Color the Sidewalk for Me (8 page)

“Don't cry, Celia,” Kevy whispered.

I brought both hands to my mouth, overwhelmed with exhaustion and relief. Dear Kevy, nearly drowned, and he was worried about me. I felt the chilly touch of his fingers on my forearms, which made me cry all the more. “It's okay, Kevin,” I heard Danny say. And then I stood up and Danny was standing, too, saying my brother was going to be all right. I nodded fiercely but still I sobbed, turning away so he wouldn't see my face. After a minute I felt a tentative touch on my shoulder and was embarrassed to find him right behind me. “Please don't cry, Celia; he's okay now.”

“I know.”

“Then why're you cryin'?”

“I can't help it; I'm just glad he's all right. He's the only brother I've got.”

“Oh.” I could sense him shifting uncomfortably. “Are you through yet?”

I tried to breathe evenly but the tears kept coming. “No. I'm sorry.”

“That's okay. You don't have to apologize.”

I turned toward him, the ground blurry beneath my feet. “I just w–want,” I stuttered, covering my mouth so he wouldn't see my lips pull, “to thank you for s–savin' my brother.”

“It's all right; I couldn't a done it without you. And God helped us both.”

“No, if you hadn't jumped in—”

“Celia.” He put a hand on each of my shoulders. “You got to stop now; we still need to help Kevin. He's shiverin' somethin' awful.”

“Okay, I w–will. Sorry I'm bein' so stupid.”

“You're not bein' stupid.”

Danny's unexpected empathy pulled another sob from me. I tried to apologize for the third time but couldn't talk, so I just shook my head.

“Oh, brother,” Danny said, sighing. He put his hands halfway around my back and we stood awkwardly for a minute. “Come on, stop now.” He patted the back of my head as he would a whimpering puppy.

“Okay.” Swallowing hard, I raised my head to look at him, hiccuping. His hair was plastered against his forehead, droplets of water still on his neck, green irises vivid against chilled skin. Our eyes met and held, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. As the last cry died in my throat, something changed inside me. I was suddenly, acutely aware of Danny Cander's arm warming my shoulders and how close we were. A tingle ran through my nerves. Blinking hard, I stepped back quickly, his arms falling away and his cheeks flushing a deep red. “I'm sorry. I'm okay now.” I dropped my eyes, turning to lean down at Kevy's side. My brother's eyes were not quite focused. “Kevy. You okay?”

He nodded, reaching for my hand. I grasped him tightly, my fingers turning white. A shiver shook his body. “I'm c–cold.”

“I know, Kevy. We'll get you warm.” I turned to catch Danny staring at me. Flustered, he glanced away. It's
okay,
I wanted to assure him.
Don't worry about it.
“Danny, your T-shirt. It's still dry, remember?”

For a moment his face was blank. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Can you run get it?”

His brow knit with concern. “Yeah. Sure.”

I smiled at him briefly. Slowly he smiled back. Then he was off, loping barefoot over the rocks upstream.

“Celia.” Kevy rubbed my hand. I turned toward him.

“Yes, little brother. What is it?”

“Did you get my fishin' pole?”

chapter 9

W
ith Danny's shirt reaching to his knees, Kevy lay on the ground, still shivering. I wished girls could go shirtless as Danny was; my bra chafed and my damp shirt was smeared with dirt and blood.
I must look a sight,
I thought.

“Kevy, can you walk?” I squatted beside him.

He rolled his head, teeth chattering. “I'm s–so cold.” His cheeks were still unnaturally white, each freckle a dark contrast. I shot Danny a concerned look.

He nodded. “We gotta git him somewhere quick, git him warm.”

I was tired enough to lie beside Kevy and go to sleep. I tried to think of the closest place to take him, but my brain wouldn't work. “What should we do?”

Rubbing his forehead, Danny looked across the field that bordered the riverbank. His hair was half dry and looked good in a messed-up way. I took in his strong profile and the length of his black lashes. One hand was on the hip of his wet jeans, the other dangling, his muscles well defined. He'd been wearing his shoes and socks when he returned, and he'd picked up Kevy's shoes as well. He must have hurt his feet on his way up the riverbank, but he wasn't complaining. I glanced at the cuts on my palms and knees. They had stopped bleeding, although they stung a little.

Danny and I were keeping our distance. I knew he was thinking about our hug, too, was probably even more embarrassed than I. It wasn't his fault any more than mine; it just happened. The whole thing was almost funny. If anybody had told me I'd end up clinging to
Danny Cander
today, sobbing on his shoulder, I'd have laughed myself silly. He shifted awkwardly under my gaze, our eyes meeting. I made sure not to glance away, lest he think I still had that particular moment in mind.

“We should take him to my house.”

I tried to hide my surprise but it was too late.

“It's closest,” he explained quickly, pointing across the field. “We cut through there, it's only about a half mile.”

“Are you sure it's okay?”

“Why shouldn't it be okay?” he said sharply.

Suddenly it was the same old Danny, with a challenge in his eye and a chip on his shoulder. It startled me, his acting like that now. Not that our hug meant we liked each other or anything, but I certainly didn't deserve his school-yard-fight cockiness. I opened my mouth to retort, but he looked away, neck stiffened, and in a flash I was back on the school playground in fifth grade, gaping with my friends at his balled fists and blood-spattered shirt.

“This is a stinkin' town,” Danny had leered at me that day, “and when I'm old enough, I'm gittin' out of it.”

“It's not this town that's stinkin', Danny Cander!” Gerald Henley had huffed. “It's the smell a your daddy, 'cause he's always drunk!”

Gerald was short and stout and known for his clumsiness. He was an idiot to spout off to Danny like that, and the minute he shouted the words, his pasty face blanched with fear. Like a bolt of lightning Danny's fist shot out and smashed him in the nose. Gerald yelled in pain, blood spurting through his splayed fingers. Danny stood his ground, glaring down at him.

“Don't you ever say a word about my daddy again.”

It was the tone of his voice—quiet, shaking—that caused me to ignore Gerald's howls and gaze wide-eyed at Danny. Suddenly I saw him differently. It wasn't hatred or anger that had made him hit sissy Gerald, I realized; it was shame.

That same expression was now narrowing his mouth and eyes. If you didn't recognize its essence, you'd think he was angry. I supposed in a way he was—angry that for all his life he'd had to battle for the honor of a drunken father. Guilt flushed through me as I realized how hard it was for Danny to invite us to his house. I wasn't thrilled about going, either, but I would never let him know that.

Brushing wet dirt off my shorts, I said, “Let's get started, then.”

Kevy protested having to move but I pushed him to his feet. “Danny, can you get under his other arm? I don't think he's good for much, are you, Kevy?”

“N–no.” He managed a teeth-chattering smile. “Not m–much.”

It's amazing how long a half mile can seem under such circumstances. Danny offered to carry Kevy, but I said, “No, you're already exhausted; if you fall over, what am I supposed to do, carry you both?” I spoke lightly, smiling at him, hoping he understood the message beneath my words. He shrugged but I saw in his eyes that he'd heard me.

We moved on either side of Kevy, Danny's arm around my brother's back, brushing against my side as we began to half drag him along.

“Just go upriver,” Danny pointed with his chin, “back to where we were fishin'. There's a path there that cuts through the field to my house.”

In a few minutes we reached the spot where Kevy had fallen from Jake's Rock. “What about our stuff?” I asked, spotting the tackle box, bucket, and poles.

“I'll git it later.” Danny urged us toward the path through the daisy-covered field. It seemed to stretch endlessly.

All those years, I marveled, I'd been fishing near the path that led to Danny Cander's house. I couldn't explain why that made me feel so strange. Maybe it was because our worlds had always seemed so far apart, when they really weren't at all. Yet in one sense they would always be far apart, Danny's daddy being the target of town gossip while my family was respected. What did it matter that I was Thomas Bradley's grandgirl and Danny was a Cander? Shouldn't people be judged by their own actions? And didn't God tell us not to judge at all?

We trudged in silence for another ten minutes, the path leading us toward a grove of trees. “My house isn't too far from the other side,” Danny told Kevy. My brother was panting hard but at least his lungs were working. My hands ached from supporting him, and I knew Danny's arms must be terribly tired after his hard swimming. Finally we reached the cool shade of the trees. When we emerged on the other side, Danny announced, “See, Kevin, there it is.”

It was still a hundred feet away, but Kevy's spirits picked up at the sight of the ramshackle white wood house. To its left rose an old red barn, paint peeling, separating the yard from a cornfield and pasture. In the barn's shadow chickens clucked in a lean-to henhouse. As we approached Danny's house, I could see that its long front porch was scattered with dozens of tools, a wound-up rope, battered shoes, a couple of sweat-stained hats, and three rusted, saggy-bottomed iron chairs, their cushions a faded red. The front door was open. We reached the porch steps, and through the screen door I could just make out a bare hallway and staircase, its banister scratched and worn. Exhaling my relief, I felt a rush of sympathy for Danny.

“Just sit here for a second. I'll get Mama.” Gently Danny pushed Kevy into a chair, his eyes drifting nervously through the door. I sank wearily next to my brother, unsure if my worry about seeing Danny's daddy was for my sake or Danny's. “Thank you so much,” I said, my eyes closing.

Not a minute later Danny's mama was hustling toward us, worry lines in her forehead, her brown hair falling astray from a bun as she wrapped her arms around Kevy. Her voice was soft as a cotton ball as she murmured his name, her face sun-weathered, cheeks gently rounded. Full of concern, her large eyes were green like Danny's. Something within me twinged as I imagined Mama looking at me the way she fussed over my brother. Efficiently she helped him to a front bedroom and began to undress him. I followed, wondering where her husband was and jumping when Danny appeared, carrying a cup of hot chicken broth.

“Thank you, honey.” Mrs. Cander had fluffed three pillows for Kevy to lie against, his face pale against their dark blue cases. “Drink this, Kevin; it'll warm you up.” She glanced at me. “You better call your mama. The phone's in the kitchen.”

I held her eyes for a moment, my insides stirring. I wanted to capture the scene as she turned back to Kevy, one roughened hand sliding gently under his neck, the other holding the dirt brown mug, a small chip showing white at its base. She was wearing a green-and-white checked, long nubby skirt with a plain blouse half untucked. “Come now, Kevin, take a drink,” she urged.

If I'd had any doubts about my brother's welfare, they spun away as I watched her nurse him. Quietly I slipped from the room.

I As I reached for the phone on the yellowed counter, I was struck by what I was about to do. Perched in a metal chair with a green vinyl cushion gaping at the seam, Danny watched me pensively. He hadn't changed from his still-damp jeans, although he'd obeyed his mama's hurried whisper to “be proper and get a shirt on.”

“What's the matter?” he asked.

I met his gaze, my hand on the receiver. How to answer him, when I was unsure of my own thoughts? It was . . . awkward, our two families about to mix like this. I was afraid of what Mama would say. Would she ask what Danny Cander had been doing with us at the river? Trekking through that daisy-laden field, I'd begun to question Bradleyville's seeming prejudice. God was loving and forgiving, judging each person individually. At least that's what I'd come to understand, from teachings both at home and in our church. No one had a right to judge Danny just because he'd been a troublemaker as a young kid. Who wouldn't be, in his situation?

And there was another problem. I fretted about Mama blaming me for Kevy's accident. Would she carry her anger to Danny's house, its blaze licking around the long skirt of Danny's mama, who was so tenderly taking care of my brother? I dreaded Mama's comparison with Mrs. Cander, didn't want Danny to know what was lacking in my own home. And then I realized I was cringing at the smallest inkling of what he must have felt all these years about his daddy.