The Color of Us Page 10

  “The suit thing is a lie,” I say with confidence.

  “Fine, you got me.” He shrugs. “Although it’s not totally a lie because it’d probably be fun to get all dressed up, but I’ve never had a reason to.”

  “I get that.” But now that he’s raised the visual of him in a suit …

  “Now, you,” he says.

  “Fine, hedgehog killer. Give me a minute.” The boat rocks a bit when I move in my seat. “I have never watched The Handmaid’s Tale. My second? When I was young, I used to say, ‘G’bless me,’ when I sneezed.” After a beat, I continue with my third, “And I once burned spaghetti while boiling it.”

  “Oh, please. You thought mine was easy? Every girl I know has watched The Handmaid’s Tale, so that’s your lie!”

  I give him a friendly but smug smile, and he groans. “That show sounds so completely depressing and awful. Not watching!”

  “Shit, really? Damn. I’ll have to keep getting to know you.”

  “Same.”

  “So, the ‘G’bless me’ thing is true? It’s pretty damn cute.”

  I nod.

  Danny pulls the oars over again. “Okay, another game. What’s your most irrational fear?”

  “Getting arrested for a crime I didn’t commit and rotting in jail for twenty years. It makes me shudder to think about this. Yours?” I ask.

  “Being forced to sing with a hologram of a dead celebrity.”

  I laugh. “That seems unlikely to happen.”

  “So does you getting arrested. Particularly in Wake.”

  “I don’t strike you as the dangerous sort?” I ask with feigned insult.

  He winks. “Well, I didn’t say that.”

  For a long spell, he rows without talking.

  “I don’t sleep much,” he eventually says. “And you don’t sleep much either, do you?”

  “No. I don’t sleep much,” I agree. “Or well. Plenty of bad nights. Anxiety dreams, I guess. I’m always driving a car backward down a winding road. Or trying to drive it from the backseat. Out-of-control cars make routine appearances.”

  “Oh, I know those.”

  “The demons always come at night. I think you know that because I think you have demons too. Just a guess.”

  After more rowing and more silence, I can see that Danny is not ready to tell me about his.

  Unfortunately, there’s no booze in this boat, but I still ask, “Do you want to hear about mine?” It’s as though I’m challenging him in some way.

  I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.

  A rush of water brushes against the boat.

  When he’s locked the paddles into place, Danny looks at me. “I do.”

  “I’ve never wanted anyone to know who I am because, realistically, I’ve never been anyone to pay attention to. Because I am bitter, jaded, and not who I want to be. And because I’m someone who broke everything,”

  “It’s some tile and the mantel—”

  I interrupt him. “That’s not what I mean. But, yeah, I broke those too. Might as well fix some things. Or at least try,” I say as confidently as I can. “But I broke way more than that.”

  Danny leans back. “Tell me.”

  I shake my head, frightened that I’ve accidentally agreed to share this part of my story. “I feel like you’ll never see me the same way after this.”

  “Maybe it won’t be in precisely the same way, but it will still be in a good way.” The damn dimples prevail. “Talk to me.”

  My heart is pounding now, and I can feel my breathing pick up. I’m scared to say what I’m about to, but I can also feel that I need to purge. To finally say things out loud. “Only a few people know what happened the night that my father died. And no one knows the details.”

  “Mike had a heart attack, right?” he prompts.

  I pause before answering. “Yes. That’s true. But it’s more complicated than that.”

  “Nothing’s simple,” Danny whispers. “Nothing is ever simple.”

  “That night,” I start, “when I was eleven years old and happy and whole, I was asleep when a friend called me. She blew up my phone until I finally woke up. It didn’t matter how groggy and tired I was because when she told me that there was a midnight showing of Monsters, Inc. in Burlington, I was alert as hell. This sounds silly now, but it was my favorite movie when I was growing up.

  My hand falls into the water and swirls around a bit before I continue. “My parents weren’t big on screen time when I was little, but out of desperation to get me to sit the fuck still for a minute, my dad tried playing the DVD of that movie. Apparently, I was captivated from the first scene and watched it while barely blinking. Dad said it felt like the first moment that he and Mom were able to sit down since I’d started crawling. And then they played it again.”

  My eyes start to burn, even as I laugh a bit, and I look at Danny.

  “And so, a million years later, I woke up my dad and begged him to take me to that late-night showing. I was aching to see that movie on a big screen. And it was selfish and horrible of me. Of course, he didn’t hesitate to jump out of bed because he knew what this meant to me. To us, maybe. We rushed out of the house and into the car, and we had a great time at the movie. A crazy-huge tub of popcorn, a giant soda, laughing at Mike and Sulley and Boo. Calling out lines in real time. It was all damn perfect.”

  “Until it wasn’t.” Danny knows how this story ends.

  “Yes. Until it wasn’t.”

  My hands grip the sides of the rowboat. Anger, pain, loss, and guilt wash over me with a tidal force.

  This is the first time that I’ve spoken about that night out loud. The first time that I’ve relived it, aside from when the police interviewed me.

  “But on the way home? He felt something and had to pull over. He told me that he was having chest pain, that he needed his pills. We were on the side of the road with him in agony and me searching desperately for the meds that he was asking for. He was supposed to have them in his glove compartment. He was supposed to have his pills everywhere, but he didn’t. Even then, he still tried to give me a bit of a smile, tried to make me not worry about him while I searched the car, and when I couldn’t find any pills, I finally thought to search his pockets for a cell phone. And when I found it, I couldn’t get help. There was no cell service. There was no fucking cell service, Danny, and I was so young, and my father was dying.”

  “Jesus, Callie …”

  “So, then I rushed out of the car and ran around with the phone because I was desperate to find a signal, and I was screaming and crying, doing anything that I could to save my father. But I was a kid. I was a goddamn kid.” I can hear my protests and remember how it felt to be so totally helpless and alone. “And when I got back to the car, he was dead. It didn’t matter how loudly I screamed or how hard I shook him or how many choking sobs I let erupt. He was still dead.”

  Danny’s face says it all. He gets how intensely traumatizing this was. “There’s no way you could have done anything more.”

  I continue, “It must have been two hours later, but finally, someone pulled over. Finally. After two horribly torturous hours. Do you know who?”

  Danny shakes his head.

  “Paul.” Surprisingly, I smile a bit. “Paul. My mom got worried when Dad and I didn’t come home. She thought we might have had car trouble, and she obviously couldn’t leave the house in the middle of the night with Erica asleep, so she called Paul to trace our route. See if we’d broken down. And he found me, scared and alone and traumatized because I’d been sitting with my dead father and I was only eleven years old. He stayed calm, lifted me from the car, managed to get through to 911 out of my earshot, held me in his arms and away from the paramedics when they arrived. He did everything right. I only saw him once after that night when we had the memorial at the house. That’s why it’s so wonderful to see him again and also so painful.”

  It’s comforting when Danny moves to sit beside me in this perfectly grimy, old
boat. “I cannot even conceive how difficult it would be for an adult to go through what you did. But for someone your age? That must have been impossibly awful.”

  My voice comes out in a whisper. “I’ve never told anyone about that night. Not even my best friend.”

  “Not your mom?”

  I shake my head. “No. She never asked.”

  “Wait, what? I don’t …”

  I don’t blame him for faltering for words. “She didn’t want to know. She couldn’t. She still can’t. We don’t ever talk about my dad. An unspoken rule and whatnot.”

  “I didn’t know any of this. We all heard that your dad had a heart attack. And that was that. Kind of a simple story, I guess.” He pushes my hair behind my ear. “I had no idea how much worse it was. I’m glad you told me. Honored.”

  When his hand sets against my back and he pulls me in, I don’t resist. It’s a relief to unload what’s been ripping apart my heart for so many years.

  “Maybe you’ve finally figured out part of the reason that she left,” he whispers.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You couldn’t call for help. Help that might have made a difference.”

  Suddenly, my body tenses. He’s right. If only I could have made a phone call, maybe my dad would be alive. “Cell service. I didn’t have cell service. It was so spotty here back then. It wasn’t in LA.”

  I can feel him nod against me. “Yes. I mean, it’s still not reliable in Wake. If any of you’d needed help again, to call someone, it wouldn’t have been guaranteed.”

  “But it’s guaranteed elsewhere.” As much as I resent my mother for moving us across the country so quickly, maybe she was trying to protect us. To prevent any other tragedy from hitting our family. Maybe.

  Exhaustion takes over, and I slump into his hold even more. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You’re out here on the lake at night, as you’ve seemingly done before. A boy creepily moving a boat under a virtually abandoned house, taking it out at odd hours of the night because he doesn’t sleep well. That sounds normal as fuck, doesn’t it?” It feels beyond my control as I trail my fingers across his shoulders, his biceps, over his perfect forearms. I take his hand in mine. “So, you have demons, too, I guess. I mean, your mom has been gone a lot; you never knew your dad. That’s all got to be rough.”

  He sweeps a finger over the top of my hand. Over and over. And I can tell that he’s thinking. Figuring out what to say, if he’ll say anything. Then, he sends his gentle touch up and down my arm until he pulls me in and holds me.

  The soft kiss that he leaves on my cheek makes me shudder.

  “A little insomnia, a little love of night views. But no demons. It’s a good life.”

  Danny might be good at so many things, but he’s a wildly shitty liar.

  seventeen

  At seven a.m., I am jarred from sleep by a repetitive, resounding beeping.

  Well, okay. Someone is backing up a big truck, it seems.

  Fine. That’s okay. It means things are happening.

  Then, a deafening thud from outside makes me jump.

  “What the fuck?” I yell out.

  It takes a lot for me to stumble downstairs at this hour, but I do, and I chug two glasses of iced orange juice before I start to brew a mad pot of coffee. When I’m on the back porch and enjoying the sound of the creek, my attempt to begin a day peacefully is further interrupted by another loud delivery. That must be the old-timey toilet and sink that I ordered for the bathroom. I am so not a morning person, but Paul did say eight a.m., so I’ll do my best to be a tolerant homeowner. Remodeler. Whatever.

  I stay where I am and try to caffeinate a bit more while watching videos about poaching eggs and making hollandaise sauce. Eggs Benedict is on my list of things to conquer, but I’ll get the eggs down first before I attempt the lush sauce.

  Soon, I hear more vehicles arriving and then unidentifiable noises and loud stomping on the roof.

  Oh my God, this is going to suck.

  Eventually, I slink inside and realize the annoying sounds are way worse here, so I walk out front to see what I’m dealing with.

  A totally unattractive dumpster has been dropped out front, but when I back up to see what’s happening on the roof?

  Not so unattractive. At all.

  When I can finally tear away my gaze, I call Mary Ann.

  “Hey? Need more eggs?” she asks.

  I laugh. “Um, yes, if that’s okay. That would be great. And I’m paying you this time. But, Mary Ann? You need to get over here as soon as possible.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing,” I say with true delight. “Nothing at all. But you need to see this.”

  “Callie, what is going on?”

  Thank God it’s brilliantly warm this morning because I get to ask, “Do you have a bathing suit?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then, trust me. You want to be here. It’s going to be a day of swimming and gazing at the sights.”

  There’s silence for a few seconds before she agrees. “Okay, fine. I’ll trust you. Better be worth leaving the house at this hour.”

  “Oh, it will be. It will be.” I’m about to hang up when I get an idea. “Hey, is there a bakery in town?” I ask. “Like, can you get a loaf of stellar bread?”

  “Yeah, sure, there’s an awesome one, but—”

  “Also, do you have floaties of some sort? Rafts or tubes?” I ask. “Although the rowboat could maybe work if you don’t. But definitely bring a bathing suit.”

  “Seriously, what in the hell is going on?” she demands with a laugh.

  “Make sure you wear your hottest bikini! See you soon! Floaties—don’t forget!”

  Shallots brushes against my leg, but my eyes stay fixed on the roof as I bend down to pet him.

  “This is not a bad way to start the day, buddy, is it?”

  When Mary Ann arrives an hour later, I rush to greet her in the driveway.

  It’s easy to see that she’s slightly annoyed and confused, but I take the bakery bag from her arm and point at my roof. “Look.”

  Instead, she gestures to the back of her car. “The only thing I could find at the supermarket were these giant sloth floaties that I had to inflate at the gas station. Had to tie one to the roof. Let this idiotic image burn through your brain.”

  “Let this not-idiotic image burn through your brain.”

  I point again, and when she looks up, it only takes her a second to process the fact that there are three guys on my roof, working and sweating and building even more muscle. Danny, Slowski, and Matteo are ripping tiles from the roof and looking all too damn hot.

  “Yeah, okay. Shit. You made the right call,” she says more than a little breathlessly. “Help me with the sloths.”

  “Yes!” I practically jump up and down. “Opportunity calls for you, girl! Look at your Slowski!”

  “Subtlety!” She nudges me while her gaze still burns up the roof.

  “Right. Of course.” Then, I eye what she’s wearing. “What is going on with this oversize hoodie and—wait? Are those men’s cargo shorts?”

  “What? They’re comfy.”

  I sigh. “So, I can assume there’s not a sexy bikini under that outfit?”

  She unzips her sweatshirt and gives me a glimpse of her boxy one-piece.

  Hiding my disappointment is not an option. “That’s something you’d wear to a swim meet.”

  “So?”

  “So? Listen, I don’t want to feed into a culture of sexualizing women for dumb dudes’ sake, and while these are damn good guys, it still wouldn’t hurt for you to play things up a bit. Until your guy sees you as a girl. As a possibility. Then, you can keep on keepin’ on with your hoodies.”

  “Argh! But I suppose you’re right.” Mary Ann grabs my arm and rushes toward the front door before plopping down on the steps. “Okay, you are right. Because of all the stuff with my ex, I th
ink I’ve been hiding my body. Hiding myself. Not wanting to attract attention, you know? I haven’t wanted to look or feel sexy.”

  “I get that.”

  “But Slowski? He makes me feel ready. Ready to be with somebody again. And maybe someone gentle and caring this time. God, he’s so sweet. A rare gentle, caring, kind guy, you know? They don’t come around all the time. Between my past and me being a tomboy to them?”

  “You haven’t crossed his mind.”

  “Right.”

  “Doesn’t mean that can’t change.”

  “Maybe,” she says.

  “And I can almost guarantee that Danny hasn’t told him a thing about your ex. You know him. He’s a vault. And your best friend.” I yank her inside and toward the stairs. “Let’s give Slowski a wake-up call.”

  It doesn’t take much digging through my pile of bathing suits to find Mary Ann a hot look, and while it’s not easy to look sexy or dignified while carrying oversize sloth floaties, we do our best as we cross the lawn.

  “Careful on the dock. It’s a little wonky,” I warn.

  “Warning appreciated.”

  We each throw a sloth into the water and have a silent face-off about who is going to alert the boys that we’re here. Mary Ann nudges my ribs so hard that I nearly fall over, so I agree.

  I’m in a printed cover-up over a black bikini, and Mary Ann has on a tiny sundress of mine over the strappy red push-up two-piece I put her in.

  Oh God. This is so ridiculous. We should be better than this.

  “Hey, guys!” I call out. “Phil!”

  But the roofing process is freaking loud, and they don’t hear me.

  By the third call, she’s rolling her eyes. “They’re idiots.”

  “One more try? If not, we’ll float out far enough that they’ll notice us.”

  She groans. “Fine.”

  I try to wait for a break in the noise, and I scream, “Slowski!”