going back to the river, afraid of her answer in light of my recent attitude. On the other hand, she hadn't told me I couldn't go. I'd decided to assume I could as on any other Saturday. If she balked at the last moment, I'd deal with it then.

Friday night I fell asleep holding Cubby, something I hadn't done in years. Saturday morning I thought the hours would never pass until one o'clock. After lunch was finally over, I retreated to my room, carefully choosing my clothes and brushing my hair. Kevy had gone to the garage to fetch the fishing poles and bucket. We met in the living room, Mama appearing in the kitchen doorway, a dish towel in her hands. Casually I told her we were leaving and headed for the front door, feeling her eyes on me. They bore into my back as Kevy and I neared the screen door, our flower-lined sidewalk beckoning me from beyond.
Please, I prayed. Please.

I reached for the door, my fingers touching the smooth wood. Holding my breath, I pressed it open. At the last moment Mama spoke up.

“Celia.”

With one foot on the porch I froze. “Yes ma'am?”

“Don't stay long. Understand?”

I looked over my shoulder, our eyes meeting. Something told me she wanted to say more.

A breath escaped me. “Okay.”

I hastened Kevy out the door before she could change her mind.

The sun bore down on us with fury. It had been days since Bradleyville had seen rain.
So far, so good,
I thought, wiping sweat off my forehead as we turned onto Main Street. Mama had proved accommodating. Now if only Danny would be there. I ached inside, anticipating his nearness once again, our exchanged apologies. Surely our first kiss would follow. Passing Tull's, crossing the tracks, cutting into the field that led to our fishing spot, I practiced what to say, how to behave. My dignity must be preserved; I could not appear overly anxious for our visit. Yet I should appear pleased enough by his presence to assuage any lingering anger.

But all my rehearsing would prove futile. He wasn't at the river. Kevy fished happily in the hot sun, catching five trout, as I sat woodenly on the bank, waiting in vain.

After two hours I picked up my pole and the bucket and told Kevy it was time to go.

chapter 22

I
couldn't stand the pity in Granddad's eyes when he saw me drag home. “It doesn't matter,” I insisted. My throat was so tight, it ached. “I don't care; I'm through with Danny Cander. He's just a stupid farm boy anyway. And I hate him.”

I tried to pray and couldn't. God didn't seem to want to hear from me. Finally I got mad at him, accusing him of giving me Danny only to take him away.

For the rest of the day I stormed around the house, picking arguments with Mama and fighting with Kevy over the toy soldiers he'd left on the floor just so I could step on one of them barefoot. “Get 'em out of here!” I snarled, hurling it at my brother.

“Celia,” Mama said sharply, “you got no cause to act like that! Go to your room.”

“That's just fine!” I retorted, kicking at the rest of Kevy's toys. “I'll go to my room and never come out!” And I stomped down the hall, railing at myself that she was right—I had no cause at all. Danny Cander wasn't worth it. Slamming my door, I flung myself across the bed to sob into my pillow, fingers digging into Cubby's soft brown belly.

Sunday I sat in church stonily, splotchy-faced and exhausted from crying half the night. Pastor Frasier's sermon was, of all things, about letting God heal your worst hurts. I closed my ears. I managed to beg off supper that evening, slinking to my bedroom to cry some more. T
he Cumberland River's got nothing on me,
I thought, pressing a hand to my pounding head.

Both Barbara and Melissa called during the next two days, asking me to spend the night. I couldn't bear the thought—sitting around yakking about boys. Who cared? The town held nothing for me except empty days in which to miss Danny, a dull pain in my heart. Worse, school would start next month. What would I do when I saw him again?

Then, fate clearly against me, things grew even worse. It happened Wednesday afternoon, when Granddad persuaded me to walk him to Tull's, which he hadn't done in quite a while.

“It's too hot; you'll faint,” Mama clucked, trying to convince him to call Jake Lewellyn for a ride.

“Land sakes, woman, you'd think I up and died!” he snapped, heading for the bedroom to fetch his hat.

We stopped a couple times along the way, Granddad gratefully sinking into chairs on the Wedleys' and Smallbachers' porches as he declared how he'd been meaning to call on them for some time. When we finally arrived at Tull's, Mr. Lewellyn and Mr. Jenkins were already sitting outside, the former taking one look at Granddad's sweaty face and asking just what in tarnation had taken him so long.

“I walked,” Granddad said as he lowered himself slowly into his seat, giving Mr. Lewellyn's parked car a meaningful glance.

Mr. Jenkins grinned, showing crooked yellow teeth, his two older friends' fights his favorite amusement. As long as I could remember, Hank Jenkins had owned just two pairs of pants, one brown and one blue. Both were faded and tight, riding above bony ankles when he sat. His shirts weren't plentiful, either, today's being the loud, gold-flowered short sleeve with a coffee stain at the third button. A grimy baseball cap hugged his forehead, making his ears stick out.

I went inside to order a strawberry shake and a Coke, returning to hear the three of them discussing the governor's medal ceremony. “How'd you hear about that article anyway?” Granddad was asking Mr. Lewellyn. “You don't get the Lexington paper.”

“I'll tell you how. You remember ol' Mrs. Pennyweather.”

Granddad chortled, Mr. Jenkins joining in. “Who could forget.”

Mrs. Pennyweather had attended our church for years and always sang the hymns louder—and with more vibrato—than anybody. Granddad used to say she waddled around a note like a duck waddles around a riverbank.

“Well, you know she's livin' with her daughter in Albertsville now, and I met their neighbor when I was over to visit after her gallbladder operation. He was bragging about his brother in Lexington who'd been talkin' to the staff a Governor Julian Carroll hisself about some ceremony to honor Kentucky war heroes. ‘Well,' I said, ‘I been friends all my life with one a the biggest heroes the state's got; maybe you should tell me about it.'”

Granddad was watching Mr. Lewellyn intently, his tongue behind his upper lip.

“So a few days later,” Mr. Lewellyn continued, “he sent me the article. Then, thinkin' about you, Thomas Bradley”—he fixed Granddad with a heavy-browed stare—“I took the time to take it by your house.”

Granddad sucked his milk shake in silence. I could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

“I'd like to go with you to the ceremony,” Mr. Jenkins said. “I'd be right proud to be there . . .”

His voice faded, like the drone of a teacher when you're daydreaming in school. Because at that moment as I leaned against Tull's big glass window under the awning, chewing on a piece of ice, I caught sight of Danny parking his daddy's rusted pickup in front of the hardware store. A bolt of lightning shot through me. I watched as he climbed out, my chest sizzling. Slamming the door shut, he saw me, his arm going motionless. Our eyes held.

In the second that we stared at each other, downtown Bradleyville stood still. My first thought was,
Thank you, Jesus; he's okay.
I wanted to surreptitiously gesture my relief, but even as my arm began to lift, the burning in my lungs turned to sudden indignation.
Well, Danny Cander, I thought, if you're doing so great, why did you stand me up at the river again? Especially after yelling at me and pushing me, when I'd only been trying to help.

I stared at him, unmoving.

Danny's eyes slipped to the ground. Slowly he took his arm off the truck door, then turned away. He stepped up onto the curb, crossed the sidewalk, and was gone, vanishing into the shadows of the hardware store. My legs went weak. Sliding down against Tull's window, I sat on the sidewalk, knees bent. I was aware of Mr. Lewellyn rambling on about the medals ceremony. Glancing at Granddad, I saw him focusing on the empty doorway across the street and knew he'd witnessed the whole thing. Dear Granddad. So intent on his conversation, but he'd tuned out at first sign of my troubles.

Leaning my head against the wall, I turned my gaze toward the street. Danny would reappear soon, and I wasn't about to let him know he'd hurt me. I tossed a swig of soda down my throat, crunching ice. As the minutes ticked by, I crushed more ice chips and glared at that empty doorway, telling myself I didn't care, I did not care.
This is how it will be at school, I thought, catching glimpses of him only to watch him ignore me.
And then without warning Danny's familiar form crystallized from the store's darkened entry. All anger drained down my gullet like the ice on my tongue.

Look at me, Danny.

His head seemed to turn of its own accord, and he fixed upon me a gaze, question-filled and smoldering. I couldn't breathe. For a second I thought he would cross the street. But once again he turned away, climbing back into his truck and placing his bag of goods beside him. He started the engine, slid out of his parking spot, made the U-turn to drive down Main and across the tracks. He did not look at me again.

That evening I was slipping out of my bedroom to take an early bath, a yellow cotton robe over my arm, when I heard the telephone ring. “Oh, hi, Eva,” Mama said. “How are your hands?” I made a face. Mrs. B. sure seemed proud of her arthritic fingers.

“No,” Mama said with a sigh, “no better at all. She's givin' us all fits.”