Color the Sidewalk for Me by Brandilyn Collins Page B

black and silver marble a Jake’s gave me the favorite story for tellin’ in foxholes. I remember one time in Korea we were hunkered down, tryin’ to git over a knoll, and our boys was feelin’ low. I figured it was time to dust off that story, tellin’ about my wiliness and Jake’s carryin’ on. Halfway through it we heard a mighty whistlin’. Our heads jerked up, eyeballs showin’ white. We knew we was about to be hit bad. That was the day—”
    â€œDaddy! Please give us one night. Kevin’s just come home.”
    Even amid her inevitable protest Mama’s voice was different. Usually it was sharp, impatient when she interrupted Granddad, signaling half a dozen things with the mere word Daddy. That this was her home, her table. That her life’s burden was bearing his animated war stories. That for some unfathomable reason she despised these tales with a tight-lipped, hard-eyed passion, and therefore he was not to mention the subject of battle—an expectation he failed daily. So the cycle began again. But tonight, because of Kevy, Mama’s interruption was more of a quiet pleading. And Granddad, instead of making a display of snapping his mouth shut, simply let the subject drop.
    â€œWell, Son,” Daddy said to clear the air, “I guess we owe you a new fishin’ pole for comin’ home so soon.”
    â€œYep. Guess so.”
    â€œGee, Kevy,” I put in, “how could you want to even go near water again?”
    He shrugged, swishing iced tea around his mouth, then swallowed. “It don’t bother me none. I still wanna go with Reid. Guess I’ll stay on the bank, though.”
    It don’t bother me none. I sneaked a look at Mama but she didn’t blink an eye. She may not have been able to control Granddad’s grammar but was typically unwavering when it came to Kevy and me.
    â€œThat’s a good idea, Kevin.” Granddad smacked the table for emphasis. “Jake’s Rock’s meant nothing but trouble to our family for years. Best keep away from it.”
    We all laughed.
    â€œWhat about your pole, Celia?” asked Kevy. “And Granddad’s bucket?”
    I sprinkled pepper on some potatoes, keeping my eyes down. “I’m gonna get them this weekend. Danny Cander said he’ll bring them to the river on Saturday.” I finished my peppering and set down the shaker. Reached for my iced tea and drank.
    Silence.
    â€œWell, that’s as good a way as any,” Granddad declared after a moment. “Right nice of him to fetch your pole.”
    â€œUh-huh.” My fork slid under my peas. Mama had ceased all motion, a knife halfway through cutting her roll. After a second bite of peas I couldn’t stand it anymore and shot her a glance. She was looking at Daddy and he was looking straight back. I decided my potatoes needed a little more salt.
    â€œCelia.” Mama’s voice was quiet.
    My arm froze, then moved again, fingers closing around the shaker. Events of the school day raced through my mind. My determination to be Danny’s friend could end right here and now, I thought, with Mama declaring I couldn’t meet him on Saturday because it wasn’t fitting, no matter how much we owed him. “Ma’am?”
    She hesitated. I could almost hear her thoughts churn. She didn’t like the idea yet demurred at appearing ungrateful after what Danny had done. Daddy was eating quietly; this was Mama’s call, his actions said. I wished he’d say what he thought for once. I was willing to bet he didn’t agree with half her decisions.
    Mama finished cutting her roll. Her voice was mild when she finally spoke. “Don’t be goin’ in the water now, hear?”

chapter 11
    S aturday dawned overcast, with flat gray clouds lurking the skies like the battleships in Granddad’s stories. All morning I prayed it wouldn’t rain, although after waiting