Dreaming In Color Read online

  Right then, Alma had wanted to call it off, to get on the telephone to the real estate agent and say never mind, she wasn't going to be buying the house after all. But the loss of face would have been more than she could bear. So, all but choking, she'd accepted her parents' money, whispered a thank you, and gone forward on her chosen path. She would have a home of her own and her own income. She only wished that those accomplishments could balance out the secret and terrible longing she sometimes felt to be part of a pair, to belong to someone. Yet more than anything else, she feared ever again turning herself over, heart and mind, as completely as she had to Randy Wheeler. She'd learned that even the people you thought you knew best were capable of astonishing acts of treachery.

  While Bobby was gathering her clothes for the day, Alma asked, "How much education have you had?" Carefully removing a blouse from its hanger, Bobby said, "I had to quit my senior year of high school to care for my grandpa."

  "Did you do well in school?"

  "About average, I suppose." Bobby laid the clothes on the bed, then knelt in front of Alma holding her undergarments. "I was never smart, like Pen. Pen's real … ly smart."

  "Yes, she is," Alma agreed. "She's an exceptionally bright child."

  "She's real … ly taken with you."

  "It's mutual," Alma said.

  While Bobby brushed her hair—something else none of the other nurses had ever done with such attentiveness—Alma gazed out the window, noting the massed clouds over the Sound. It was bound to snow any time now, and she'd spend her second winter trying not to be depressed, trying to believe that being handicapped was preferable to being dead.

  In the afternoon the physical therapist came. Alma introduced him to Bobby as Dennis Forster, saying, "Dennis is now going to subject me to an hour of exquisite torture." But Bobby could tell she liked him, and he liked her, too. He was tall, with carroty red hair and brown eyes, and he wore white like a doctor. Bobby thought he had a nice smile.

  "I'll bet Alma didn't tell you she has exercises she's supposed to do," he said to Bobby but with his smile directed at Alma.

  "It's pointless," Alma declared. "You can't resurrect what's dead."

  "Stay and watch," Dennis told Bobby. "I'll show you the drill."

  Bobby stood by and watched obediently as Dennis worked the older woman's body, urging Alma to make more of an effort with her essentially paralyzed left side. For forty minutes, they went through exercises that visibly frustrated and angered Alma as she grappled with limbs that no longer felt as if they belonged to her and complained volubly about the pointlessness of the procedures.

  Dennis was soft-spoken, good-humored, and remarkably patient. He wouldn't let Alma quit, despite her repeated threats to do just that. "You can do it," he said again and again. "You're doing fine." And finally, when Alma was winded and a bit red in the face, he looked over at Bobby and said, "See if you can't get her to do even twenty minutes a day. It'll make a big difference."

  "I'll do my best," Bobby promised, and left when Dennis told her that the rest of his time would be taken up with massage, after which Alma would have her nap.

  Ruby was running the vacuum cleaner in Eva's bedroom as Bobby went downstairs. She poured herself some of the coffee left over from lunch, and sat down at the table with the pad and pen from beside the telephone, making a note of the exercises.

  "Mind if I have some of that coffee?" Dennis asked from the doorway a short time later.

  "I'll get you a cup," Bobby said. "You usually have coffee before you go?"

  "Only if it's already made. I take it black," he said, sliding into a chair. "So, are you from around here?"

  "Jamestown, New York," Bobby said, setting the cup down in front of him and resuming her seat. She wondered if they were supposed to be in here, and imagined Eva storming in from the garage demanding to know what they thought they were doing, making themselves at home in her kitchen.

  "Don't know it," Dennis said.

  "It's upstate, near Lake Erie, about seventy miles west of Buffalo."

  "Mind if I ask what happened to your eye?"

  She looked down at the tabletop. "I'd rather not say."

  "Right," he said. "So what brings you to this neck of the woods?"

  "I like the ocean," she said, feeling awkward and stealing a glance at his hands. They were large and very clean, the backs covered with freckles. He wasn't wearing any rings.

  "It's as good a reason as any," he said, then took a large swallow of his coffee before checking the time. "I'd better get going. I've got another client up in Norwalk." He got up, carried his cup to the sink, then went to the refrigerator, lifted aside a magnet, and took the check Eva had left there for him. Tucking it into his pocket, he said, "See if you can't get her to do those exercises. They'll help, if she'll only do them."

  "I'll try my best." "Okay. See you next week." He went along the hall to get his coat and let himself out.

  After the door had closed behind him, Bobby let out her breath slowly and carried her coffee downstairs, planning to clean up the breakfast dishes. But Ruby had already done it. The carpet showed vacuum tracks, every surface had been dusted, and the countertops were wiped clean. Bobby looked around, amazed. Nobody had ever cleaned for her. She wasn't quite sure how to react.

  Ruby looked surprised when Bobby thanked her, and finished stowing the cleaning gear in the utility room before saying, "You're welcome, but it's my job. There's no need to go thanking me."

  "Well, thank you anyway," Bobby said, slipping on her coat. "I'm going to meet the bus now," she explained as Ruby untied her apron.

  "You got a child with you?"

  "My girl, Penny."

  Ruby smiled, showing brilliant white teeth. "Bet Miss Alma's pleased about that. She sure do love children." "Penny's real taken with her." "I'll bet she is. Be seeing you Monday," Ruby said, getting her check from

  the refrigerator door just as Dennis had done. "See you then," Bobby said, wondering as she started up the drive if her own check would be stuck with a magnet to the fridge.

  Eva stared at the computer screen seeing Crescent Bay stretching silver in the afternoon light. Overhead the sun was a blinding hole in the white sky. She saw herself sitting near the water's edge at the apex of the bay, powdery sand slipping through her fingers as she watched the children splash in the shallows. To her left a trio of boats sat tilted on the beach, and to her right, about fifty yards distant, Deborah stood talking to a group of seven or eight Montaverdeans. Some of them, Eva had been given to understand, were relatives—cousins and uncles—and some had been hired to work on the house.

  Deborah, long legs planted firmly, arms folded across her chest, stood stony-faced with anger as she listened to one of the older men. The construction was, weeks, even months, behind schedule, and Deborah was furious. Rough seas and rains were responsible for some of the delay, lackadaisical work habits were evidently responsible for the rest. So far, only the foundation had been laid: rectangles of concrete block that would be the ground-level utility and storage areas. On the hillside above, an area had been cleared for the catchment that would capture and store rainwater—a raw black area surrounded by dense brush.

  Eva and Mellie had been on the island for four days. And each day, when the weather permitted, they all traveled by boat through the barracuda-infested waters to arrive at the bay. Day after day, Deborah's anger grew as she stepped ashore in her bright orange life vest—to her astonishment, Eva had discovered that Deborah couldn't swim—to find that little or nothing had been accomplished in her absence. And every evening when they returned to the plantation, Deborah accosted her husband, demanding to know why he refused to take on the responsibility of overseeing the construction.

  Her English accent having subtly become more West Indian, she'd confront Ian. "Man, you know these people don't respect women. It's your bloody house too. Why won't you get off your scrawny white ass and take charge?"

  Invariably, Ian fingered his silver Dun
hill cigarette lighter, turning it over and over in his hands, as if waiting for Deborah to run out of steam. Eva still was unable to determine if he was smiling to himself or if that sneer was his normal expression. Either way, his silence fueled Deborah's anger. After twenty or thirty minutes of fruitless badgering, she'd march into the kitchen to begin the evening meal.

  At the outset, Eva had offered to help with the cooking, but Deborah had given her a pained smile and said, "No, thank you, darling. Just keep an eye on the children." So Eva had stopped offering. It made her feel guilty to be sitting idle while her friend worked, but she'd decided there was no point continuing to offer when she knew she'd be refused. So she supervised the children, watching with fascination their complicated games.

  They played either in the vast, empty lower room that in another era had been the living room, or in the grassy area beyond it that was partially enclosed by the L-shaped house. It wasn't until their third day on the island that Eva commented on the peculiarity of the location of this grassy area, and Deborah explained it had been a swimming pool which, for some unknown reason, the owners had filled in. "I expect they were afraid one of their children might have an accident," Deborah said, doubtfully eyeing the expanse of green.

  The house altogether was odd. Four bedrooms were situated side by side along the bottom of the L, and the upright consisted of two enormous rooms defined only by the steps that separated them. The front door opened into the middle of the upright, and to the left, up two wide steps, was what had originally been the dining room but was used by Ian and Deborah as the living room. Fronting the living room, overlooking the mountainside, was the verandah. To the right of the front door, down two more steps, was the empty former living room, at the bottom of which was the door leading out to the bedrooms.

  Built sometime in the late forties, the house reminded Eva of a motel. Constructed of concrete block, with the interior walls plastered and whitewashed, the place was cool and characterless. It belonged to the friends of one of Deborah's uncles, who were away in Europe for an undisclosed period of time. The owners' furniture was evidently in storage, which accounted for the unremitting emptiness of the rooms. The bedrooms contained only beds, nothing else.

  The children took turns riding a tricycle across the hardwood floors of the echoey lower room. Aside from several wooden chairs and a bench in the living room, there was only a rickety table that held the telephone and sundry papers. And on the verandah was the sagging armchair in which Eva often sat, and an equally sagging two-seater sofa. They all gathered each evening on the verandah to eat the food Deborah prepared. She usually sat on the railing with a plate propped on her thigh, staring narrow-eyed into the distance, one leg braced on the floor for balance.

  Her thoughts returning to the beach, Eva remembered how she'd sat most days watching the children run in giddy circles, in and out of the water. Their boundless energy in the tremendous heat had amazed her. From early morning until eight in the evening, they'd skipped or jumped up and down, playing incomprehensible games. Derek and Mellie were happy together, for which Eva was tremendously grateful, because from the moment she'd arrived, she'd been aware that Ian and Deborah were not. The tension between them was constant and unrelenting. Eva tried very hard to pretend that everything was normal, but the atmosphere in the house alarmed her. She spent most of her time with the children, trying to behave normally but feeling like a fraud, getting through the days while thinking constantly about leaving.

  Once washed and put into bed, the children closed their eyes instantly and plunged into sleep like tiny divers. Scarcely moving, their bodies dark against the bed linens, their chunky limbs were stilled for the duration of the night.

  And it was at night that things happened. The tensions of the day seemed to reach the breaking point when darkness fell. Sitting out on the verandah, Deborah would start in again on Ian, demanding to know why he was letting all the work fall on her shoulders. "You're to come to the site with me," she'd insist, "and not go off for hours in the car without let

  ting anyone know where you are."

  He'd shrug and toy with his Dunhill lighter, smirking at her.

  "You're bloody fucking useless!" Deborah would rant, puffing furiously on her cigarette.

  Eva would sit in silence, ignored by the two of them, trying and failing to think of some way she might mediate. She sensed that Deborah wanted her there, possibly as a witness, or possibly for her support. As far as Ian was concerned, Eva might as well have been invisible. So she'd smile now and again at Deborah, signaling her support, and then, at last, not having been acknowledged in even the slightest fashion, she'd excuse herself, saying, "I guess I'll head off to bed now."

  At this point, both Deborah and Ian would click in, as if belatedly realizing she was there. "Sleep well, darling," Deborah would say, but with an expression almost of relief that Eva was going. And Ian would clear his throat, stop turning the lighter for a few moments, and direct his sneer/smirk/smile at her, saying, "Hmn, yes. Good night, Eva."

  "See you in the morning," Eva would say, and then escape to her bedroom, feeling positively traitorous because she wanted so badly to take Mellie and get the hell off the island. She'd sit on her bed and tell herself there was nothing wrong. Deborah and Ian simply had a different kind of marriage. Not every marriage was like hers and Ken's had been. Some people thrived on discord. Perhaps Deborah and Ian were happy in a negative way. Eva didn't know what to think. Exhausted both from a day's play with the children and from her efforts to decipher precisely what the hell was going on with Deborah and Ian, she'd get into bed, promising herself that tomorrow she'd find some way to talk to Deborah and clarify matters.

  She'd read for a time and then, calmed and distracted, she'd turn out the light and settle down to sleep. The darkness would suddenly be cut by the light going on in the kitchen across the way, and through the open louvered windows, she'd hear the harsh low notes of discord. Or she'd hear the sounds of their grunts and scuffling traveling out through the rear windows of the master bedroom, wafting into her own. She would lie on the unyielding mattress with her eyes tightly closed, wishing she could shut it all out. But she couldn't.

  On the fifth morning, Deborah appeared with a bruise under one eye, and at least one of Eva's suspicions was confirmed. But Deborah behaved in her usual, angry fashion, allowing Eva no opening for conversation. And subsequently, on the few occasions when the opportunity for a private talk presented itself, Ian appeared as if directed by personal radar, to shut down the opportunity. On these occasions, Eva noticed, Deborah actually seemed relieved, as if she'd been dreading having to deal with whatever Eva might choose to say. As a result, Eva's confusion grew, and so did her ambivalence.

  In the following days Deborah appeared with angry red swellings on the backs of her calves, or the visible bruised impressions on her mid-arm of Ian's fingers. Deborah steadfastly said nothing. Eva wanted badly to speak, to help, but had no idea how to deal with the situation. She wished she'd never come to this place, yet out of loyalty to her friend she felt she should stay. She had the arbitrary notion that as long as she did stay nothing truly terrible could happen. But even as she thought this, she knew it was absurd. She had no control over what might or might not happen in this motel-like house. And repeatedly she wondered why, given the warring circumstances of their marriage, Deborah had invited her in the first place. Nothing made sense.

  "Whatcha doin'?"

  Eva started, her heart slamming once, violently, against her ribs. She looked over to see Penny standing in the doorway, holding her bear by one arm.

  "Working!" Eva barked, annoyed, staring at the child for a moment before turning back to the screen.

  "Doin' what?"

  "Writing!" Eva said, trying to get a grip on herself as she looked at the half-finished sentence on the screen. Feeling guilty, as if she'd been caught in some illicit activity, she typed several words, then looked over her shoulder to see that Penny had come halfway across
the room. "I'm working now," she said sternly. "You shouldn't be here. Where's your mother?"

  "She's with Granny. We're exploring," Penny said, the bear now held to her chest. "You mad at me? You look mad."

  "No one's allowed to come up here when I'm working," Eva explained firmly, wondering why the child wouldn't leave.

  "Okay." Penny tentatively backed up a step or two.

  "Damn it!" Eva said under her breath. Why was she being so hostile? Swiveling around in her chair, she said, "Come here."

  Penny stood her ground, asking anxiously, "You gonna hit me?"

  "No, I am not." Eva held out her hand. "Come here."

  Penny reluctantly crossed the room and stood at Eva's side. Eva had a sudden, all but ungovernable, desire to hug this child. She looked so scared, Eva felt like a monster. "This is my computer," she explained.

  "I know," Penny whispered. "We've got computers at school."

  "Well, this is mine and it's what I use to do my work. And when I'm working I can't talk to anyone because I'm trying very hard to think. If I try to talk I get distracted and forget what I'm doing. Do you understand?"

  Penny nodded soberly. Eva put an arm around the child's waist. "When I'm not working, I like to talk to people," she said, admiring the long lashes framing Penny's deep blue eyes. She really was a lovely-looking girl. "Okay?"

  "Uh-hunh. You gonna tell my mom I was bad?"

  "No. We won't talk about it. But you have to promise not to come up here again. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  "Good. Now you run along downstairs and I'll see you in a little while."

  To her surprise and dismay, Penny laid her head on Eva's shoulder and said, "I'm sorry."