The Color of Home: A Novel by Rich Marcello Page B

at Joe’s. Unlike the previous year, spring in Manhattan was unusually cold and damp. That morning, a freak flash storm hit the Village. From their seats, they watched the streets take on water.
    Nick had to seek higher ground. There, a profound, sweet sadness surfaced, old and familiar, threatening to push him back down into a darkness where reality only played out on movie screens.
    “Why don’t we get together once a year to check in?” he asked.
    “Do you think that will help?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’m not sure where I’ll be.”
    He wasn’t able to read her body language. When was the last time that happened? Maybe that was part of letting go, of leaving the inner sanctum. “That’s okay. We can meet in New York or I’ll come to you.”
    “I guess I’d like to get back to the city once a year,” she said.
    “Good. How about talking through what happened the year before at each reunion? No masks, no fear, complete truth for one day.”
    “Are you sure you want to share everything?”
    Did he really want to hear she was happy? That she’d started a new life without him? Did he want that much truth? He did. He always would. “How about a few guiding questions?”
    “Good idea.”
    After a little more back and forth, they arrived at their three questions. In their last act as a couple, they alternated reciting them.
    “What did you learn this past year?”
    “Do you feel whole?”
    “Do you know where you belong?”

PART 2

CHAPTER 6
    Early April, After Nick Year One, New York City: Sassa packed her dilapidated 2001 Volkswagen Beetle and headed toward Cambridge. She drove in silence for over an hour until she pulled into the first service stop in Connecticut to fill up. There, an old habit surfaced: she purchased an iced tea and some spearmint gum for the road, as she’d often done as a newly licensed teenager. Before slipping back into her car, she progressed through two quick yoga positions: standing head-to-knee pose and standing bow-pulling pose. She had to stretch. A man, filling up his car across from hers, tried to strike up a conversation about yoga. Brushing him off gently, she slipped back into her car. As she accelerated onto I-95, she said, “What am I doing? I have no plan.” For the next hour or so, she aspired to welcome uncertainty, intermingling hope and long stretches of doubt. It didn’t work.
    To break a stretch of doubt, she balanced her iPod against the steering wheel and navigated to find the mix called “Sassa Soars”. A rush of warmth spread across her face. There were so many familiar songs. Nick had made her the playlist the day before to help pass the time on the road, to extend the good-bye. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. Was she ready? She pushed play. Her shoulders tensed and her breath went irregular. Ani DiFranco’s “Overlap” played. They certainly did. About midway through, the tension released and her breathing steadied. Nick’s favorite love song followed, the Beatles’ “Something.” She took a long, deep breath. He really needed to knock her down a few notches. In the lull between songs, she sipped her tea and dialed down the temperature control. During the third song, “Destiny” by Zero7, magically, unexpectedly, bliss pierced through.
    Slowing down, she moved into the right lane, sandwiched between two large trucks. They scared her. They always would. For a time, the two trucks and her bug caravanned up the highway as Sassa took in the playlist. Sara McLachlan sang “Answer.” Did anyone have that much commitment? Nick did. Damien Rice’s “Volcano.” If only she could sing, that would be their duet. Like in the song, she wasn’t real yet; she wasn’t ready to choose. Marc Cohn’s “One Safe Place.” That would always be true no matter what. “The Dress Looks Nice on You” by Sufj an Stevens. He loved her red summer dress. “Paper Bag” by Fiona Apple. He got the pain part right.
    Finally, with her eyes wet, she broke the