Shadows Gray

Chapter Fifteen



We walk back from our shopping exhibition laden down with bags and boxes and boxes in bags. Emme is fresh faced and excited for her purchases as we make our way back to the coffee shop and I can’t help but cheer up a bit; Emme’s childlike exuberance is contagious. The wind has whipped itself up into a bit of frenzy however and my fingertips feel frozen to the plastic handles of the shopping bags in no time. We still have a couple of blocks to go.

“Let’s play Best and Worst in order to keep my lips from frostbite,” I suggest, heaving my bags up and over my shoulders like Saint Nicholas. Best and Worst is a game just about every Lost child has played at one time or another: the best places and eras you can imagine waking up in and the worst.

“Mmm,” Emme wrinkles her button nose the way she always does when she’s thinking. “Best: Cancun, right now. Worst: the Black Death.”

“Best: discovering America. Worst: Marie Antoinette’s court.”

“Best: the abolition of slavery. Worst: on board the Titanic.”

“Best: the nativity in Bethlehem. Worst: the Trail of Tears.”

“Best: the Wright brother’s airplane. Worst: Vietnam in the sixties.”

“Best: you know that scene in every Robin Hood movie? Where they’re gnawing on gigantic turkey legs? That. Worst: the depression.”

“Yeah, I’ve had those turkey legs and they weren’t that great,” Emme answers. “It was like gnawing on shoe leather not poultry.”

“Please tell me you didn’t actually meet Robin Hood!” I stop in my tracks.

Emme laughs. “Pretty sure he’s a fictional character, genius. Did meet a lot of friars back then though and maidens in long frocks. And castles aren’t nearly as romantic as they look, let me tell you. Bloody cold and full of rats.”

“Alright then. Best: Elvis Presley’s tour bus. Worst: Marilyn Manson’s tour bus.”

Emme laughs again. “We’re here. Ugh. What are the odds of you taking all this stuff back to your place to hide?” She manages to balance a box beneath her chin and free her left hand to open the door to the coffee shop. Wedging my knee in the opening, we both somehow get inside without dropping anything.

“Pretty good as long as Israel comes to get me. I’m not going to walk it all home, that’s for sure.” I wonder if he’ll be up for picking me up. I spent most of my shift shopping but it is still daylight. Sometimes he abandons me to walk the sunlit streets and fend for myself when it isn’t an evening shift I’ve worked. Plus, I don’t think he’s completely forgiven me for stealing the Blue Beast.

“Can I talk you into wrapping it all, too?” Emme pleads, her eyes sparkling.

“Sure, as long as I can write Love, Auntie Sonnet on all of them,” I agree. “And your Bambi eyes don’t work on me, so shove off. I’ll see you later. Come by tonight; I’m sure Prue has something we can stick some candles on for Joe. Bring him and Bea, we’ll have a party.”

“Perfect. Thanks, Sonnet. You’re a good friend.”

“I’m your only friend. See you later.”

After Emme is gone I line up all her packages in a row in the front counter that faces the street. There are bar stools that swivel and look out into traffic. It’s the favorite place for little kids to sit and spin in circles while their moms and dads drink coffee, and I sit and spin now as I wait for what I hope will be the massive rectangle of blue that is my ride home.

********************

“Thanks for the ride,” I tell Israel meekly, as I climb in the passenger seat. All of Emme’s gifts are piled up in the back.

“You’re welcome. Who are all these for then?”

“Joe,” I want to tell him that Bea isn’t Joe’s mother, but it isn’t my secret to tell. “They’re coming over later. Do we still have ice cream?”

“We should have since Matthias isn’t around to eat it in the middle of the night.” Matthias was a bit of an ice cream fiend.

“How was your day?” I ask, again meekly. I still feel guilty over the theft of his car and for our conversation concerning medicine back in the kitchen.

“Busy,” Israel answers, stopping for a red light. “You?”

“Fine.”

“How was the rest of your night last night? With, what was his name, Larry?”

“Luke. It was fine. Nice actually. Well, until the end. I think he thinks I’m nuts for chasing after Rose, plus when he brought me home the cops were bringing in Dad.”

“Well, I’m sure he isn’t much of a loss.”

“You didn’t like him?”

“Well, he’s not my type but I guess if he’s yours…”

“I don’t even have a type!” I feel my face flushing. Israel’s smiling which means he was egging me on. “Well, he doesn’t much like you either. He said you look like something I won in a raffle.”

“What does that mean?” he scowls. “He looks like the cover of a hunting and fishing catalogue.”

“What does that mean?” I can’t help but laugh. “I don’t think he hunts or fishes!”

“You know,” his scowl deepens. “All flannel and scruffy and stuff.”

“Well, you’re all scrubs and scruffy and stuff.” I reach over and scrape my knuckles against his five o’clock shadow. Normally Israel is shaved and smooth; you can always tell when he’s working too much by the length of his prickly facial hair. Instead of laughing with me, he bats my hand away like a fly.

“We’re home,” he says gruffly and almost runs over the curb as he parks. He leaves me to carry in all the packages myself. I wish he had tried to open the door for me just so I could plow him down flat the way I did Luke; only with Israel I’d do it on purpose.

********************

Prue takes it literally when I ask her to put candles in whatever she can find and put together at the last minute. By dinner time there is a fish casserole (with candles in it), a pepperoni calzone (with candles in it), chicken fried rice (with candles), chocolate pudding (candles), a bowl of potato chips (candles), and an entire loaf of raisin bread (candles). Where she got all the candles I’ll never know, but I just hope the same cranky policeman doesn’t show up tonight along with a fire marshal. Since it’s an official party now, we are all looking our best and even Dad is looking bright eyed and put together. I haven’t spoken much to him since the police incident. His baby face and clear, fresh skin never show a trace of his nights. His bowtie is straight and triangular and he’s wearing his favorite argyle cardigan. He really does look like a college professor, and not like a tipsy pickpocket.

Prue is wearing her best apron, the one she wears for special occasions. She likes it so much I have even caught her wearing it over her nightgown. She’d never admit it, but I think she wants to bring it with her when we travel next.

Israel has gone to shower and says he won’t be able to stay for the party. I am wearing my plaid skirt and horses T-shirt in honor of Emme. She will absolutely hate it but Joe will approve.

When the doorbell rings I pull it open with panache, expecting to see the birthday boy on the other side. Instead I see Luke. I drop my arms in a flash from the ridiculous pose they had struck a mere second before.

“Oh,” I say. “You’re you.”

“I am?”

“Yes. I wasn’t expecting you. Sorry.” I want to say ‘what’s up?’ in a casual tone, but I can’t bring myself to say such a modern slang expression in anything that passes for casual.

“Can I come in?” He looks a little bit awkward, like he’s regretting coming or perhaps like he doesn’t want to be here at all. Trust it to me to make a man feel awkward within seconds of arriving at my door.

“Of course.” To make up for my lack of graciousness, I open the door wider and smile at him. A real smile, full of what I hope is warmth and good cheer. Well, actually I hope it’s full of beauty and mysterious charm, but warmth and good cheer is more realistic. Whatever my smile is full of it seems to have the desired effect and Luke relaxes his shoulders immediately and comes into our party. I forget to ask him why he’s here but instead get him a glass of ice water and an empty plate, which if I know him at all, he will have piled high with Prue’s cooking in no time.

The next time the doorbell rings it really is Joe and Emme and Bea and we all yell “Surprise!” and Joe is delighted and bounces like a kangaroo through the living room. He is awestruck by the sight of all the gifts (wrapped by me, all with borrowed wrapping paper from Gladys. Most of it is pink and very feminine but he doesn’t notice). Emme says he can open them and he starts tearing through them at lightning speed. He is happy enough with the bear and the lollipops and the books but he is enthralled and enamored with the train set. Within minutes he has Luke sprawled out on the carpet with him, putting it together.

“Such a lot of presents for a little fellow,” sniffs Prue. “He’ll hardly be able to play with all that, now will he?”

“Aw, that’s what big sisters are for,” says Emme, not missing a beat. Her voice doesn’t waver and she sounds as happy as ever – nothing in her voice or demeanor suggests anything but a proud older sister looking on as her little brother grows up. I steal a glance at Bea and she is every bit the actress as well; adopting the part of mother when she should be grandmother. Bea is the one who says no when Joe asks for more chips and the one who reminds him to chew with his mouth closed.

Israel comes downstairs and says hello to Bea and Emme, his car keys in hand. He has taken to keeping them on him at all times now, I’ve noticed. He tousles Joe’s curly red hair in greeting and stiffly nods at Luke, who still sits on the floor amidst a complete train wreck, literally. Luke twitches his right arm as though he is about to offer his hand, thinks better of it, and nods back.

“Sonnet, is there another plate?” Israel asks me.

“I thought you had to work?”

“I changed my mind. I can’t miss this, right, Sport?” he swings Joe up by his knees and dangles him like a pendulum.

“Right!” Joe squeals in delight, from upside down.

“Right,” I mutter. “Sure. One plate, coming right up.” I get his plate and since his hands are still full of brand new seven year old boy, I go ahead and fill it with the foods I know he likes. Since I’m still a little on the outs with Israel it would make sense that I’d fill it with the opposite of his favorites but it’s like my waitress/barista instincts kick in before I can help myself. I bring him his plate of Prue’s delicacies and then I find myself being held captive against my will as Emme combs out and braids my hair.

“Not too elaborate,” I instruct as she yanks a section of hair and the comb gets caught. I wince. “This isn’t Regency England anymore, it’s the twenty first century and a pony tail will do just fine, thanks.”

“A piece of clay doesn’t tell the potter what to make it into,” Emme points out, although it’s hard to hear what she’s saying as her mouth is full of pins.

“I don’t even know what that means. Ouch!”

Since my head is being forced to stay in one agonizing position and not move, I can stare straight ahead and see the whole group. It feels strange, with so many missing, as though if I squint enough or turn my head quickly enough I could just get a glimpse of Harry sitting next to Matthias on the couch, remote control in his wrinkled hands. Or if I just concentrate maybe I could catch a blur out of my peripheral vision that would be Meli walking briskly by on her way to the kitchen. But our group now, small though it is, still fills our living space and it’s still a loving, flawed, strange little family of sorts. Bea is talking with my father, who is sipping from a mug, and Luke is unwrapping a lollipop for Joe. Prue is almost asleep on the recliner; she jerks herself awake every couple of minutes when her eyelids begin to droop closed. Israel is putting in the batteries for the new walkie-talkie. It’s started raining heavily outside; though the darkness of evening has fallen and there is almost nothing to be seen behind our drapes and blinds and the poorly lit street. You don’t have to see the drops to know they are big and falling fast and in sheets. If I tune out the noise inside my house, I fancy I can even hear the splashing sound they make as the hit the porch. It’s not a night to be outside and with a start, I think of Rose. If she is out there in that abandoned old house, she’s cold and wet and has to be miserable. I had meant to go back out there today but between work and shopping with Emme and then planning Joe’s impromptu birthday gathering and now the early nightfall of autumn, my chance is lost.

It’s almost as though Luke hears my thoughts. He looks over at me as Emme pins in place what I hope is to be the last of the headache- inducing pins, and gives me a reassuring smile. Almost as though he’s telling me it’s okay, she’s not there, she never was, she’s someplace better and we’ll find her soon. My imagined translations of Luke’s smiles help a little and now that Emme has relinquished the comb, I get up and stretch my legs and go to serve the ice cream. With candles, of course.

********************

That night, after Luke, Emme, Bea, and Joe have all left, Israel goes to the hospital for a couple hours work, and Dad and Prue go to bed, I stand in the kitchen and shake out the very last Nightfall pill into my palm. It’s ridiculous how quickly I’ve gone through this bottle. When was the last time I slept deeply without help and deeply? I know without looking that there are violet colored circles under my eyes. But I also know without aid, I won’t be able to sleep with my family. And I can feel in my bones that we are traveling soon. Now is not the time to chance it and I swallow the last pill before going to bed.

********************

It’s a murky kind of place that I slip into, but it isn’t fully sleep. I remember and I ponder and my brain whirls around in my head, but it isn’t really dreaming that I’m doing either.

I am thinking of being a child again, that same fireplace hearth and of my mother and of Old Babba. I was so little that I could fit very comfortably under the small wooden table that we ate at. I have draped two blankets over the top and fashioned myself a fort of sorts. I have my doll in there and a snack of dried fruit in a little clay pot that I pretended to stir and make into something else. I drank imaginary tea from a thimble that I shared with my doll and taught her not to slurp and to blow on it properly. I played very quietly because I had already been scolded once for being too loud and for bothering my little sister. I heard Old Babba come into our kitchen and Mother greeted her and I pressed my fingers to my lips to keep the groaning sound from coming out and causing me to be scolded again. I hated that old neighbor lady of ours, but last time I said so, Mother swatted me on the backside and told me not to be saucy. I continued to play with my thimble and my doll and our pot of fruit and I didn’t begin listening to Old Babba until she became too loud to dismiss and ignore.

“You’ll bring nothing but trouble to this place, Carolina,” she said. “You and that girl of yours.”

I wonder what kind of trouble Old Babba was afraid of my mother causing. And me? What could a child of not even five cause to happen? Was she just a meddlesome busybody, leaving venomous words in her path, not caring who she insulted and accused? Why did my mother put up with her?

My whirling thoughts are brought to a sudden halt when I hear the screech of tires outside my window. I see the familiar lights of the Blue Beast as they turn into our driveway; they shine right into my window and onto my bedroom wall. I wonder what the screeching was all about and since I’m not sleeping anyway, I leave my bedroom and tiptoe down the stairs. Israel is taking off his jacket when I reach him and I give him a quizzical glance.

“What was the noise out there?”

“I don’t know,” he rubs his five o’clock shadow. “Thought I saw something. Too big to be Gladys’ cat, must have been a stray dog or something. I was afraid I was going to hit it so I ended up hitting the curb instead. How was the rest of the party? Joe have fun?”

“Mmhmm.”

“You look exhausted,” Israel stares at me, concerned. “Are you not sleeping?”

I shake my head. “I feel like a zombie. I’m sure I’ll fall asleep eventually. I’ll probably not get up until noon tomorrow.”

“Well, get some rest.” He heads towards his bedroom. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” I sigh.

And head back to my respective bedroom as well. And walk to my window to peer out through the sheets of rain still falling. Everything is dark except for one dim street light near Gladys’ house. It illuminates her side yard and her sweet little fencing. It illuminates a shape that is surely what Israel almost hit with his car; the shape of a slim woman wearing a soaked red dress, her hair ghostly white in the light and plastered to her head, dripping down her back and her beautiful face, her feet bare and standing in a pool of water, as she stares up at me in my window.