Color the Sidewalk for Me by Brandilyn Collins Page A

heart started to beat harder. He saw me and reacted, then tried to cover it up by kicking a small rock out of his path.
    â€œHi, Danny.” I kept my voice light.
    â€œHi.” His eyes were green like a cat’s as he squinted in the sun.
    â€œI just wanted you to know that Kevy’s goin’ to be okay. And that he’ll probably be comin’ home today.”
    His gaze glided across my face to my hair and back again. “That’s great.”
    Watching him shift from one foot to the other, a couple of books under one arm, I found it hard to believe he’d hugged me less than forty-eight hours ago. We weren’t but four feet apart now, but the distance was a canyon.
    â€œDid you get the poles and stuff?” I asked.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œGood. I’ll have to get mine back sometime.” I managed a laugh. “I guess Kevy’ll be gettin’ a new one.”
    He smiled. “Guess so.”
    â€œWell.” I glanced down the street to see Melissa following our every move with eyeball-popping interest. “I suppose I’d better go.”
    He tilted his head in understanding, a shock of hair falling across his right eyebrow. For some reason I imagined myself pushing it back into place. “See you tomorrow,” I said, not moving.
    â€œSure.” Starting to step around me, he faltered. “Maybe I could give them back to you this Saturday,” he blurted. “I mean, if you happened to be at the river. I might see you. If I’m done with my work and everything.” I smiled slowly. “That’s an idea. If I can go, I’ll be there.”
    â€œGood.” His face was a mask that ill-concealed his anticipation. “See you then.”
    â€œOkay.”
    He headed his way and I headed mine, rehearsing what I’d tell Melissa.

    â€œHi, Celia,” Kevy called as I banged through the screen door.
    â€œHey, Kevy!” I threw my books down and headed to the couch where he lay. Sinking to my knees, I hugged him hard.
    â€œOw, I can’t breathe,” he protested in a muffled voice.
    Laughing, I eased away. “That’d be funny, huh? Save you from drownin’ only to hug you to death.”
    He grinned at me winningly. I examined his face, counting the freckles. His skin had returned to its normal, healthy pink. Smoothing hair from his forehead, I pictured the blanched cheeks and blue lips of Saturday, unmoving and cold. The rush of the rapids echoed through my head. “Don’t ever, ever scare me like that again, Kevy,” I whispered.
    He nodded solemnly. “I won’t. I’m sorry.”
    Sensing a shift in our house’s atmosphere at supper, I wondered if it was real or if Ihad changed. A quiet joy simmered within me at the sight of our family together again, and for once I wasn’t fighting with Mama. She hadn’t blamed me for Kevy’s accident after all and had almost hugged me for helping to save him. The feel of her hands on my shoulders had been wonderful. And she’d told Danny we owed him a debt we couldn’t repay. Last night we had returned from the hospital to a hastily heated bowl of Mama’s vegetable soup and thick slices of her wheat bread. I’d been starved, but the food couldn’t fill the hole in my stomach, for Kevy’s seat was empty. His near death, our family’s teetering escape from tragedy, had lent that vacancy a heaviness, as if the very air around it were weighted with grim relief. Now, watching him happily chew fried chicken, I felt a wholeness flow through me, warm and sweet.
    Granddad was in high form, chuckling over his old story of how he’d tricked Jake Lewellyn into trading his favorite marble for a toadstool when they were nine years old. That cunning victory had touched off their lifelong besting competition, with Mr. Lewellyn scheming unsuccessfully ever since to get the marble back. “Yep,” he went on, “that