The Color of the Season

by Julianne MacLean

  “Darn it,” I whispered, glancing back at my dirty bowl of lasagne on the desk and wondering where I was going to hide it, because there were very strict rules in the house about taking food up to the bedrooms.

  All my life I’d followed those rules without challenging them—I’d seen what happened to Riley; it really wasn’t worth the fight—but if there was an opportunity to do what I wanted when my parents were away, I seized it. Afterward, I cleaned up my mess so no one was the wiser… But suddenly here they were, home earlier than expected, and my room smelled like an Italian restaurant.

  I thought about shoving the dirty bowl under my bed, lowering the dust ruffle and opening the window to let some fresh air blow through—but something in me felt different that day. At the time, I thought maybe it was my stress levels due to the exam. Or maybe something inside me had changed after losing my sister. Suddenly, stupid details like where food could be consumed within the house seemed rather irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

  Or maybe I was just cranky and defiant from drinking too much coffee.

  In the end, it didn’t matter. Knowing I should go downstairs to welcome my parents home, I decided to proudly carry my lasagne bowl to the kitchen without trying to sneak it past my father’s notice.

  That decision turned out to be a grave mistake.

  Or maybe it was the smartest thing I’d ever done.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  “Welcome home,” I cheerfully said as I descended the red carpeted stairs with dirty dishes in my hands.

  My father stopped in the main hall and set down his suitcase. “What is that?” he asked.

  As if befuddled by the question, I regarded my cup and bowl and held them out for him to see. “You mean these?”

  His expression became a mask of stone. “Yes, those. Did you take food up to your room?”

  I pursed my lips. “Yes, I did. I was studying for an exam and I was hungry.”

  He took a few steps forward and spoke in a tone that conveyed his shock and disappointment in me. “You know the rules, Holly. Why would you do that?”

  “Because I was hungry,” I explained a second time, moving past him to the kitchen. I pulled open the dishwasher door and placed the items inside.

  “But there are rules,” he reminded me yet again, for the millionth time in my life. “Even when your mother and I are not at home, they still apply, and there are reasons for those rules.”

  “Like what?” I demanded.

  “Like getting stains on furniture, or attracting mice or insects. But that’s not really the point, Holly. Without rules that everyone agrees to respect, things can degenerate into pure chaos.”

  I gestured toward the dishwasher. “I’m not a total slob, Dad. I had a napkin on my lap and we do have laundry facilities if, heaven forbid, a drop of tomato sauce should land on a bedspread.”

  With that, I moved to the kitchen doorway to hug my mother. “Hi Mom. I’m glad you’re home. Did you have a nice time?”

  “Oh well, you know…” She was, of course, alluding to the fact that we were all still grieving deeply over Leah. “It was nice to just be quiet for a few days, come to terms with everything—though I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be able to do that.”

  I drew back to look at her in the late afternoon light. “It’s going to take time for all of us. We just have to be here for each other.”

  She pulled me into her arms again and I was vaguely aware of my father moving past us to carry the suitcases upstairs.

  o0o

  A short while later, we stood around the kitchen island while Mom made turkey sandwiches for herself and Dad.

  “Did Paul make it home all right?” my father asked, surprising me by letting the food-in-the-bedroom issue go without doling out consequences.

  “Yes,” I replied. “He called this morning. Smooth flight. No delays.”

  “Glad to hear it. And what’s the exam on tomorrow?”

  “Obstetrics.”

  “Are you ready for it?”

  “Not yet,” I admitted, “but I still have the rest of the day to prepare.”

  Mom sliced both sandwiches diagonally. “Don’t you have a karate class later?” she asked.

  Using a fork to draw a pickle out of the jar, I took it between my fingers and crunched into it. “I do, but I’ll need a break by then.”

  “Are you sure?” Dad asked. “You’re taking a break now. Maybe you should skip the class.”

  I shook my head. “No. I’m going.”

  He regarded me with puzzled displeasure.

  We all sat down on the stools around the large center island while Mom and Dad ate their sandwiches and told me about their weekend on the Cape. I waited until the right moment, then carefully broached the subject that was foremost on my mind.

  “There’s something I need to talk to you about.” I rested my chin on my hand. “Something happened yesterday while you were gone. We had an unexpected guest.”

  “Really? Who?” Mom asked.

  “An old friend of Riley’s,” I explained. “Do you remember Josh Wallace? They were best friends when they were kids. He was the cop who was shot during that carjacking that happened when Leah was…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence. “You mentioned that you knew him when you saw the news.”

  “Josh from Sycamore Street,” Mom said. “Yes, of course. I felt terrible about that, but we were so preoccupied. Is he all right now? Did he come to pay his respects?”

  I wasn’t comfortable talking about Josh’s near-death experience without his permission, so I decided not to mention that he hadn’t even known Leah had passed.

  “That’s right,” I replied. “He came to the door after Paul left and I invited him in.”

  “You invited him in?” My father seemed concerned.

  I swiveled on the stool to meet his gaze. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because he’s a total stranger and you were home alone.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle somewhat cynically. “First of all, I’m not twelve. I can handle a guest at the door. Second, he’s not a stranger, Dad. He was your neighbor once.”

  My father pointed a finger at me. “And that boy was trouble. Don’t get me started about the times I came home late at night to find the cops parked out front because of that kid’s antics. He was a terrible influence on Riley.”

  “I don’t think you can blame what happened to Riley on a friend he had when he was ten,” I argued. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t it the other group of friends he made when he moved here that caused all the trouble?”

  Dad picked up the other half of his sandwich and took a bite out of it. “I suppose they all had a hand in it, in different ways.”

  For a moment I watched him chew, then something in me snapped. I couldn’t explain it. It never happened before, but I simply couldn’t control what came out of my mouth next.

  “As if you had no hand in it at all?” I boldly asked.

  My father swallowed. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard what I said. I just think we all have to take responsibility for what happened to Riley, because this house wasn’t the easiest place to grow up in, especially as a teenager.”

  Slowly setting down his sandwich, my father slid the plate away, leaned forward in an intimidating manner, rested his elbows on the island countertop and folded his hands together.

  “I do take responsibility for what happened to my son. Lord knows there are things I could have done differently and I’ll have to live with that, but I don’t appreciate your tone, Holly. Nor do I want to talk about your brother after what we’ve just been through with your sister.”

  “But isn’t that why we should talk about it?” I asked. “We just lost Leah and suddenly I feel like an only child, but I’m not. I have a brother out there somewhere and you have a son. Yet we’re not allowed to talk about him.”

  “For good reason,” Dad said. “He’s a criminal. And this subject is too hard o
n your mother. She’s lost two children. Have a little compassion, will you?”

  I breathed deeply. “What if Riley wasn’t a criminal? What if I had information about him?” I turned to face my mother who had remained silent thus far. “That’s what I want to tell you about. When Josh came by, he asked about Riley. He knew he spent time in jail, and then he told me that he had looked him up.”

  My mother’s eyes grew wide. “And…?”

  I took both her hands in mine. “It’s good news. It sounds like Riley has turned his life around. I’m not sure if you knew that he spent more time in jail when he got to LA, but now he’s living in Montana, holding down a steady job, and he’s married.”

  My mother blinked a few times. “Married. Since when?”

  “I’m not sure exactly, but he and his wife have two young children—a boy and a girl, ages four and two.”

  My mother’s eyes immediately filled with tears. Covering her mouth with a hand, she turned to my father.

  There was no doubt in my mind that these were tears of joy, but my father didn’t appear too happy to hear any of this. He smacked the countertop with his open palm, which caused me to jump.

  “Do you see what you’re doing?” He rose to his feet. “We don’t need this right now, Holly.”

  “Why not now?” I retorted. “This is good news, Dad. You have two grandchildren and I have a niece and a nephew. And Riley’s okay.”

  “We don’t know that,” he argued. “We don’t know anything about the situation. First of all, let me point out that he’s never been able to stay clean for long, and have you forgotten the filth and disgrace he brought on this family? The danger he put us all in? I swear to God, as long as I live and breathe, that boy will never set foot in this house again, and you will not make contact with him. I don’t want him back in our lives. Do you understand?”

  “You can’t tell me what to do,” I argued, also rising to my feet. “I’m a grown woman and I don’t care what Riley did in the past. He’s my brother and I want to see him—that is…if he’ll even allow me to see him. I honestly have no idea because he’s never tried to contact us, and that breaks my heart.”

  My mother was now quietly weeping. I wasn’t sure if she was crying because of the heated argument in her kitchen, or if she was still shedding tears of joy over learning that Riley was okay.

  “Mom,” I gently said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You didn’t,” she replied. “I’m just so happy to hear he’s all right and that he’s found someone. A wife. All these years, I thought maybe he was dead.”

  “He’s not dead. He’s very much alive and I’m going to write to him.”

  “No, you will not,” my father stipulated. “I told you, I don’t want him back in our lives.”

  “Well, it’s not up to you, is it?” I insisted. “The last time I checked, it was a free country and I want to see my brother.”

  A muscle twitched at his jaw. “Not while you’re living under my roof, you won’t.”

  I scoffed in disbelief. “So let me get this straight. Are you telling me I can’t, and that if I disobey you, you’ll cut me off? Kick me out?”

  It wasn’t something I was keen to risk because med school didn’t come cheap. Without the financial support of my family—not to mention the free rent I enjoyed while living at home—I could never have made it this far. I did not fail to appreciate those facts.

  Which is why I never rocked the boat when it came to my father’s ridiculous house rules. Until now.

  Without waiting for him to reply, I walked out of the kitchen and strode upstairs to my room. Quietly closing the door behind me, I looked around at the space I’d occupied all my life, except for the few years I’d spent in residence during undergrad before Leah got sick. That’s why I’d decided to move home, to help care for her and spend as much time as possible with her before the end came.

  Now she was gone and the house felt agonizingly empty.

  I stood there, heart racing, blood rushing through my veins, and fought the urge to pick up my laptop and throw it against the wall, then rip my curtains off the rods and do all of that while screaming my head off in a wild, hysterical rage.

  Instead, I grabbed my karate gear out of the closet, stuffed my textbooks and laptop into the gym bag, and hurried downstairs.

  My parents said nothing as I stormed past the kitchen. I think they were in shock because I’d never talked back to my father before.

  Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in my car outside the dojo, waiting impatiently for class to begin because I needed a good workout. I needed to focus my thoughts on something other than my anger toward my father.

  It was strange and rather telling that I didn’t call Paul to tell him about my argument with Dad. Instead, I dug out my phone and texted Josh.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  It’s funny. Sometimes when you’re passionate about something and you dedicate yourself to it completely, your actions become a reflex. Your senses become more astute and time slows down before your eyes.

  A seasoned basketball player might see a hoop that looks gigantic to him and all his shots swish through the net. In karate, there are moments when everything happens in slow motion and it’s as if you have an eternity to react.

  If only life could be like that.

  o0o

  A few minutes before the end of class, Jim came at me with a massive loud, “Kia!” He lunged aggressively with a punch to my face—as he’d done a thousand times before.

  With a flick of my wrist, his strike and all his momentum was thrown off. I grabbed his shoulder, kicked his leg out from under him and dropped him flat on his face.

  Before he had a chance to register what had occurred, I punched at the back of his head with a forceful yell, stopping within an inch. In karate, it’s called ‘going in for the kill.’

  Though we were both breathing hard, Jim rolled over onto his back with a big smile. “Nice.”

  I wiped the perspiration from my brow, grinned down at him and offered my hand to help him up.

  In that instant, something caught my eye near the door. It was Josh, dressed in a black leather jacket, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his faded blue jeans. He was leaning casually against the door jamb, watching me.

  Tall, dark, broad-shouldered and fit, he was hands down, by far, the most attractive man I’d ever laid eyes on. I’d thought so the moment I opened my door to find him standing on my front porch the previous day, but I’d been suffering a very low moment of grief and wasn’t inclined to swoon at any man’s feet.

  When I’d covered him with the blanket on my parents’ sofa at 4:30 that morning, I must have stared at him, enraptured, for a full ten minutes before finally going off to bed.

  Now here he was again, waiting to talk to me, and I could barely catch my breath—which had nothing to do with my workout. Our eyes met, and it happened again. Time seemed to stand still, my blood slowed to a smooth pulsing motion in my veins and I felt a strange, relaxing warmth flow to all my extremities.

  “You know that guy?” Jim asked as I realized he was staring at Josh, too.

  “Yeah, he’s an old family friend.” Though one could argue I’d only just met him the day before.

  “Too bad you didn’t notice him standing there sixty seconds ago or you would have been the one landing on your face just now.”

  I smiled and nudged Jim in the ribs with my forearm. “Go take a shower.”

  “No, you take a shower,” he replied, “and better make it a cold one.”

  “You’re bad,” I teased as he sauntered off to the locker room.

  In bare feet, dressed in my white, black-belted Gi, I took a deep breath and stepped off the blue practice mat. Strolling slowly to meet Josh at the edge of the floor, I struggled to find the right, socially appropriate words to greet him.

  “Thanks for coming,” I said.

  “Thanks for texting me,”
he replied, then he gestured toward the blue mats. “That was impressive. Would it be wrong of me to say I’m incredibly turned on right now?”

  The mere sound of his voice caused my blood to quicken. “Would it be wrong to say I’m incredibly flattered?”

  “No,” he replied with some amusement. “Want to get out of here?”

  “Definitely. If you don’t mind waiting for me to take a quick shower?”

  His chest rose and fell with a heavy, teasing sigh. “I’ll do my best to be patient.”

  And I’ll do my best to keep my head on straight, I thought as I made my way to the locker room.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  “Did he really say that?” Josh asked as we slid into a booth at a nearby diner. “That you weren’t permitted to contact Riley?”

  “That’s right,” I replied. “You’d think, after losing Leah, he might want to reconcile with the son he also lost. Like a second chance. It boggles my mind that he doesn’t see it that way.”

  “From what I recall,” Josh said, “he was always pretty hard on Riley.”

  The waitress arrived, placed two plastic-covered menus in front of us and poured us some water. She took our drink orders and left us alone for a few minutes.

  “What are you going to do?” Josh asked. “Will you still try and get in touch with him?”

  “Of course,” I replied, “and I told my father that. I think he was shocked because it was the first time I ever talked back to him. Then he threatened me with the old cliché: ‘Not while you’re living under my roof.’ I’m not sure how serious he was about that.”

  I continued to read over the menu.

  “Are you worried?” Josh asked.

  “Strangely, no,” I replied. “Though I probably should be because he’s been paying my tuition and letting me live at home rent free for the past couple of years.” I read over the soup and salad choices. “At the same time, I’m twenty-five years old. Maybe I should just move out and get my own bank loan. Then at least I wouldn’t feel like I was wearing a yoke around my neck.”