Romance in Color

by Synithia Williams

  She got up hastily and threw the rest of her sandwich in the trash.

  She was not running away. She was beating a strategic retreat. She pounded the sidewalk, almost breaking into a run for several minutes. Her breath came short. Finally, when she got around the corner, she slowed. She had stolen to safety, she thought, when rapid footsteps came up. Someone grabbed her arm.

  • • •

  He ached. There was no other word for the hollow feeling in his stomach and breastbone. His ankle felt a little tender, but nothing compared to the dull pain he felt without Petra. He sat on a bench in the park and watched the rest of the game, not that he could tell what was happening. His glasses were in his backpack and he didn’t care enough to retrieve them. He’d hardly been able to concentrate while he was playing. But the mud and the air had done him good. At least for a few minutes he hadn’t been thinking about her, or trying to call her, or hoping he’d run into her.

  She would probably call the cops on him if he waited outside her door again. He couldn’t blame her.

  He wondered what would have happened if he’d told her the truth, that he had taken the cat to protect her. She still would have broken up with him anyway for telling Danielle about how their relationship started. Petra had scruples. She always had reservations, and Danielle’s threat would probably confirm her feeling that something was fundamentally fucked up about their relationship.

  There probably was, and he didn’t care, he just didn’t. He still wanted her.

  He rubbed his face. It hurt that she didn’t trust him. It hurt that he wanted her back. The other day, he had thought of another good word for underwear and he had been about to pick up his phone, when he realized that she would never answer.

  It had been a damn good word.

  He bought a new punching bag. He bought a better air mattress for his office. He made appointments with Jatinder Singh again, in hopes of being able to once again live in his apartment, although he didn’t want to return to that empty, lonely place. Before, it had been bare and the bareness reminded him of how solitary he was. Now, it was filled with memories of her. And cat dander.

  Fuck it.

  The last thing she’d given him was a pink capsule. Like she still thought of him as a patient.

  He hadn’t swallowed it. He wasn’t carrying it in a vial around his neck like a douchebag. But neither was he happy with being dismissed so easily.

  He couldn’t continue with his life the way it was. For one thing, he was paying rent on an apartment occupied by a cat and the ghost of a living woman. His life was ridiculous. He needed to connect with someone. For the first time, he wanted to talk.

  He got up and pulled out his phone. “Gerry,” he said, wiping mud from his forehead. “You and Lilah will need to help train the assistant manager. I’m going out of town.”

  • • •

  It wasn’t Ian, Petra knew that much. But for a split second, she wondered. She turned around.

  Her throat closed again.

  “Kev,” she said.

  He looked small and sad and worried.

  “Kevin,” she repeated. “I’m so glad to see you. How are you?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. I wanted to keep you as my doctor, but my dad… It’s my fault. He thought it was weird you were with me and talking like a friend. And then he found out I’d been at Stream with you—”

  “You didn’t ask him if you could go?”

  “You tried to warn me, but I wanted to hang out with you so badly. The whole thing was my idea. I fought with him, really hard, but he shut it down.”

  Petra took a deep breath. It was almost too much. She was furious that she was in this position, but she couldn’t blame Kevin and she was tired of blaming herself. Still, she had to be a professional.

  “It’s okay, Kevin. It’s definitely not your fault. I was the grown-up and I should have known better—I did know better. I should have found a better way of helping you that day. How is Penny, by the way? Did she like your gift?”

  For the first time, Kevin’s face split with a big grin. “She loved it. It was so cool.”

  “So everything’s okay with you guys.”

  “We’re working on it,” Kevin said. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

  Petra had no idea what to say to him. They continued walking.

  “Do you like your new doctor?” she asked.

  “Dr. Ham is fine,” he said. “His practice is a little farther away, and they banned talking on the phone in his office. I’m a little bored, so I read and text. They have a TV, but it’s on mute with the subtitles on. Usually a news channel. That’s annoying. You were right that it would be stupid. They should show comedy.”

  “It’s hard to find things that everyone will like.”

  “But nobody likes the news.”

  “Are there a lot of people in the waiting room?”

  “Yeah. Once I couldn’t even find a seat.”

  Petra stifled a sigh.

  “Ian said I should hand out your business card next time that happens,” Kevin said. “He said it sounds like Dr. Ham has more patients than he needs.”

  Petra stilled. “You talked to Ian?”

  “Yeah. We hang out. He seemed like he needed some cheering up.”

  Petra clamped her mouth shut.

  “Maybe he needs a new girlfriend,” Kevin added. “I should hook him up.”

  “Oh, dear God.”

  Kevin eyed her. “I do know people other than junior high girls,” he said. “I know you, for instance. If you’re wondering why I’ve never tried to introduce you to the gentlemen, it’s because you’re a very elegant lady. I can’t pick just anyone for you.”

  “It’s inappropriate for you to introduce me to people,” she mumbled. She was not going to cry. Crying in front of patients was probably a no-no, too.

  Kevin paused. “You know, I know you two like each other, you and Ian,” he said. “You can tell me these things. I am very intuitive anyway.”

  “Not—”

  “—appropriate. I’m not your patient anymore. We can be friends now,” Kevin persisted.

  “You could always become my patient in the future, Kevin,” she said. “And you’re still a minor. The boundaries stay up, for your own good. This is what your dad was concerned about.”

  Kevin set his chin. He looked a little red. Petra eyed his scarf. She hoped there wasn’t any wool in it.

  “Well, that’s stupid,” he said. “What if when I turn twenty-one I want to go to Stream and have a drink with you guys? What if I want to be in a band with you? What if you find me handsome in the future and want to go out with me?”

  “I can’t end up abusing your trust, exploiting you.”

  Ian had always suspected that Kevin had a crush on her. Maybe he was right. Inner Hippocrates tried to say something, and she gave him a swift kick.

  “The point is,” Kevin said, “you’re one of the only people who cares for me just the way I am. I am your friend, even though I’m younger than you and you have a medical degree. You’ve fed me and bandaged me up and told me the truth about almost everything. You know more about me than almost anyone. My father has no idea who I am. He can’t even remember what I’m allergic to and I’m not sure he cares. I’m alone, Dr. Lale. You’re one of the few people who just let me hang out and who listened. You just let me be me.

  “I know people who need an allergist,” Kevin added. “All the kids in my school have allergies. Medication is, like, the thing that unites our generation.”

  “You must be a real overachiever, Kevin,” she managed to say.

  “I am,” he said, seriously. “I’m going to make this up to you, Dr. Lale. You’ll see. This isn’t the end.”

  It seemed she was going to cry—was crying—but she had finally realized one sad fact: Kevin was never going to be her patient again. She was going to have to cut them both free. “Kev, I’ll always be concerned for you…”

  “Don’t,”
he said desperately.

  “And you have to believe that I am looking out for you…”

  “Don’t. Don’t say it.” He screwed up his face and looked like the child he still was.

  “But your dad cares about you, too, more than you know. And Penny, and Penny’s mom, Mrs. Poole, and even Ian. You aren’t alone at all, Kevin, even if it feels that way.”

  Kevin’s face dissolved. “I’m not going to let you say we can’t be friends.” He turned and tore away. She worried that his asthma would be exacerbated by running in the cold air. She worried that he’d be blinded by tears and stumble and fall. But he was already near his building. She had to let him go.

  Her heart was shredded. There was nothing left. She had done the right thing. Why did it feel so terrible?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Petra drove up to Astoria by herself on Friday night, singing loudly to all the boy-band, teen pop-sensation music that she was ashamed to admit she owned. But nothing else would do right now. She couldn’t risk crying to Patsy Cline and running her rental off the highway.

  The car smelled new and she was glad to be away from the city. But in the static silences between songs, she felt herself gripped with an overwhelming sadness that even the brassiest synthesizers and sunniest choruses couldn’t dispel.

  It was normal to feel a little off before your mom’s wedding, right?

  She pulled into the parking lot of the bargain bed and breakfast she had booked for two nights. No one knew that she had left town already. Her sister and the girlfriend were set to arrive tomorrow morning. They would all meet Jim Morrison’s kids and have lunch together on the porch. Not a lot of people had been invited to the wedding, which suited Petra just fine.

  Her mother had said Petra could wear anything she wanted. Lisa had also said something about Ian, and Petra told her in a choked voice that he wasn’t coming. Then her mother had said something else, which Petra didn’t catch, but sounded suspiciously like an oath, and she hung up the phone. Lisa Lale never swore or hung up on people. It was kind of great that she’d started and Petra hoped it would happen many times again when she was more in the mood to appreciate it. Petra supposed she had Jim Morrison to thank for that one, too. That, or bridal nerves.

  The chatty innkeeper led her up the stairs to a room with a huge canopy bed and large walnut wardrobe. The bathroom had a claw-footed bathtub, the kind of thick, fluffy white robe that was always way too long, and, best of all, towel warmers.

  It was low season, so it hadn’t been horribly expensive. She didn’t care about money anymore. What was the point when she didn’t have any?

  Petra had the night planned. She would soak in the tub and paint her fingernails. Then she would read a book until she was sleepy, and her evening would be perfect and uninterrupted. She just wanted to go missing for one segment of time. In a clean room with linen that smelled like lavender and brand new soaps, she could pretend she was someone with a whole heart.

  The problem was that this room looked perfect for sex. Too bad she wouldn’t be getting any of that again for a while.

  • • •

  The day sparkled like a diamond (although not like the diamond in her mother’s ring, Petra noted, because that one forever had a disturbingly jaundiced cast) and threatened to become one of those unseasonably warm days that had people shucking off their clothes indecently, believing that spring had arrived, perhaps even summer.

  Jim Morrison and Lisa had decorated the porch with tulips, pots and pots of them, until the place looked like a Dutch postcard. There was a white tent off to the side and chairs already set out. Jim Morrison greeted her at the door with a kiss on the cheek, a blueberry muffin, and a mimosa, and told her to go up to her mother. Ellie and girlfriend had not yet arrived.

  Everything was perfect.

  Jim Morrison was possibly perfect.

  Petra had to admit, she was warming to him. After all, he made Lisa happy, he had bought up her favorite flowers, and Petra suspected that the orange juice in her drink was fresh-squeezed and the champagne was real champagne. (Not that she was able to tell this sort of thing. Ian would probably have known.) And if Jim Morrison were indeed Dr. Evil, then the weather machine that he had invented was working splendidly. She raised her flute in a toast and downed the entire glass.

  Lisa scrunched her eyebrows and cleared her throat a little nervously.

  “Relax, Mom, I won’t suck down too much alcohol. But you have to admit, it’s really delicious.”

  “I’m not having any,” her mother said.

  “Oh dear God, you’re not pregnant at your wedding, are you, young lady?” Petra trilled laughter. Hmmm, maybe she had already had too much to drink. Petra set the flute down on the nightstand and took a big bite of blueberry muffin.

  Her mother had laid out three suits on the bed and she was walking around, picking them up and holding them to herself and putting them down. She peered at herself in the full-length mirror and wrinkled her brow.

  “You look great, Mom. Any one of those colors will be nice on you.”

  “I had the hairdresser come yesterday, and I slept with a scarf tied around my head. It was very uncomfortable. I have dark circles under my eyes.”

  “Do you have a makeup person, too?”

  “No. Should I?”

  She looked so chagrined that Petra moved to soothe her. “Don’t worry. I was kidding. Again. Ellie will know what to do. I hardly see the circles. If you hadn’t said something, I’d never have noticed.”

  Her mother began to pace and Petra wished for an entire pitcher of mimosas.

  At least the room was gorgeous. Jim Morrison had installed his bride-to-be in a huge room at the back of the house. Sunlight poured into two gabled windows and a set of French doors opened out to what her mother said was a rug-shaking porch. Petra liked that. In summertime, there were probably wonderful views of trees and green lawns and hills. Maybe if she played her cards right, she could house-sit one weekend. It was beautiful but comfortable, and it spoke of the kind of old money that she’d never had. In a place like this, she would never contemplate sadly the fact she’d never have sex again; it was just not something she’d care to do while she was in Jim Morrison and Lisa’s house, anyway.

  “I just can’t decide,” Lisa was saying helplessly. “Which one makes me look nonthreatening and yet respectable?”

  “I didn’t think that was the statement that brides generally wanted to make.”

  “His children at lunch,” Lisa moaned. “I just want them to like me.”

  Petra almost told her that the suit would be the least of Lisa’s worries. Luckily, Ellie slammed through the door and burst into her mother’s arms.

  “You look beautiful,” Ellie wailed.

  “No, I don’t,” Lisa bleated back.

  They erupted into noisy sobs. Petra sat on the bed, careful to avoid the suits. After a moment, Ellie disentangled herself from her mother and slid next to Petra. “Oh, Petey,” she said, snuggling into her, “I missed you so much.”

  Petra laughed and kissed Ellie on the cheek.

  “Missed you, too. Where’s Jenna?”

  “She’s eating muffins, drinking mimosas, and salivating over Jim Morrison’s Jim Morrison poster. I think it’s like heaven on earth for her right now.”

  “Where are you staying tonight?”

  “Oh, I think we’re all bunking here, right?”

  Ellie looked at her mother for confirmation.

  “I’m not,” Petra said.

  “You could stay here.”

  “Aren’t Jim Morrison’s kids also staying? That would be like a weird slumber party. I’ve got a great room at the bed and breakfast in town. Or, I mean, I hear it’s a very nice place.”

  “C’mon, it’ll be cozy,” Ellie said.

  The mention of Jim Morrison’s kids had sent their mother pacing again. She was wringing her hands and scrutinizing her outfit choices again. She muttered under her breath.

  “Wha
t did you say to her?” Ellie asked in a low voice.

  “What? I’ve been perfectly nice. Okay, I made one crack about her being pregnant at the wedding, but it was more of a lame joke than a bitchy zinger. Besides, you’re the one who was more recently freaked out about Mom getting married.” Petra rose from the bed and said loudly, “I think we need some dance music to put us in the mood. Plus coffee. I’m going to go downstairs and see what I can find.”

  She shut the door behind them and closed her eyes.

  She was…okay. Considering her mother was getting married, her sister was blaming her for imagined ills, and her own heart felt shredded. They still had to get through lunch with Jim Morrison’s kids—her new stepbrother and stepsister, she reminded herself. They were both in college. She glanced at her jeans and boots. They’d do. She didn’t want to look overly formal but was her outfit too casual?

  She cut herself off before she could go any farther down that rabbit hole of self-doubt. She was already older than all of the other kids. Her poise and confidence would have to pull her through—or more mimosas. Plus, it wasn’t as if they had to like her.

  They probably wouldn’t.

  Low expectations were so refreshing sometimes. So were mimosas. She hurried down the stairs and almost ran smack into Jim Morrison.

  He was also wringing his hands. Cute. It looked like he had learned a few tics from Lisa. It must be love. “How is your mother doing?” he asked.

  “She’s fine. Worried about her outfit. Outfits, I should say. Wedding nerves.”

  He shot her a sidewise glance. “Did you two manage to talk? I hope that there wasn’t too much anxious chatter. This is, after all, a joyful occasion.”

  Why was she receiving warnings from everyone? She deserved to get drunk at this point, dammit.

  “I was a cheerful little earful,” she said. “Now why don’t you tell me all about my new step-siblings?”

  • • •

  Lacey and Laird Morrison arrived about an hour later. They were arguing when they climbed out of the car. Petra had been having a surprisingly good time with Jim Morrison and Jenna. Jenna wanted to become an orthopedic surgeon and had spent the time grilling Petra and Jim Morrison about medical school, the hours, specialties, money, and patients. Privately, Petra thought Jenna was probably a little too laid-back to be a physician. Kid was definitely smart enough, and she had good grades, but she needed that extra kick of aggression and anxiety. Or maybe she could become a shrink.