Sunshine and Shadows

by Pamela Browning

  While he was sitting on a gurney in the hospital emergency room, holding a gauze pad to the little nick above one eye that was his sole injury, a somber policeman walked up and told him the girl in the other car was in critical condition and not expected to make it. Later she died.

  Jay couldn't believe it. How could she be seriously injured? He was barely scratched. And he was only out to have a good time. He hadn't meant to hurt her.

  While he was waiting to find out the girl's fate, he unexpectedly encountered her boyfriend in the rest room; the guy had been throwing up in the sink. He never found out if the other fellow knew who he was.

  When the girl died, Jay had been duly charged with manslaughter and pleaded guilty. After the sentencing, both Jay and his mother had gone for counseling. She subsequently married a man who, in spite of everything, loved Jay and had adopted him, Jay's birth father having died in the meantime. His mother sobered up and settled down. After she and Fred had two children, a boy and a girl, they moved to Albuquerque, which was about as far away from West Palm Beach as you could get and still stay in the continental U.S.

  Jay didn't blame them for moving. People had talked after the accident, and he understood why his mother wanted a fresh start for her new family, which she was rearing under a completely different philosophy from the way she had brought up Jay.

  Some people would think that Jay had paid his debt to society. Maybe he had. But Jay didn't think so. He had never forgotten the bleak anguish in the eyes of that man he had seen in the rest room at the hospital. Jay had not only killed someone, but he had stolen that man's life away by killing the girl he loved. He would be atoning for that forever.

  He tried. He really did. He gave money to charities and he taught art to kids; he had so little personal life that his law partner kidded him about it.

  If he had told people why he was making a gift of his life to others, maybe they would have understood. Then again, maybe they wouldn't. He couldn't take the chance. He didn't want anyone to know that he was the kid who had killed a girl and gotten off almost scot-free. He was grateful to his stepfather for giving him a new last name, and he himself had changed his first name.

  It was, after all, not such a big deal to become Jay instead of Jamie, to become Quillian instead of Watkins, and James Watkins, as far as most people were concerned, had disappeared from the face of the earth almost as completely as that girl he'd killed when he was only seventeen years old.

  * * *

  "I've located Connie's father," Sister Maria told Jay and Lisa when they met in her office the next afternoon. "He's taken a steady job in North Carolina."

  "How did you manage to find him so fast?" Jay asked in surprise.

  Sister Maria walked behind her desk and sat down. "I've been working on this case for a long time. I've always been concerned about those children living with Nina. Last week I talked with someone who had recently seen Carlos—that's the father's name. I telephoned the furniture factory where he works this morning, and he called me back on his lunch break. He's very concerned about Connie," she said.

  "Will he send for her?" Lisa asked.

  "He says he's living in a crowded house with another family, and there's no room for anyone else, but he's already rented a place that will be available this summer so that he can provide a home for his daughter. Life has apparently been hard for him since Connie's mother left."

  "You mean her mother isn't coming back?" Jay said.

  "It looks like she's decided to stay in California with another man. This family has had a lot of hardship, but Carlos thinks it's all behind them now. Until June or July, when he is sure he can send for her, he wants Connie to stay with Nina. Or Lisa," Sister Maria said.

  "Connie is welcome at my house as long as necessary," Lisa said firmly.

  "I went out to the fields to talk with Nina this morning," Jay said. "She admitted that she doesn't have legal custody of Connie. Just as I suspected, she's not Connie's grandmother, only a distant relative. I told her that we'd see that Connie was taken care of, but she got on her high horse and said that Connie has to spend some time with her cousins once in a while, and that she should be allowed to visit."

  "Why didn't Nina think of that before she threw Connie out of the house?" Lisa asked skeptically.

  "My guess is that the boys raised the roof when they found out that Connie was gone for good, and in order to shut them up, Nina told them that Connie would come back occasionally. I thought that Connie would miss the boys, so I agreed that she could visit Nina every other Sunday evening. If there's any sign of mistreatment, of course, we'll stop it. After all, Nina has no legal hold on Connie," he said.

  "Did Nina say anything else?" Sister Maria asked.

  "One other thing," Jay said, his voice tinged with irony. "She said she didn't want to see Connie hanging around the house uninvited."

  "I'm so sick of her treating Connie like a disposable kid!" Lisa said, her eyes flashing.

  "At least Connie's out of there. I still worry about the boys, though. I wonder if Nina's treating them well."

  Sister Maria sighed. "Well enough, I think," she said. "The other sisters and I have talked with the boys individually, and they seem to have a strong affection for one another. Miguel, the oldest, is quite strong and capable. I can assure you that we're going to keep a close watch on the situation and will be in touch with the social-welfare department at the first sign of any problem."

  Jay turned to Lisa. "How is Adele doing?" he asked.

  "We didn't see her this morning before we left," Lisa told him. "I don't know what kind of mood she'll be in when we get home, but Connie and I are planning to eat dinner in the community-center dining hall, anyway. I intend to have a serious talk with Adele tonight."

  Sister Maria walked them to the door. "Don't worry too much about all of this," she said encouragingly. "Migrant children are like little chameleons. They learn to adapt to different places over and over all their lives, but if you have any problems with Connie, Lisa, let me know."

  After saying goodbye to Sister Maria, Jay and Lisa walked slowly back to the community center.

  "Have you seen Connie since this morning?" Jay asked.

  Lisa shook her head. "I've been in Sister Maria's office all day. She was filling me in on Connie's family problems. It's a wonder she's not an emotional basket case."

  "She's stronger than you think," Jay said. He sensed that Lisa was troubled, and he slid an arm around her shoulders. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

  "Apprehensive," she admitted. "Maybe I've bitten off more than I can chew."

  "I'll help all I can," he said reassuringly.

  "I'm counting on it," she told him. "To me, loving is giving. It sounds so easy, and I feel so glib when I say the words. At the same time I realize that I've never had the responsibility of taking care of a child before, and with the magnitude of Connie's problems—well, it's scary. I hope I'm equal to the task."

  Listening to her speak, Jay felt deeply moved. At the same time he admired Lisa for voicing her fears. Yesterday she had jumped in with both feet; today she was having second thoughts. He was glad that she felt comfortable admitting them.

  "Tell you what," he said as they approached the kitchen. "I'll pay special attention to Connie this afternoon. Occasionally she opens up to me, and I'll report to you if anything seems unusual."

  "Thanks," she said, gazing up at him. Somehow she managed to look beatific as well as concerned; whenever he'd decided that her face had a finite number of expressions, he was treated to a new one.

  He wanted to kiss away the worried line between her eyebrows, but he couldn't, not here. Instead he walked her as far as the kitchen door. "I hear the clarion tones of Sister Clementine singing at the sink, and behind her Sister Ursula is slamming pots and pans around," he said, trying to lighten the mood.

  "In other words, everything is normal in the kitchen," Lisa said, and much to his relief, she laughed and went inside.

 
Sister Clementine greeted Lisa happily. "Connie stopped by the kitchen a little while ago. She's so excited about starting to work on the panels for the dining hall today," she said.

  "I'm sorry I missed her," Lisa said, making herself think about work. She'd spent the whole day away from the kitchen, and there were things she needed to do.

  She checked the pantry. "By the way," she said, "have either of you found that big can of cashews yet?"

  "Cashew—it sounds like a sneeze," Sister Clementine mused.

  "Sounds more like a curse," Sister Ursula said.

  "Sister!" exclaimed Sister Clementine.

  "Well, it does." Sister Ursula wiped her hands on her apron and folded her arms across her chest. "Lisa, are we going to have to put up with Connie bothering us in the kitchen every day after school now that she's going to be waiting around for you to take her home?" she asked.

  "Connie will be working in the art room after school, but I'll speak to her if it's necessary," Lisa assured her through gritted teeth.

  "Speaking of Connie," Sister Ursula continued, "Sister Catalina says that the girl wasn't concentrating in class today. Sounds like she's going all to pieces over this thing."

  "She's more likely to be picking up the pieces," chided Sister Clementine. "Wouldn't you say that's it, Lisa?"

  But Lisa had tired of their constant needling back and forth. She pretended she hadn't heard and closeted herself in her office.

  Later, when she decided that she couldn't stare at her computer screen one more minute, she took a break. Avoiding Sisters Ursula and Clementine, she walked outside and headed across the sandy field toward the school.

  Most of the children had gone home for the day. The others had stayed behind to work in the garden, the art room, or to attend Sister Maria's special study hall. In the art room, Connie, working with Pedro, was sketching a huge pencil outline on one of the plywood panels when Lisa arrived. Upon closer inspection, the drawing proved to be an immense tomato sliced in two.

  "What do you think so far?" Connie asked.

  "Seedy," Lisa said as Connie concentrated on making little circles.

  Connie wrinkled her nose. "I mean really—does it look like a tomato?"

  "Looks more like the attack of the killer tomatoes," Jay said, coming up behind Lisa and surreptitiously kissing the side of her neck when Connie and Pedro weren't looking.

  "What can we do for you?" he asked Lisa, his smile starting in his eyes and working its way downward.

  "I was just—checking on the progress of the panels," she said.

  "And on Connie?" Jay asked in a low tone.

  Lisa nodded.

  "Everything is fine," he assured her. "Did Connie tell you that we're going to draw the green peppers next?"

  "Which reminds me—I'd better make sure that Sister Clementine doesn't add a whole bucketful of green peppers to the fish stew the way she did with the meat loaf the other night," Lisa said, moving toward the door.

  Jay caught up with her in the hall. "I've been thinking," he said with an abashed grin. "How long do we have to wait until we get together?"

  "Quite a while, unless we rendezvous in the pantry under the watchful eyes of Sisters Ursula and Clementine," Lisa said ruefully.

  "No one's around. Don't you know what I want? Don't you know—"

  "Yes," she hissed, and then she fled.

  "I'll phone you tonight," he called after her, and she knew he was laughing.

  When she arrived in the kitchen, her cheeks still pink, Sister Clementine spared a sharp glance in Lisa's direction.

  "Lisa, do you think it's too hot in here? I could turn on the fan if you'd like," she offered.

  "If you turn on the fan, you'll have to clean up the mess when this flour flies all over the place," Sister Ursula warned.

  "I think the temperature is perfect," Lisa told them before disappearing into the pantry, where she peered anxiously at her reflection in the bottom of a stainless-steel mixing bowl until her color returned to normal.

  * * *

  Jay telephoned Lisa early that evening.

  "How's Adele?" he asked.

  Lisa paused. "She wasn't around when we came in at seven-thirty, but her car's in the garage. I think she's barricaded in her room, sulking."

  "How's Connie?"

  "Okay," Lisa said cautiously.

  "Want me to come over? I could play checkers with Connie while you try to open a discussion with Adele. Or vice versa, whichever you think would work best."

  Lisa didn't know how she was going to deal with her housemate, but she definitely wanted to see Jay.

  "When can you get here?" she asked, smiling into the phone.

  He could hear the smile in her voice. "Half an hour. Is that too soon?" Now that he knew he was going to see her tonight, he felt exhilarated beyond belief.

  "Fifteen minutes would be better," she told him, and he laughed.

  "I'll hurry," he said.

  After Lisa hung up, Connie pushed her math homework aside. "Is Jay going to be here soon?" she asked.

  "Before you know it," Lisa said happily.

  "I think I'll go fix my hair," Connie said, slipping off the chair and heading toward her room.

  Lisa was sweeping the floor when Connie returned.

  "Somebody cleaned my hairbrush," Connie announced.

  "'Twasn't I," Lisa told her abstractedly.

  "I think it was the other lady."

  "Adele? Hmm. It could have been, I suppose," Lisa said in surprise.

  "I left my brush next to the sink this morning and when I came back it was all clean and nice and smelled good. And when I left my shoes in the garage that day we went out in the canoe? They were clean, too, when I got them back."

  "Adele is a very nice person," Lisa said carefully as she put the broom away in the closet. "She's always doing something kind for me."

  Connie closed her math book and slid her paper between its pages. "Why is Adele such a grouch? Why doesn't she come out of her room?"

  "She's sometimes not so happy," Lisa said, and she sat down across the table and told her an abbreviated version of Adele's life story. "So you see, Connie," she concluded, "Adele has lost everyone who was important to her."

  Connie thought about this for a long moment. "It must be like when my parents went away and left me with Nina. I felt like they had died."

  "I think it is something like that," Lisa said quietly. "Maybe you understand better than anyone how Adele feels."

  "I do. But you know, she'll never get to feel better if she doesn't come out of her room."

  "You're right. After dinner I'll go talk with her," Lisa said.

  "I'd like to thank her for cleaning my brush and my shoes. Do you think she'd like to have one of the pictures I drew of the zoo? I brought one of them here with me—it has monkeys in it."

  "She might," Lisa said cautiously.

  "I'll go get it," Connie said, jumping up and running to her room. When she came back, she was carrying a cleverly done crayon drawing of three comical monkeys sitting on a rock; Lisa laughed when she saw it because she remembered the scene, and Connie had caught the monkeys' expressions perfectly.

  When Jay and Connie set up the checkerboard in the den, it was in a mood of hilarity that Adele could surely hear, and after Jay and Connie settled down to their game, Lisa wasted no time in knocking on Adele's door.

  "Come in," Adele said. When Lisa opened the door, she found Adele sitting on a rocking chair by the window.

  "I wanted to see how you are," Lisa told her, perching on the edge of the bed.

  "Not much sense in that," Adele said with the air of a martyr. She looked as though she had been crying.

  "Connie thought you might like to have this picture. She drew it after we all went to the zoo." Lisa unfurled it for Adele's benefit.

  Adele studied it. "She drew this?"

  "Isn't she a good artist?"

  "Pretty good," Adele said without much interest.

  "Here, I'l
l stick it on your mirror," Lisa said, getting up and walking to the dresser. Adele didn't say anything while Lisa affixed the picture beside a grade-school photo of Megan.

  "Connie said to tell you thank you for cleaning her brush," Lisa said.

  "It was nothing," Adele said.

  "To her it was. She's not used to anyone doing nice things for her."

  "I'd have done it for anyone. When is she leaving, anyway?"

  "She'll be staying with us until her father comes to get her, which will probably be in June or July."

  "It's only February," Adele said glumly.

  "She's a sweet little thing, Adele," Lisa said. "She's also fun and talented and easy to have around. She's not any trouble."

  "As long as she doesn't wake me up too early, we'll get along fine."

  "She wasn't noisy in the morning, was she?" Lisa asked.

  A long silence. "Well, no," Adele admitted.

  "I'm glad to hear that," Lisa said. She stood up and forced herself to speak in a bright and cheerful tone.

  "Jay's here. He and Connie are playing checkers, and I get to take on the winner. We'd love to have you join us if you'd like, even if you only want to watch," she said.

  "I'm fine right here," Adele said obstinately.

  "Well, keep it in mind," Lisa told her. Adele said nothing as Lisa went out and closed the door behind her.

  Connie was chortling with glee when Lisa walked into the den. "I just made one of my men a king," she told Lisa, her eyes dancing.

  Lisa sat down close to Jay. He smiled at her, his eyes lighted from deep within. "Well?" he said.

  "Adele is—resting," Lisa said.

  "Oh. I see," Jay replied.

  "Resting from what? From being sad?" Connie asked as she waited for Jay to make his next move.

  "In a manner of speaking, I suppose so," Lisa said, trying not to smile.