Color the Sidewalk for Me (53 page)

“All right.” Miss Jessie looked nonplussed at my turnabout.

The next thing I remember, I was in my car.

I drove home with anticipation, telling myself this would work, it had to. Far-fetched as it was. This must have been another part of what God had planned for me in my return to Bradleyville. He had simply insisted that I turn to him first. How awful it would have been, I realized, if I'd said yes to John. Maybe God would have changed his mind, not allowed me to find the letters. But now, after all the years and pain and lies, I could be with Danny in two days.
Danny.
I imagined catching my first glimpse of him, looking into his eyes. Surely he wouldn't turn me away . . .

Then reality rose before me. What of Kathy? Did she love him? How could I do anything to cause her pain? Yet if what Miss Jessie thought about Danny was true, how could he ever really make Kathy happy?

Could Danny and I have another chance? Could we? I had to see for myself.

I rehearsed my words to Mama and Daddy, believing they would understand—Daddy because he yearned for my happiness, and Mama because she was heartsick over what she'd done. I slid from my car in the driveway, crunching over gravel in the dark, hurrying onto the lighted front porch. As I reached for the door handle, I prayed for the right words to say, thinking I had to pack, I had to call about flights; it would be a long drive to the Lexington airport.

I pushed the door open and heard Mama's muffled scream.

chapter 62

V
aguely I heard John's footsteps approach. I was slumped on the couch, forehead pressed into my palms, staring at my feet. Mama had been slowly pacing and drew to a halt when he entered the room. I lifted my head, looking to John for answers, fear and remorse dulling my nerves. He met my eyes, his smile tight.

“Let me tell you what I know.” He sank to the edge of Mama's chair. “It looks like he's had the kind of stroke we call a T.I.A.—transient is chemic attack. I know you had a scare there, Estelle, but the good news is, it probably isn't as bad as it looks. It's set him back, that's for sure, but he's not as bad as the first time around, and he'll be able to bounce back much faster. Mainly, a T.I.A. can play a psychological game, especially in William's case because he was fairly near recovery. Now of course he's very depressed. His mind's as clear as ever and he feels trapped again by a body that's not working. It's very important to keep his spirits up and keep him doing his exercises. As long as that occurs, you should find that in a couple of weeks he's returned to the level of recovery he was enjoying before this happened.”

“What if it happens again?” Mama demanded.

He shrugged slightly. “We have no guarantee that it won't. On the other hand, just because it happened once doesn't mean it will again. Don't despair. I do believe, because of the progress he's already shown, that he's going to lead a normal life again. Celia, you've got your work cut out for you the next few weeks. I hope you can stay and see it through, because he's going to need you more than ever.”

My mind numbed as I stared at John, fingers clenched. “Is he awake?”

“Yes, he's waiting to see you both. Everything I've told you, he already knows.”

Mama hurried off to see him. I looked at the floor again, dreading to face Daddy.

“Celia,” John said, moving to sit beside me, “he's going to be all right.”

I nodded.

“Heck, you pulled miracles out of a hat with him before. After all you've done, this is going to be easy.”

“John, I have to ask you,” I said to my feet, “could stress have caused it? Mama and I had a bad argument and he was really upset.”

He reached for my hand. “Celia, if you're trying to take the blame for this, don't. These things just happen; if I could predict them, I'd be a wealthy man.”

Air caught in my throat. “I don't want to see him suffer anymore because of me.”

“He's not; you're the one who's helped him so much. You'll help him now.”

“I don't have the strength. And I feel so bad for Daddy.” I suppressed a sob. “And now I can't leave.”

“Are you really that anxious to go?” The hurt in his voice was unmistakable.

I closed my eyes. “I need to get to Daddy now. Thanks for staying with us so late.”

“Hey, I'm a small-town doctor; what do you expect? We never sleep.”

I squeezed his fingers and released them, seeking the energy to face Daddy with a reassuring smile. Worse, Mama would be beside him. What could I possibly say to her after history had chosen to repeat itself and I once again felt the burden of blame on my shoulders?

“Okay, Daddy. Let's see how high you can lift from the knee.”

It seemed so long ago that we had been at this point. I watched his leg move with one-third of the motion he'd had twenty-four hours before. Was it just the previous night we had been shooting baskets? Now, the next morning, he could barely hold the ball. He was back in his wheelchair. I had rehooked the bag that held paper and pen to its right side. Writing seemed easier than talking.

Tears had burst from me the moment I'd seen Daddy's newly sagging mouth the previous night. My planned encouragement whisking away,

I had knelt next to the bed and buried my head in his side. “I'm sorry, Daddy, I did this to you; I'm so sorry,” I said, crying as he patted me on the head, intoning, “Nuuh, nuuh.” Mama watched silently, her eyes burning into my back. She and I still had not spoken. God had abandoned us both.

Daddy performed the exercises with grim determination, sweat on his forehead. I rubbed his cheek and he took my hand, pressing it. Then he reached for his writing utensils, gesturing for me to sit. Watching him once again write so laboriously cut me to the heart.

Choose your battles.

I stared in surprise at Granddad's old admonition. “I am, Daddy. And you're it. Or I should say, your arms and legs are it. I told you I'd see you back to work and I will. This time we're going to make it.”

Only this time it would be too late for me.

He shook his head slowly.

Mama is your battle.

She had been my worst enemy, all right, but this was not what he meant. “Oh, Daddy,” I said with a sigh. “You forget something. Mama was the one battle even Granddad couldn't win.”

With God you can win.

“Not this time.”

He tapped the sentence with the point of his pen.

“It's too late, Daddy; I don't know how to even try now. Everything's too late.”

You're trying again with me.

I exhaled in frustration. “You I can mend. But with her it's been a lifetime of problems. What she did with that letter was so intentional.”

The result was wrong but her intent was good.

He regarded me with hopeful eyes.

Had I more tears, I would have shed them, because searching Daddy's face, I realized that his disappointment over Mama and me ran deeper than his disappointment over his own body. I didn't know how to rebuild the bridge to Mama, for she had cost me Danny and that was so hard to forgive. And now I had done this to Daddy; how could she ever forgive me? Yet now more than ever we needed to get along for his sake.

“I know,” I said, forcing the words. “And I'll talk to her, try to straighten things out. Don't worry.”

The sweetness of his lopsided smile was heartrending.

I called the Hardings before they left for church. Mama had already phoned Pastor Beekins, who consoled her, telling her that the congregation would be praying. “I can't leave now, of course,” I told Miss Jessie in a low voice.

“There's still a chance, Celia,” she said, her tone heavy. “I'll give you the number; you can at least call him at his hotel Monday evenin'.”

I laughed tiredly. “We've been through this, remember? A phone call after seventeen years? When he's planning to become engaged? It's too late, Miss Jessie. Thank you for trying to help. But it's just too late.”

“Sorry for pushin', but I think you're just scared. What have you got to lose?”

“Everything!” I burst. “At least now I know he didn't leave me of his own choice. What if he turned from me now—purposely? I couldn't stand it!”

“Do you want me to call him for you? Or say anything if he calls me?”

“No! Let him be; he's got his own life now.”

“What if he asks about you?”

“Tell him the truth. That I'm very busy with Daddy. And that”— my voice faltered—“that I'm glad for him.”

Miss Jessie could not seem to let it die. We argued quite a while before she reluctantly agreed not to press me anymore.

Hanging up the phone, I turned, lead in my chest, to see Mama standing in the threshold of the hallway. “You were goin' somewhere?” she asked, surprise in her voice.

Such a pipe dream, my foolhardy plans of flying to New York. Such a fairy tale. Her demand for an answer swelled my feelings of devastation, and I found myself bitterly telling her about my visit to the Hardings'.

“Stupid, huh?” I scorned. “As if appearing on his doorstep at the last minute would change his mind. But it was my only chance, Mama, after everything you've done. I said I'd go.”

My accusation cut her to the quick. “And now?”

“I can't go. Daddy needs me.”

She swallowed.

“Well, I promised him, didn't I?” My voice thickened with disappointment and anger. “I promised I'd see him back to work! So don't you think I'm going to run off like last time! I may have caused this just like I caused Kevy's death, but I'm not running again, okay? Even for Danny Cander. You can count on me this time, you hear?”

Her face creased and she leaned against the wall. “Oh, Celia.” Her eyes closed. “I don't want to be your enemy. I can't bear to lose you now. What's it goin' to take to earn your forgiveness?”

Her meager apology failed to move me; we had fallen back too far. The acidity of my answer nearly closed my throat.

“Turn back time, Mama. Bring Danny back.”

She remained still as I brushed against her shoulder on the way to my room.

chapter 63

T
he clock moved slowly Monday. I pushed Daddy to the breakfast table and pictured Danny on his plane to New York. “Lift a little higher,” I encouraged during morning therapy, and wondered if he was thinking about diamonds. While Daddy read the paper, I stared at the phone, thinking I should call Quentin Sammons about the stroke, but I was unable to summon the energy. I considered leaving a message at Danny's hotel. If he didn't call back, well, then I would know. I wanted to ask Miss Jessie for the number but knew she wouldn't have it with her at the shop, so I waited until evening. Then evening arrived and it was supper time and more exercises and no privacy at the phone. John came to check on Daddy and I couldn't take my eyes off him, wanting the comfort of his arms, crazy as that was in the midst of everything else. I felt as if I were falling into a big, black hole and would never climb out. I could no longer pray. Mama ran to the store before it closed, leaving Daddy and me to talk, his paper filling slowly with words of encouragement—the patient becoming the doctor. I found no chance to call the Hardings until Mama returned, looking flushed and murmuring that she hadn't expected to be gone so long. When I finally dialed, Miss Jessie sounded inexplicably hesitant to give me the number, which increased my timidity.

“It's a dumb idea anyway,” I told her, “and I probably won't call. But just in case.”

I kissed Daddy good night as he and Mama went to bed; then I sat in the living room. I couldn't find the courage to pick up the phone. After a time I realized the hour had grown too late, and forced myself to bed. Where I did not sleep.