Fade to Blue

by Julie Carobini

  She flashed weary black eyes at me. “If art does not work out for you, try the comedy shop.”

  “Ha. I will.”

  Although I motioned for her to rest on the couch, Letty stood in the middle of the sparse but bright living room, taking it all in. Her eyes softened and changed, beginning to sparkle in the flickering tongues of light coming from the fireplace. Having grown up back east, gathering wood around the cabin’s perimeter and lighting a fire had been cathartic for me.

  “Good thing you’re here, my friend. I bought far too much food and had just been questioning myself about that. You must be my answer.” I clapped my hands, feeling pretty proud. “You’re staying for dinner and I will drive you home later with a care package.”

  “You are a pushy girl.”

  I laughed. “Right.”

  “Okay, I will rephrase that: You can be a pushy girl.”

  “Is your car in a safe spot off the road? ’Cuz we could call a tow service, if you want.”

  She shrugged. “It’s fine. I was able to coast to a spot beneath a tree.”

  I walked the few steps into the kitchen and she followed. “So, do you live near here, then? I thought your home was closer to town.”

  She dropped into a kitchen chair while I hunted for dinner. “I was spying.”

  “Spying?” I froze, a can of soup in each hand. “On who?”

  She grimaced. “I had never been invited to this log cabin and wanted to find it.”

  “Wait, so you were spying on me? Why didn’t you just tell me you wanted to come over?”

  She gave a dramatic shrug, her hands landing with a bounce on the table. “Either way I would be in this predicament.”

  I went back to perusing the cabinet, avoiding the obvious questions in my mind. “Hmm. Car troubles again. Same thing as last time?”

  “Yes, I think. There is a leak so I put in some fluid and hoped it would do the trick. It did for a while.”

  “Sounds like it’s time for a trip to the mechanic. Gage knows a good one, and if you’d like I can get his name and number for you.”

  She gave me a rather vague answer of yes. Jer broke into the room. “Come over here,” he said. “I wanna show you my puzzle.” Jer dragged Letty by the hand out of the kitchen and over to the fluffy hearth rug where he had started putting together a thirty-piece kid-sized puzzle of a bear before losing interest. He let go of her hand and plopped onto the rug.

  I stayed out of it except to watch Letty collapse onto the rug, her flouncy skirt spread out like a tapestry. Now did not seem like the right time to prod Letty more about her thirst for espionage tonight.

  “I’ll finish up with dessert while you two play.” In the kitchen, I retrieved the roll of dough from the fridge and laid it out on the cutting board, stretching and massaging it flat. I’d already peeled and sliced apples and washed a basket of berries. From where I stood, I could hear their laughter and the sound brought something warm to my heart. This little house must have been lonely in the quiet after its inhabitants moved out.

  Two pair of feet clomped into the kitchen and surrounded me at the small island. I smiled. “That was quick.”

  “We want to know what’s for dessert!”

  I widened my eyes in surprise. “Oh we do, huh? Well, I’m making an apple and blueberry tart, although I hope these berries are sweet enough this time of year.” I plopped one into Jer’s mouth. “What do you think?”

  He smiled with shiny pink lips. “Good! But what happened to the pie?”

  I gave a dramatic sigh. “Well, I forgot to buy a pie plate and couldn’t find one in the cabinet. Nor a rolling pin either.” Secretly I was relieved. I hadn’t made a from-scratch pie since before Len’s incarceration. Had lost interest and never quite gained it back. Still, I made the attempt, and wasn’t that something?

  Letty looked intrigued. “So you’re making a tart instead? Bravo. I would not have thought of that.”

  I tried to keep my smile from wavering. “My mother was a genius, always able to make us dinner and dessert, sometimes from scraps. Money was scarce. Lots of medical bills, you know? Anyway, she would never let a thing like a missing pie pan keep her from whipping up something fabulous for dessert.”

  My audience watched in silence as I piled sliced apples, blueberries, and generous servings of cinnamon and sugar onto the mix, much like Mom used to do. I blinked rapidly against building emotion until my cell phone rang and slashed through the quiet. I looked up, my fingers lined with dough.

  “I’ll grab that for you.”

  Letty picked up my phone from the kitchen counter before I had the chance to stop her. Probably just Fred checking up on us.

  “Hello? This is Suz’s phone.”

  I rubbed my lips together, waiting, pinching the ends of dough harder than they deserved.

  “Just a moment. I will see if she is willing to speak with you.”

  My brows froze in an arched position. “Well?”

  “Go! Clean up your hands.” Her voice hissed. She covered the mouthpiece and motioned toward the sink with her head. “It’s that charming window washer on the line for you.”

  Seth.

  I doused my hands with sink water, dried them with a couple of pats on a towel, and took the phone along with an inconspicuous breath. Letty winked at Jer, put her arm around his shoulders, and guided him out of the kitchen.

  I put the phone to my ear. “Seth?”

  “Hi. Did I interrupt something?”

  “Not really. Having dinner with a friend.”

  “So I did interrupt.”

  I found a chair and lowered myself into it. I’d missed the familiar sound of his voice, its effect balmlike. An involuntary smile jumped to my face and I snatched a look around the room, hoping no one caught that.

  “Guess you’re wondering why I called.”

  “I, well, yes.” I tried to unloosen my tongue. “Why did you, Seth?”

  “To officially apologize to you. Wanted to the other night but it was kind of . . . awkward.”

  My pulse revved a little. “Agreed. I was afraid Holly was going to knock my head off.”

  “Fat chance of that.” His voice rumbled through the phone.

  I leaned my chin on my hand. “I wouldn’t have blamed her for being angry. I know we’re just friends, but it might’ve looked to her like something . . . more.”

  He allowed silence to settle before answering. “Except that she broke up with me.”

  I sat up straighter. “Why?” Tell me it wasn’t because of me.

  “Guess she just wasn’t all that into me.”

  I crinkled my forehead. “Oh, she was too.”

  He chuckled. “You don’t believe me.”

  “It’s not that. I wouldn’t want to have played some part in your, uh, breakup.” My stomach twisted just saying the words.

  “You didn’t. It was inevitable. And anyway, that’s not why I called. Remember?”

  My mind flitted around to various thoughts. “I know. I know.”

  “I’m ashamed of myself for the other night. You didn’t deserve to have your faith and your outlook questioned the way I did. I let my personal problems, things from my past—things you don’t know about—blur my judgment.”

  An image of the old Seth popped into my mind—his chin lowered, his gray-green eyes drooping at the corners. I longed to reach for him, to comfort him, yet how would that be perceived?

  “And I’m sorry.”

  My heart pounded in the quiet. Seth’s apology stood out like a lush red rose against the white walls and cabinets of the tiny kitchen. Len has never apologized to me—for anything. Seth cleared his throat, and I chased away my random thought.

  “I’ve had a rough few years,” he continued. “Not many people know about it, and well, maybe I’ve let it change me. And not in a good way.”

  My eyes shut, compassion pouring over me, my mind jostling with old emotions that suddenly became fresh again.

  “What you sa
id about your parents, well, you have every right to those beliefs. At one time, I’m sure I shared them. But then . . .”

  “But then . . . what?”

  He paused. “Could . . . could I come over there?”

  “Now?”

  “If that’s all right with you. I want to see you, to talk . . . to explain my position.”

  The homemade tart lay half made on the kitchen island. Macaroni salad chilled in the fridge along with sandwich fixings that still needed prepping. In the next room, my son played happily with Letty, and I’d yet to learn the depth of her troubles.

  Holly had said that my tirade—although that’s not how she characterized it—had somehow affected Seth’s faith. I wanted to know more. Longed to, really, but a cacophony of giggles erupted in the next room, and I shook my head. “I’d like to talk more with you, Seth, but can’t tonight. Jer and I are actually on a sort of working vacation at the moment.”

  “You’re not with your brother?”

  “No. We’re not. Maybe next week?”

  He stayed silent long enough for me to wonder if he read more into my refusal than necessary. As if by putting him off I’d made him feel like his experiences didn’t matter. Truthfully, they mattered to me more than I knew they could.

  He sighed. “Sure, Suz. Whatever you want.”

  We clicked off the line, the dial tone resounding in my ear, making me wish I had been less hasty.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “What would it be like to have nothing more pressing to do than strolling along a foggy British moor while reading a book?”

  Letty did not hesitate. “Depends on the book.”

  I laughed. “Is there anything you don’t have an answer to?”

  “Hmm. I will get back to you.”

  I sighed and turned my attention to the pastoral scenery rolling across the screen, my feet plopped onto a rugged coffee table, my mind happy to have something to fixate on other than Seth’s call. After dinner, followed by a rousing game of Go Fish and a few more minutes admiring the gigantic puzzle in front of the fireplace, Jer and I convinced Letty to stay the night. It took some prodding, but when I agreed to let her have the couch, she relented. We then ushered my exhausted son to bed, and it took only one trip to the kitchen for water, plus an extra nighttime prayer for him to saunter off to dreamland.

  Afterward, Letty put my copy of Pride & Prejudice into the DVD player. I couldn’t resist stashing it in my overnight bag, considering this sweet cabin resided on the namesake street of one of the story’s characters. From scene one, we’d been mesmerized by the British landscape and romantic story, rehashing it as it moved along.

  “I’ve watched this a dozen times and still never tire of all that melodrama coming from Lizzy’s mother. Any time, any day, I can shut my eyes and hear her cry out, ‘Oh, Mr. Bennet!’” Laughter erupted from me. “That woman gets me every time.”

  “He’s a sly fox himself, that Mr. Bennet.” Letty wagged her head, then rested it against the back of the overstuffed leather couch, the most relaxed I’d ever seen her. “Sometimes I think his cleverness in the face of poor financial decisions and loony offspring is often overlooked.”

  The man lived with six women, including his wife who always seemed to have a severe case of “the nerves.” Maybe Letty had a point. Mr. Bennet had a lifetime to create witty comebacks, and yet who do we remember most when thinking of that story?

  Letty looked at me. “Do you know what my favorite part of the movie is?”

  “When Mr. Collins proposes to Lizzy? Or maybe when Lizzy and Mr. Bingley’s sister take a turn about the room?” I said that last bit in a terrible British accent.

  She batted a hand at me as if to say “silly girl.” “No. It is when Jane rescues Mr. Bingley from his own twisted tongue.”

  I narrowed my eyes, thinking.

  “You don’t remember? It happens during that first dance when they meet. He begins to tell her about himself but thinks better of his phrasing and backtracks. Only he makes a mess of it all, and his face shows his embarrassment. This is when Jane smiles agreeably and answers him, as if his words made every sense in the world.” Letty glanced at me, her eyes reflective. “That is when I knew she loved him.”

  “Such a romantic you are!” I smiled at her from my relaxed spot on the couch. “I hadn’t thought of that before, but yes, I can see that now. I suppose I’ve always been more caught up with Mr. Darcy to notice the nuances of any other love match in the movie. He can be such a rogue, but she gets what’s beneath his surface facade. Oh, to have someone say to me as Darcy does to Lizzy, ‘You have bewitched me, body and soul!’”

  Letty snorted. “I have always thought that line somewhat over the top.”

  “Not me. If a man looked at me like that and said those words, I’d be a goner.”

  “So this is what it would take for you to fall in love again?”

  She might as well have poked me with a pitchfork. I raised both hands in surrender. “I wasn’t serious, you know. Been there, done that, know what I mean?” I withered against the nervous laughter coming from me.

  Letty watched me, dark lashes accentuating her large eyes. “You do not want to talk about it. I can accept that. For now.” She stood and stretched her back. “We should talk about these walls. Are those sketches what you are planning?” She pointed at my sketchbook on the coffee table.

  I brightened at the adept way she changed the subject. I’d hoped to get her talking about her financial need, but at this point, I’d take any topic other than my love life. Or lack thereof.

  “One word: anemone.”

  “Spell that.”

  “I’m serious. Can’t you picture a giant sea anemone, fluid and glowing on this wall over here?” I swept my arms wide in front of the whitest wall in the room. “After that, I don’t know. Probably more tidal life. Sometimes I work better with a spark of an idea that grows as I paint.”

  She picked up the book and thumbed through the pages. “These are stunning, but you don’t work from a plan? How can you not work from a plan?”

  I shrugged. “It’s how I’m wired. Weird, I guess, but I’m told that my designs are pleasing, so . . .”

  “And when people tell you this, do you believe them?” I leaned my head left then right, weighing her question. “Usually.”

  “Good. You should. Obviously Fred sees your gift, even if you have not fully accepted it yourself.” She sized up the wall again. “Did you know that sea anemones are often referred to as windflowers?”

  “No, but that makes sense. They are gorgeous creatures with graceful, long petals. I could sit on the rocks and study them for days, if I had the time.”

  “Perhaps you should study them more, learn what they are like, how they react to predators and where they flourish most. This can only help you in your design, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  Silence like a weight dropped between us.

  I stuck a fist onto my hip. Now, suddenly, I’m the direct one in this relationship? “It’s too early for sleep. Let’s go in the kitchen while I get together some of tonight’s leftovers for you to take with you tomorrow.”

  “I do not need your charity.”

  I waved her off. “And I do not need all this food.” Something in my gut I couldn’t quite capture, like a gnat buzzing around my head, drove me to haul out a large grocery bag and begin filling it up.

  We’d left the kitchen in disarray, evidence everywhere of one fine meal shared together. Letty had wanted to clean up before the movie, but I shooed her out of there, corralling her to help me put Jer to bed. She never mentioned ever wanting kids of her own, but I could tell by the way she’d sung to Jeremiah and wrapped him in his blankets “like a burrito”—she rolled her Rs when she said it—that she would make a beautiful mama someday.

  I rifled around in a drawer and found quart-sized bags as she stood there, forlornly watching me. “You going to tell me what’s going on with you, Letty?” I kept on with my
bag filling and all-around eye avoidance. The clock ticked against the silence.

  “I could not stand you when you started working at the studio.”

  My chin jerked up. “What?”

  She sat in a kitchen chair, her usual confidence faltering. “Okay, maybe that’s part fabrication. I wanted not to like you.”

  I stiffened.

  “You came in for your interview looking chipper and put together like Pollyanna—only with brown hair. You did not have the credentials some of us have, and yet Fred hired you on the spot.”

  I expected honesty, maybe even some kind of painful confession, but criticism? I hadn’t expected that. Sadness pulled down the corners of my mouth and I went back to packing up groceries for her, only slower than at first.

  “I saw why he did almost immediately.”

  My eyes flashed, defiantly. “Why?”

  “You do beautiful work. There is no doubt about it. And I believe Fred had another reason for hiring you.”

  “This cabin?”

  A slight smile reached her lips. “Yes, of course, this cabin. Already you have inspired ideas for it, and it is obvious this type of work is your forte.”

  “But there’s something else.”

  “It is probably not for me to say.”

  I shifted and sighed.

  She flashed her long eyelashes toward the ceiling. “You are a petulant child!” Her teasing tone sounded forced.

  “Whatever it takes.”

  “Fine. Sherry confided in me once that she and Fred have a daughter. As far as anyone knows, they never see her. They have been estranged for years.”

  I took a seat across from her. “Wow . . . I can’t imagine that happening to dear Fred and Sherry.”

  “Nobody can. Sherry told me they believe they were too harsh with her when she was young. When they tried to force her to attend college, she left—and rarely ever has she called or visited.”

  We sat there, Letty and I, floating on silence. This news about Fred and Sherry’s estranged daughter drew the deflating evening only lower. I wanted to know about this mystery daughter, and yet Letty’s news that she “couldn’t stand” me continued to run like a ticker tape through my mind.