Fade to Blue

by Julie Carobini

  After ditching my bike in the sand, I moved closer to the tide pool splash zone teeming with a multitude of sea creatures, an impressive display of emerald green sea anemones, far and wide. Tucked between them other varieties in pink and purple clutched the rocks. I hauled in a cleansing breath. Together they resembled a vast, undersea mosaic.

  If only I had my sketchbook with me.

  I slipped off my shoes and tiptoed through icy water to reach a dry, flat rock to sit on. Without paper and pencil, I would have to rely on mental snapshots. Nearly microscopic fish swam in and around the free-flowing tentacles of the anemones. With a pushed-up sleeve, I dipped my finger into a pool and tickled the ends of one of them, laughing at the slight suction to my skin. The anemone reacted by curling its petal-like tentacles inward.

  Is that how I am sometimes, Lord? Do I reach out for you, then withdraw when you offer me your hand?

  No answer came, but I sensed God listening, prodding me toward answers of questions I had yet to ask. My mind ricocheted from my responsibilities at the art studio, to Letty’s revelation yesterday, to Len’s about-face when it came to matters of faith. The thought of my ex-husband used to cause my heart to plummet, to leave me grasping for the strength to take another breath. This morning his name elicited no physical pain, nor frantic reaction. At the moment it garnered no reaction at all.

  Instead of dwelling on the painful things that had long passed, I sat curled into a ball on that rock, my arms wrapped around my legs. I admired the tapestry of tides for as long as I dared and then, reluctantly, returned home.

  Jeremiah’s voice carried into the street as I pulled up on my bike, tired but contented after my morning excursion. I leaned the bike against an outer wall, headed up the stairs and into the cottage, the sound of my son’s voice growing louder.

  “Vroom!” Jer dragged his knees across the wood floors, one hand bracing himself and the other pushing a pint-sized, painted-metal tractor trailer. One sock dangled from one foot, and the other was AWOL.

  “Mama!” He craned his head around, veering the truck nearly into my feet.

  “Red light, red light!” I pushed my palms forward and he careened to a stop with an accompanying high-pitched screech.

  I plunked myself on the floor in front of him, and he gave me an impish grin. “What’re you up to—?”

  Too late. He grabbed hold of his metal tractor trailer and drove it up my shins, my knees the pinnacle he had to achieve, and at the top, he let the truck tumble sideways onto the floor. I winced at the cringe-worthy crash. Another ding in the floor I’m going to owe Gage for!

  “Oh, Mama, you moved.”

  “I moved?”

  “Yeah, but I forgive you anyways.”

  “Gee, thanks. Go finish getting dressed for school, okeydokey? Make sure to look for your other sock.”

  “’Sthat ’cuz you don’t like my toes to be naked?” He thrust his chin in the air, displaying a row of shiny white baby teeth.

  I tousled his hair and bent down to nuzzle our noses. “I love your naked toes but don’t think you should be showing them off at preschool. Now git!”

  He scampered to his room.

  Gage padded into the living room, his bed head untouched. He yawned and moved straight for the kitchen, and as he paused, I tugged on the cuff of his sweats. He dropped his gaze downward.

  “Hey. Guess Jer’s been pretty busy this morning. Sorry about that.”

  “What?” He rubbed his unshaven face. “No, he’s fine. I’m fine.”

  I pointed to the hair smashed against one side of his head.

  He ran a hand over his disheveled head and smiled, rueful. “Slow morning, but it’s not because of Jer. Lot on my mind.” He pointed to the kitchen. “Coffee?”

  “Not yet. Let me get it going for you.” I dragged myself off the floor and followed Gage into the kitchen.

  He waved me away. “I wasn’t asking you to make it, just if you wanted any. Go ahead and worry about Jer. I’ve got this.”

  I glanced at the hall. “Could I talk to you first? I’ve got some news I think we should discuss.”

  Between loading spoonfuls of ground coffee into the filter, Gage’s eyes attempted to focus on me. “Oh, yeah? Can I handle this before my morning coffee?” He shoved the plastic filter holder into the slot and switched on the pot.

  “Maybe not, but I wanted to tell you before Jer comes down.” I shifted. “I received a card from Len yesterday at work, and he says—”

  “Wait . . . what?” He leaned his arms, bent at the elbows, on the tile sink behind him, looking ready to pounce. “He contacted you at work? That’s quite the clandestine operation going on up there. How did he know how to find you?”

  “Oh, I don’t remember, Gage. You know that I had some correspondence with him during the divorce proceedings. I probably mentioned something about applying there. Besides, I can’t imagine it being too difficult for the government to figure out where I work.”

  Gage grabbed a wet sponge from the counter and threw it into the sink. He tried to hide his face from me by turning away, but I could see his mouth curling.

  He’s not making this very easy. I pressed a palm to my cheek, massaging my temple with several fingers. “Well, anyway, I thought you should know.”

  “What are his plans?”

  I shrugged. “He said he wants to see Jeremiah.” And me.

  “Okay. Where will he stay and for how long? Is he going to challenge custody? Will he find work here—if anyone would even hire him, that is?”

  My brother deserved answers to these questions and more. But I had nothing to offer. Although Len had made contact with me in various ways, I hadn’t reciprocated. Instead, I’d been turning the news of his release from prison over in my mind for days, waiting with a catch in my breath for him to show up. Beyond that? I hadn’t planned out a thing.

  “I don’t know, Gage.” I sighed and glanced around the kitchen, anything to avoid meeting his eyes. “One thing I need to do is prepare Jeremiah. He used to ask about Len all the time, but you’re more of a father to him now.” I turned to face him. “Well, anyway, I need to work on that.”

  The harsh edge to my brother’s eyes relaxed, and he replaced the scowl with a sad smile. “I want to be there when that reunion happens, all right?”

  I nodded.

  “After that, we’ll take this one step at a time.”

  The slower the better.

  “Where’s Fred?”

  Letty, her hands covered in swaths of various pale shades, shook her head. “He has not shown that cherub face of his all morning long. The lab sent over some colors to try, and I have experimented with all of them. Want to come look?”

  I shed my jacket and laid it on the stool next to my purse. “Sure.”

  Letty’s heels clacked along as she spoke, tossing comments over her shoulder as I tried to keep up. “The lab did an excellent job analyzing the colors. Once we determine the parameters of each shade, we can start in-painting right away. Fred should have been here by now—he always wants to approve our plans at this point.” She slowed at a palate of hand-marked shades. “Look at how fabulously perfect these matches are.”

  I crossed my arms and peered over the colors: drab, more drab, and most drab. I squeezed my eyes shut, annoyed by my own sarcasm, and took a fresh breath and another look. Letty was right. The colors were perfection.

  All around us artists worked on various projects, many I had yet to see up close. Most liked to keep to themselves, lost in contemplation as they worked. I understood that. Something about the silence pulled my most creative work out of me.

  In the background, the shrill ring of the phone split the silence. Letty didn’t flinch but wagged her head side to side, over and over. “I am always amazed at the work our lab does. I just wish Fred were here so we could get started.”

  I nodded, wondering too why he hadn’t yet arrived.

  “Suz?” I turned to see Timo, breathless, at my side.


  “Yes?”

  He held out the cordless phone. “It’s about Fred. He’s had a heart attack!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Letty lunged for the phone, but Timo yanked it back. “He’s asking for Suz.”

  If taking the phone from Timo’s hand and turning it over to Letty would have erased the sudden, deep creases that crisscrossed her forehead and the sad droop to her eyes, I would have, without question, done so. Hindsight was not my strong point. Just look at my marriage to Len.

  I brushed the thought away as I drove as fast as legally possible to Twin Towns Medical Center. Fred’s wife, Sherry, had called to tell me the news, and asked me to please come over and bring a sketch pad. I thought about Letty’s expression again. Had it perhaps been worry?

  After parking I hurried into the hospital, my sketchbook under my arm. My mother had died from a heart attack, and the words alone made my lungs contract, squeezing the air right out of me. But Sherry, who I had yet to meet in person, sounded calm on the phone.

  I exited the elevator, my heart beginning to pound, the ominous and pulsating sound filling my ears. The hospital reeked of spilled alcohol and I held my breath.

  A stout woman with graying curls and a white shawl draped around her shoulders greeted me at the door. “You are Suz.” She smiled and reached for my hand. “I recognized you right away.”

  I forced a smile. “I am.” Her resemblance to Mrs. Claus didn’t surprise me in the least. “Sherry?”

  She nodded and wrapped one arm around my waist, ushering me into the room. Fred sat propped up in the bed, a tray of unidentifiable foods in front of him, his skin paler than usual. “Oh, good. You’ve brought your sketch pad.”

  If Sherry wasn’t behind me, shoving me toward him, I might have stopped in the doorway. Instead, I approached my boss, trying not to react to seeing him in a hospital gown. “How are you feeling, Fred? You had us all very worried about you.”

  “Tell everyone not to waste a minute worrying over me. I’m doing fine—strong as a fat ox.” He pushed away his tray and spoke to Sherry. “Would you ask the nurse for something more substantial, dumpling?”

  Dumpling? My eyes flitted to the window before settling back on Fred. “So the prognosis is good?”

  “Nothing to worry about. Now sit down. I want to talk to you about the cabin.”

  “That pretty little log cabin in the woods? Is that what you mean?”

  He smiled and looked at his wife. “See, Sherry? She has already taken to it.”

  Sherry beamed.

  He laced his fingers together and propped his folded hands onto his belly. “Now. Tell me your ideas for the cabin’s walls. Do you have something in there to show me?” He gestured toward my sketch pad with his chin.

  I held it up. “In here? I’m so sorry Fred, but no I don’t think I do.” I swiveled a gaze at Sherry. “Although a stunning idea came to me this morning. I just haven’t had time—”

  “Now’s as good a time as any.” Fred cut in. “Go ahead and get comfortable in that chair, well, as comfortable as you can get in a hospital chair, and sketch away. We’ll wait.”

  Sherry hurried over and pushed the chair closer to the wall, then motioned for me to sit. “The lighting’s better over here, dear. You just go ahead and do your work, and we won’t bother you one bit.”

  Bewildered by this sudden attention on me—after all, I’m not the one who had the heart attack—I shuffled over to the vinyl padded chair and sat. I plucked a pencil from my bag and flipped open my sketch pad.

  Fred’s eyes seemed to bore into me. I glanced up, my smile self-conscious.

  Sherry bent over him then and fluffed his pillow. “Let the girl draw, Fred. I think you could use another pillow. Could you use another one, dear? Yes, I think you certainly could.”

  She continued fussing over him, and I glanced away, hoping to recapture the morning’s inspiration on the page in front of me. I shut my eyes, allowing a picture to form. I tried to recapture the vast, colorful tide pool, but something in my mind focused on a spark of fluorescent green. My eyelids shut tighter as my mind, like a camera lens, worked to pull the image into sharper view.

  And all of a sudden, it appeared. My eyes snapped open, and like a racehorse out of the gate, my pencil took off. Strokes flew across the page like dirt clods behind a horse. Inspiration rounded the corner, fast and furious, my fingers moving at breakneck speed. Something like endorphins charged through me, giving me both the gumption and the wild spirit to bring to life on the page what I’d witnessed in living color earlier this morning. My pulse throbbed in my chest, but unlike it had this morning out of fear, this time the effect was caused by all-out adrenaline.

  I’d missed my art.

  Though I thanked God every day for the opportunity to work at the studio, I’d missed the freedom in transforming a blank page, an empty wall—a bare ceiling!—into something wild and inspiring. A project that didn’t require restoration to its original luster, but instead was set free to be transformed into something brand new.

  With a breath to expand my lungs, I continued fiddling with my sketch of a giant green sea anemone. Of course it was still in black and white, but in my mind its translucent green coat glowed.

  Sherry peeked over my shoulder. “Ooh, Fred told me all about your talent. That’s the liveliest sea anemone I think I have ever seen. They are usually such sedentary creatures, but oh, it is lovely.”

  “Now, dadgummit, don’t you two leave me hanging over here. Let’s have a look.”

  Sherry pivoted toward Fred. “Now, you, shush. She’s working as fast as she can.” She gazed down at me. “Don’t worry about that man. He can be impatient at times, but only when it’s something he’s excited about.”

  I shielded the sketch. “It’s really not much yet, Fred. I’d prefer to fill it in better, maybe even take my book down to the water and observe for a while longer.” I flipped shut the sketchbook’s cover. “We should be talking about you and how you’re faring right now.”

  He sighed and frowned at Sherry, who patted his hand like a baby. “Help her understand, dumpling, that I will heal faster if we talk about something other than that blasted ride over here in the ambulance.”

  “Please, Suz? Won’t you please show Freddy your sketches?”

  With her smile so sweet, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I stepped over to the side of the bed, flipped open the cover of my sketchbook, and placed it in Fred’s pudgy hands.

  He shot out an arm, wiggling his hand toward the nightstand. “My glasses, please.”

  Sherry placed them on his nose, and he smiled and settled back against the starched whiteness of firm pillows. He traced the outline of the anemone’s free-floating tentacles with his fingertip. He murmured to himself while studying my hastily drawn sketch, then he glanced up at me, his eyes kind, a bit of warm color returning to his cheeks.

  “For someone who has not seen the inside of the cabin, you’ve chosen just the right subject to paint on the wall.” He eyed his wife. “I imagine this on the eastern wall of the living room, so that as the sun sets, the colors will glow. Is that what you were thinking, lovey?”

  Lovey? Dumpling? I stepped back and watched them interact. Witnessing the tenderness they had for each other made me miss my parents more than ever.

  Fred snapped a glance in my direction and held out my sketchbook. “The job is yours. The tenants moved out early, and as soon as I’m released from this prison”—he turned to Sherry—“which had better be soon, then we will do some cleanup and paint and patch those walls. After that, we would be honored for you to decorate the interior with, hmm, let’s just say a tide-pool theme.”

  Sherry nudged his shoulder. “Tell her about the pay.”

  I winced, still very much aware of Fred’s recent heart attack.

  He glanced at her, his brow furrowed. “Would she think I’m asking for a handout? She knows there is pay involved.” He nodded in my direction. “You will be paid handsome
ly. Of course.”

  I accepted the sketchbook and stuck it under my arm, feeling much like the proverbial hardscrabble businesswoman who would move her meeting into a hospital room if it meant she’d score the deal. Only I would never want to be that woman. Instead, give me a paintbrush and a Saturday afternoon, and I’m your girl. Fred and Sherry’s appreciation for my work, cursory as it seemed, touched me.

  By the time I returned to the studio, Letty had disappeared. A tarp covered the project, and our workstation showed no sign of a work-in-progress. When I asked Timo where she went, he shrugged and wriggled his eyes at me in an inappropriate way. No way could I work on the project without her, not at this stage, so I decided to use my excess energy to sweep and scrub down every lackluster surface inside the massive building.

  “You could just leave,” Timo said.

  “I’m being paid to be here, and dadgummit,” I said with a laugh, “I’m staying until the afternoon whistle blows.”

  Timo wrinkled his nose and glanced at the requisite inventory paperwork on his desk. “Yeah, this blows all right.”

  I finished up, put away the broom, then zoomed away from the studio to pick up Jer from preschool. The sun still blazed as we pulled out of the school parking lot, so I made a U-turn without much thought.

  “Hey! Where we goin’, Mama?”

  I tossed a look over one shoulder to my son who sat in a booster seat behind me. “I want to show you something.”

  He paused, his little face staring out the window. After a minute or so, he spoke up. “Will there be ice cream?”

  I laughed. “Not where we’re going, but maybe afterward we can stop for some. If you’re a good boy, that is.”

  He thrust a fist into the air. “All right! I’ll be really, really good!”

  We turned away from the ocean and up the steep incline that led away from sunny paths and into the canopied peak where Fred and Sherry’s log cabin sat beneath a forest of pines. I rolled down our windows and slowed the car, allowing the minty fragrance to waft into the car and the crackle of dried pine needles to fill our ears.