Somewhere Between Black and White

by Shelly Hickman

  Sophie wished she had never said a word. This was exactly why she hadn’t told Evie anything about it; she knew how idiotic it sounded. “You know what? Just forget it. You obviously think I’m just making this up. Or I dreamed it or something!” She climbed back into the bed and flung the covers over the top of her before turning off the lamp.

  “Oh, come on now. Don’t be like that.” Evie touched her shoulder as if they were having a lover’s spat.

  “No!” Sophie snapped, now crabby. “You needed to talk to me without judgment, and now when I need to tell you about something that’s major in my life, but totally confusing, you wanna make fun of me. Just forget it.” She flipped over and faced the wall.

  Evie sat quietly and stared at Sophie’s back. “You’re right. I wasn’t being very supportive. But Sophie, I honestly thought you were messing around.”

  Sophie wouldn’t respond for several moments, but finally rolled over to face her. “I wasn’t messing with you.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Sophie hesitated; although she longed to share this with Evie, it was so difficult to explain. How do you describe something that you’ve never experienced before and can’t make sense of?

  “From the first moment I saw Sam, I felt like I already knew him, and I suppose that happens to lots of people. But then I started getting these . . . visions, of him and me in another time. And they’re so fast and fleeting, sometimes they’re hard to remember.”

  “And they’re not dreams?”

  “No. I’m awake when they happen. And one of them. . . .” Her face flushed at the recollection. “. . . was very hot.”

  “You said Christian drew a picture of this place?”

  Sophie nodded, then realized she would have to explain how she came to see the picture. This couldn’t be good.

  “So how . . . ?”

  Oh, why did she have to mention the stupid drawing? Think before you open your mouth, Sophie! There was no way she could get out of this. Even if she tried to gloss over the topic, Evie wasn’t going to let it go. Sophie let out an uncomfortable groan. “I met with Christian at the gallery a while back.”

  Evie’s eyebrows squished together.

  “He wanted to explain why we had seen him that day in the gallery, and show me there was nothing going on between him and Tara.”

  “Show you? So, did you believe him?” Expectancy flooded her face.

  Sophie thought for a moment. “I did. I honestly did.” She debated whether or not to share her feelings about the portrait, but didn’t know if it would help or hurt.

  “The drawing he did of you, Evie. It was breathtaking.”

  Evie rubbed a hand over her heart and then turned away, her face rigid as a mannequin’s. “No. This conversation was supposed to be about you. Not me.”

  “It’s okay,” Sophie argued. “Your situation easily takes precedence. Ask me anything you want about that day.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

  Sophie shook her head, trying to come up with the reason. “I don’t know. I don’t know why I didn’t.”

  Evie’s features shifted as she tried to calculate what to do with this new information, whether or not to pursue the conversation further. Sophie waited, hoping that she wouldn’t. Doing so would only muddy the waters for Evie.

  “So, which picture was it?” Evie asked. Apparently she had chosen to shelve the prior topic.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Which one?”

  Sophie described the picture and shared the explanation Christian gave her as to why he drew it.

  Evie cocked her head. “You talked to Christian about it?”

  “I know,” Sophie answered sheepishly, realizing what a shock it must have been. “I sort of had to. I had such an embarrassing response to it. I tried talking my way around it, but he wasn’t having it.”

  For some reason, amusement flashed in Evie’s eyes at that bit of information. “Have you told Sam?”

  “We’ve talked about it, but not a lot. The really weird thing is, it’s almost like he takes it for granted, like it’s no big deal. Like, Oh yeah, so we knew each other in another life, but what’s that got to do with now?”

  “Really? Hmmm . . . You don’t think he’s just humoring you?”

  Sophie rolled onto her stomach and rested her chin on her fist. “He described the same exact place I’d been seeing, before I even told him. Maybe,” she began thoughtfully, “he hypnotized me into seeing these things, and eventually I’m going to have to marry him to get back some compromising photos.”

  Evie chuckled. “I don’t know what to tell ya, Soph. Maybe you should go to one of those hypnotists that do past life regression.”

  Sophie winced. “I am so not doing that!”

  “Who knows?” Evie shrugged. “Maybe you’ll find out you were Cleopatra.”

  ***

  At three in the morning, Evie stared at the ceiling, cheated of sleep yet again. Sophie was muttering in her sleep beside her, so Evie slipped out of bed and went out to the living room to watch some television. If only she could turn her brain off. She kept waiting for the emotional exhaustion to kick in so she could get some rest, but it wouldn’t come.

  It’s a Wonderful Life was on, but she turned the volume down and stared at the screen, oblivious to the familiar Christmas classic. What was she going to do? She desperately wanted Christian there with her, the way they used to be. She wondered what he was doing, what he was thinking. Was he tortured with guilt, or was he with someone else? Another young admirer, or maybe even the same one he had slept with before.

  She just couldn’t digest it. The one and only person on this planet who had her heart, the one who was supposed to protect and cherish it, had instead bludgeoned it into some mangled, misshapen substance. Only three days ago, her world had been completely different. It wasn’t an easy world, by any means, but it was one in which she could trust him despite their challenges. Now what did they have left? As much as she wanted to forgive him and start over, she would never see him the same way again.

  She closed her eyes, picturing him touch this other woman, gaze at her in the same way he had Evelyn. It was more than she could stomach. She prayed that instead it was a sloppy night of drunken stupor. Yes, that’s how she would envision it. At some point during the evening, he suffered performance anxiety at the thought of failing with such a young, beautiful thing. Maybe she even had to stifle a giggle.

  But no, that wasn’t likely.

  Evie was sure the girl was big-breasted and curvy, unlike herself, with some sort of exotic tattoo on her lower back, maybe even her shoulder. Or both. An art student. Evie could almost hear the flirtatious adoration she must have lavished upon Christian. With that formidable combination, how could he resist? When at home, he had a sickly, vanilla, flat-chested wife.

  One thing was certain—he was not the person she thought he was. He had always been quiet, withdrawn, and awkward around those he didn’t know. In his unassuming way, he had swept her off her feet and into his bed when they were only seventeen, though she had been the initiator. In contrast to the swaggering jocks who had pursued her, pawed at her so ferociously, she found Christian’s modesty and respect for her irresistible.

  She couldn’t imagine him being smooth enough to land himself a one night stand. He had the looks, but he lacked the confidence.

  She had believed he held her devotion with such care. Or in reality, had that person dissipated long ago, with the onset of his emotional tribulations?

  Seventeen

  Christian slumped in a chair in his hotel room, looking out onto the lights of the city alone. He needed to drink himself into oblivion, but couldn’t find the will. What good would it do anyway? Nothing would eradicate the claws of remorse burrowing into his chest, crushing him like a vise. He’d had no inkling pain like this could exist. If he could have evaporated into the ether around him, he easily would have, if it meant escaping this regret.

&nbs
p; Evelyn said she didn’t know him anymore. He didn’t know himself. After all, from the first moment he laid eyes on her, he worshiped the very ground she walked on, and never stopped wondering how he could have possibly earned her affections. She could have had anyone—anyone—and yet she married him, a man incapable of taking care of her, someone absolutely useless. How could this not have been over before it even began? He had always believed their days were numbered; eventually she would realize her blunder and move on. In the meantime, he tried to appreciate the moments he had with her.

  She’d been slipping away. Between his failure to cope with her illness, his ineptitude as a bread winner, and her sister’s constant reminders of what a loser she’d married, how could she possibly remain? Despite his desire for Evie, even his sex drive had taken leave, making his transgression all the more hurtful.

  When admitting his betrayal, he was prepared for anger, maybe even relief on Evie’s part. He was not in any way prepared for the devastation in her eyes. The sorrow. He didn’t see it coming. And now it was an image he could not erase from his memory.

  He replayed the sequence of events leading to his most unfathomable mistake. Admittedly, he had consumed far more alcohol than he was accustomed to, but he could not blame that for his behavior.

  She appeared from out of nowhere with a glass of champagne in her hand. Attractive in an unconventional way, though she didn’t come close to Evelyn’s beauty. Her straight black hair was bobbed short, her body somewhat pear-shaped, wearing a sweater with a mini skirt, tights, and boots.

  “I know I’m not the first to tell you this, but your work is masterful.” She gazed at one of the drawings.

  “Thank you.”

  “I mean, I feel like I could just step right into it.” She turned her green eyes on him. “I’m Beth, by the way.”

  “Christian,” he replied with an inebriated grin.

  “I know. Your name is on the sign in the entryway.”

  “Of course.” Heat rushed to his face. “Beth, are you sure you’re old enough to be drinking?”

  She placed her hand to her chest, as if she were some aging cougar. “You flatter me.” As she drifted past his work, her fingers lingered on one of the ornate frames, the one holding Evelyn’s portrait. “And who is this?”

  “That would be the missus.”

  Beth moved in to peer at the picture more attentively. “She’s scrumptious,” she offered suggestively, leering back at him.

  Christian cleared his throat. “I agree.”

  “So. . . .” She inched closer, touching the collar of his shirt. “Is there more of your work to see, like in a storeroom or something?” She eyed a couple of young women across the room, who were watching them and giggling.

  Now he understood what was going on. This was some kind of game, where her friends had challenged her to seduce the man of the hour.

  Okay. He would play along. He was enjoying the attention. Who knew if he would ever have another opportunity to bask in the admiration of a younger woman? His ego, what little of it was left, nudged him onto a dangerous course. With no intention of doing anything immoral, he would slip her into the back room so she could save face with her friends. He would let her down easy once they were alone.

  “Sure, I have a few things I can show you.” What a colossal idiot. Even if it hadn’t gone anywhere, didn’t it occur to him how bad it would have looked had anyone seen him?

  And that is exactly what happened. Tara witnessed them walking toward the back of the gallery and caught Christian’s eye. She silently questioned what the hell he was doing, and he gave her a dismissive shake of the head, indicating that any alarm was unnecessary.

  “Listen,” Christian began once they were inside the cluttered storeroom. “I love my wife.”

  “Of course you do.” Beth tilted her head with a playful pout. “It’s obvious to anyone who takes one look at your portrayal of her. I understand.” She sauntered over to him, hesitated a few moments, then planted her mouth on his neck.

  Christian pushed her away with an uncomfortable laugh. “No, I don’t think you do understand. I know what’s going on here with you and your friends, but this is not going to happen. Believe me, I appreciate the compliment.”

  She moved in close again, her mouth against his ear. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Scrumptious will never know.” He could hear the smile on her lips.

  “I would know.”

  But his words would not deter her, and in no time her hands were in places they should never have been. Clearly he had gotten in over his head, but his anatomy was already making decisions that should have belonged to his mind. He was astonished his body responded so fiercely, despite the fact that he had no attraction toward this stranger.

  However, she had no knowledge of his numerous flaws, his weaknesses. Now he was someone else entirely, and he was lost in the allure of the notion.

  So this was it. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind lurked the motive behind such stupidity, the motive that he would never acknowledge in that moment. He would give Evie her out, the one she certainly longed for. If she couldn’t seem to unburden herself of the morose, lethargic being he had become, he would make it easy for her. Her constant subjection to his inadequacies would end, and he would no longer have to brace himself for the inevitable loss, forever wondering when it would strike.

  He couldn’t deny his flesh relished in the touch of this woman, her youth and impetuosity. But the choice also meant swallowing the selfish and cowardly path he had taken, and there was no turning back.

  Eighteen

  Burma, 1944

  It was a sweltering summer day as the soldiers used wooden boards to wash their clothes in the Irrawaddy River. Other soldiers were bathing in the river, which was a treat compared to using a helmet full of water in the middle of the jungle.

  Matthew, a Kansas boy, joined the Army at nineteen and was in Burma by the time he was twenty. A member of the 164th Signal Photo Company, he was a combat cameraman, and it was his job to communicate the stories of the China-Burma-India Theater.

  Matthew was drawn to the beauty of the Burmese temples, many of them in ruins from battle, and photographed them with keen interest. During his time there, he spent a great number of days with Chinese soldiers, one of whom he learned was Buddhist. He befriended this soldier, who knew enough English for the two of them to converse. His name was Ping, meaning tranquil, and he was two years Matthew’s senior. Being a nosy creature, Matthew often asked Ping about his faith, and Ping was of a very agreeable nature to answer.

  “Ping,” Matthew began as he pulled off his boots. “How do you come to terms with all this war bullshit? Being that you’re a Buddhist.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, aren’t Buddhists all about non-violence?”

  “Of course,” Ping replied. “Aren’t Christians?”

  Matthew responded with a wry laugh. “You gotta point there, ol’ Ping.” He perched himself on a flat rock and threw a stone into the water. “When I was a kid, I learned all about how Jesus taught us to turn the other cheek, love your enemy, all that other crap. I gotta say, I’m havin’ a real hard time lovin’ the Japs right about now.”

  “When you were a kid?” Ping said with a grin. “You are still a kid. We both are.”

  “Yeah? We’re old enough to be over here gettin’ bombed by the Japs, and me takin’ pictures of the whole damn party.”

  Ping gazed at the children from a nearby village who were playing farther down the riverbank. “War is part of this world. Sometimes fighting is not avoided, maybe needed.” He wrung the water from his shirt and laid it on a board. “But hate is not.”

  Matthew liked that answer. He would never say it aloud, but he was grateful for this young sage in his life, in this of all places. “All right, Ping. You’re doin’ good so far. Now I just need you to improve my attitude about being away from my Natalie.” He pulled out the war-torn photo that he kept of his sweetheart,
the one that waited for him back home, and showed it to him. “Conjure me up somethin’ warm and fuzzy about the Japs, because the way I see it, they’re the ones keeping me from her.”

  Ping smiled at the photo. “She is lovely.” He thought to himself for a few moments before his face registered the words that came to mind. “There is a passage I learned when I was young.” He took a seat on the board alongside Matthew.

  “Well, what’re you waitin’ for?” Matthew asked, not taking his eyes from the photo. “Hit me with it.”

  He who treads the Path in earnest

  Sees not the mistakes of the world;

  If we find fault with others

  We ourselves are also in the wrong.

  When neither hatred nor love disturb our mind

  Serenely we sleep.

  Nineteen

  Sophie eagerly welcomed Sam home from his two-day excursion to see a football game with an old friend. She had barely opened the front door when she flung herself at him, wrapping her legs around his hips and planting a kiss on him.

  “I missed you, too.” He grinned and carried her over the threshold while she hung on to him.

  “Sorry. I’m just happy to see you.” She lowered her feet to the floor and noticed the camera hanging from a strap on his shoulder. “Sam, why do you have your camera?” she asked with mild amusement.

  “I have some great shots of the game I wanted to show you.”

  She shook her head. “You are worse about taking pictures than my dad was, and I didn’t think that was possible.” In the short time they had been together, he must have taken hundreds of photos in her presence.

  Sophie took the camera from him and set it on an end table. “Show them to me later,” she said, leading him down the hall. “That was a very long couple of days.”

  “You know what they say about absence. Umm, where are you taking me, miss?”

  “Hmmm. You know damn well where I’m taking you.” When they reached the bedroom, she had candles burning and music playing. She shoved him onto the bed and pounced on top of him.