Color the Sidewalk for Me (13 page)

“Wait, Mr. Lewell—”

“You tell that ol' coot granddad a yours”—he jerked his head in my direction—“I ain't talkin' to him no more, ya hear?” Hacking and sputtering, he plodded to the screen door and threw it open. I ran to hold it for him, costing him the pleasure of banging it on his way out.

“Land sakes,” Granddad muttered as we listened to him pound his cane down our porch steps. “What a temper.”

“You mailin' your medals tomorrow, Granddad?” Kevy asked that night at supper. “I can't wait to see you at the ceremony; I'll be right proud.”

“Daddy,” Mama said, casting him a warning look.

He met her eye, glanced at me, then continued smearing butter on his potato with gusto. “Thank you, Kevy, but I ain't sayin' nothin' about my illustrious service in the wars now, hear? So don't be talkin' about it at the table.”

I raised inquisitive eyebrows at Daddy and he shrugged. Something was going on. Granddad had not talked of battles since about the time Kevy fell into the river—a feat to this day unequaled for Granddad.

And he'd certainly never been this accommodating with Mama before. His intestines must have kinked just hearing his own words. But whatever was happening between them, Daddy wasn't in on it.

I did know Granddad had called about that article before Mama arrived home. Once Mr. Lewellyn had huffed off, he'd wasted no time running down the
Lexington Herald
reporter. “Lawrence Tremaine, please,” he'd snapped, expecting to hear there was no such man. But Lawrence Tremaine had come on the line and verified that he'd written the article and yes, he could mail a registration form to 101 Minton Street in Bradleyville. “And congratulations, sir,” he'd added politely, according to Granddad.

I'd given him a look. “Sounds like you owe Mr. Lewellyn an apology.”

“Humph.” He'd wandered down the hall toward his bedroom, the newspaper clipping in his hand.

I went to bed early that night, exhausted from Barbara's slumber party. Before disappearing into my bedroom, I hesitated, then tiptoed over to Mama, who was sewing in her favorite chair. “Good night,” I whispered, kissing her cheek. “I love you.”

“Good night, Celia.” She did not look up.

Pulling back quickly, I told myself she needn't say more. Even so, when she called my name I turned, breath catching. “Yes, Mama?”

“That basket of clothes needs mending. You'll need to do that tomorrow.”

My eyes closed. “Okay.”

I shut my bedroom door softly.

chapter 14

O
n that hot, muggy Saturday, by the time Kevy and I reached the river, our faces were running with sweat. We'd beaten Danny, and I was grateful for the time to rinse my face and run fingers through my hair. I'd never before been this anxious to see him. Sinking onto a boulder as Kevy cast off a ways downstream, I dreamed of the moments we'd soon have. Things were different now. We'd stepped over a boundary and would no longer be satisfied with just sitting and talking. I wanted to hold his hand again, longed to brush that strand of hair from his forehead. The thought of being close to him sent a quivering through my chest. “Hurry up, Danny,” I whispered.

I waited. Time ticked slowly by. Kevy caught a fish. After twenty minutes I stood up to stretch, my rear end numb.

“Where's Danny?” Kevy called.

I shrugged. “Who knows?”

What if Danny was watching me from afar, enjoying the sight of my impatience? Imagining that, I managed a laborious yawn, wandering a few steps as if I hadn't a care in the world. When he didn't appear after a few minutes, I dropped my pretense, daring a glance at the field, then swept my eyes up and down the riverbank. No Danny.

He
just has extra chores
, I told myself.
He'll be here.
I sat down again, absently picking up a handful of pebbles to drop one by one with a light click on the ground. When my hand was empty, I picked them back up. Dropped them one by one again.

Something swished at the field's edge and I jerked up my head, smiling with anticipation. But it was only a squirrel staring at me, mouth working, before it frisked away. My smile faded.

With a dull pain growing in my lungs, I repeated to myself that he would come. I knew he wanted to see me, too, that he'd probably dreamed all week about our last time together, as I had. He would not stand me up without very good reason.

No, I chided myself five minutes later, not true. I'd gone too far in taking his hand; I'd scared him away. He was unsure of himself and now he was embarrassed. Or maybe he didn't like girls behaving so boldly. Why had I done it? I asked, sighing at the river. Why had I frightened him off just when I couldn't stand not being with him again?

Ten more minutes. I'd give him that.

When ten minutes had passed, I told myself five more.

Even then I couldn't give up on him. It was an eternity since last Saturday; I couldn't stand to wait another week. And what if he didn't show up then? After another excruciating seven days, I couldn't bear it. He had extra chores, that was all. Maybe he'd finished and was now on his way. If I took the path through the field to his house, I could meet him. We could walk back to the river holding hands.

“Kevy!” I called. “I'm gonna walk toward Danny's house. We'll be back soon.”

“Okay!”

I crunched over the rocks and onto the path. Entering the field, I searched for him in the distance. It hadn't rained for a while, and the trail was dusty and simmering with heat. The longer I walked without spotting him, the more anxious I grew, until I knew I'd jump happily at the first sign of Danny Cander, even if I did appear too anxious.

Far ahead the thick grove of trees at the outskirts of the field signaled Danny's property on the other side. I envisioned Danny the day he'd saved Kevy, his jeans damp and his chest bare. Expanding each detail of his hugging me, wet and shivering, I watched the trees grow closer until they were only a stone's throw away. I stopped for a moment to gather my hair and swish it up and down, fanning my neck. When I started up again, I dawdled, willing Danny to appear through the trees before I reached them. He didn't.

A few moments later I'd entered the grove, relative coolness surrounding me. I paused to wipe sweat from my face. Following the weaving path, I listened for Danny but heard only the sound of my own footsteps.
He's not coming,
I taunted myself.
He doesn't want me.
Leaning against the last tree, I berated my impetuousness. What now? I certainly couldn't appear on Danny's front lawn. Once he saw me, there would be no way to explain myself, no way to slip gracefully from the scruffy grass and the memory of his hand grasping mine. I was no more than a hundred feet from his house. I could almost feel him.

I prayed for him to appear but knew I'd already waited too long. I needed to get back to Kevy. My chest sank. Turning to retrace my steps, I tossed a strand of hair from my face, telling myself it didn't matter; I didn't need Danny Cander anyway. Who did he think he was, trying to hurt me? I emerged from the trees, blinking in the sunlight, repeating that I didn't need Danny, I did not.

Then the sound came from Danny's house, a muffled stridence through the grove.

I halted, skin tingling. Cocked my head. There it was again. A man argued vehemently. A woman's voice pleaded. I held my breath. The pleading escalated, then abruptly stopped.

Silence.

My eyes danced across the field as I waited, muscles tense.

The woman screamed. My heart revved, thudded against my chest.
Mrs. Cander.

I spun toward Danny's house and raced back through the trees. The pleading welled up again, deep from within a woman's throat constricted with fear. The man's bellowed words garbled as they hurled over the Cander's lawn and split against the tree trunks around which I ran. Nearing the edge of the grove, I heard banging and scuffling, as if someone were fighting inside Danny's house. The picture of Mrs. Cander's worn face, her gentle hands holding a cracked cup of chicken broth to my brother's lips, flashed through my head. I veered around the last tree, terrified. The sun's glare slapped my forehead as I burst into the clearing.

I tripped on a small rise in the trail, then caught myself with both hands, grunting as I pushed away from the dirt. I raised my head toward Danny's house as the sounds grew more distinct, the bellows forming into threats that surged through the Cander's screen door. In the next instant the door jerked open and Mrs. Cander flailed through it, careening across the rickety front porch and down the steps. Her flowered housedress swished between her knees as she ran barefoot, her long brown hair flying. One hand swept up against the side of her mouth, blood oozing down her chin to splatter across her dress.

Before the door could slam, Mr. Cander lunged after his wife. He was barefoot and shirtless, his face purple with rage. “Don't you be runnin' away from me, woman!” he hollered. He banged drunkenly into the porch rail, reeled backward, then scuffled down the steps. “I ain't through with you yet!”

I froze, ashamed to see a man undressed like that but unable to tear my eyes away from the thick dark hair on his shoulders. I remembered him years ago at Miss Jessie's wedding, dressed up and sipping punch. Now he looked like a madman. Standing shakily at the edge of the field, palms pressed against my lips, I stared in horror as he chased Danny's panicked mama.

“No!” she was crying.
“No!”

Mrs. Cander lost her footing as her housedress wrapped around her legs. Sprawling headfirst onto the patchy lawn, she quickly flipped over in self-defense, aghast to see her crazed husband so close behind. She scuttled backward on all fours, her backside dragging the ground. As he rushed for her, she keened, praying for him to stop.

He'll kill her,
I thought. And still I could not move.

“Mama!”

I heard Danny's cry a split second before I saw him. Bare-chested, he exploded around the side of the house to sprint toward his parents, dropping a bucket that sprayed his jeaned legs with the dregs of brown food scraps as it bounced against the dirt. Mr. Cander jerked his head toward Danny and stumbled, giving his wife the chance to scramble from his grasp.

“Daddy, no!” Danny screamed, his face contorting into hard-edged fury as he raced toward his father, slamming into him with a force that shoved him backward. Looking shocked at his own violence, Danny immediately jumped away.

Mr. Cander staggered, then lurched to a stop, his chest expanding as he turned his murderous glance from his wife onto Danny. “I'll git you, boy,” he spat through twisted lips. “This ain't none a your affair, hear? None!”

On her hands and knees now, dirt puffing around her wrists, Mrs. Cander skittered away from them and back toward the porch, a long strand of hair stuck to the blood on the side of her chin.

Shoulders heaving, Danny faced his father, legs apart, hands curling. A sneer crossed his face, narrowing his eyes. “Come on, then,” he challenged, his voice catching. “Come on then, Mr. Big Man.”

I'd seen a young Danny in many a fight at school, seen him take on boys near twice his size. Watching at playground's edge with my friends, biting my lower lip, I'd seen the anger etched across his face, knew the swell of his cheekbones and the hardened line of his jaw. I could vividly remember his looming over Gerald, dark brows jammed together over slit eyes. But I had never, ever seen him look like this.

About the same height, Danny and his father hulked in semiprofile to me, Danny's face three-quarters visible. The wrath that poured from him, sloshing off his shoulders and over his tightly muscled arms, swept like a wave across the yard to smash against my own stomach. I could almost reach out and touch its vengeance. It was more than anger; it was a loathing, cold and pure, that frothed from him. Seeing Danny that way turned my lungs to ice.

“I said come on!” he shouted through clenched teeth. Danny's voice dripped with disgust. “You a big man, ain'tcha! Big enough to hit a woman.”