The Color of Home: A Novel by Rich Marcello Read Free Book Online Page B

riding it each day
    The words we say are its messengers
    Our bodies are its vessels
    Oh come to me now
    Give me your hands
    Teach me to dance again
    Oh come to me now
    There is such sweetness
    When I hold you
    Hold you
    Slow down
    Let’s go quietly
    Toward home
    Don’t you see
    I believe
    You are
    Part of me
    I know you so well
    There are times when I just can tell
    What you’re thinking
    How you feel
    What you need
    The next day Nick met Sassa for coffee at Joe’s. He reeled off details about his fabricated reggae session but didn’t mention a word about “Hold You.” Overnight, doubt had won. Unlike the song, he didn’t know her so well. Unlike the song, he couldn’t always tell what she needed. Unlike the song, he didn’t know how to ask her to go quietly toward home. He pulled on the neck ribbing of his T-shirt and scratched his chest for a bit before asking, “Do you want to move in with me?”
    “You should do more reggae sessions.”
    “My apartment is bigger and you can save some money.”
    “Aren’t we practical this morning? That’s all?”
    “I’m in love with you.”
    “Let’s see. Move in. Bigger apartment. Save money. Love you. What’s wrong with this picture?”
    “Sorry. When I was a baby, I crawled backwards first.”
    She laughed. “We can start moving my stuff today.”
• • •
    One early afternoon in October, Nick persuaded Sassa’s boss to let him watch her work. Out of the way, he squatted on the cement floor in the corner of the stainless steel kitchen and took in each movement, each gesture, each direction, as Sassa julienned vegetables. Surroundings blurred until only she remained, with her hair pulled back, wearing her white chef’s jacket and orange Crocs.
    “Aren’t you bored?” she asked.
    “I love watching you work.”
    “You’re a strange man.”
    “I was.”
    Her cutting and dicing skills were artful. Carrots transformed to orange flying saucers. Beets cubed into perfect quarter-inch squares. Celery smiles spewed out of long stalks. As he watched her, barely perceptible threads connected the two of them.
    “Do you know the Chinese saying about the red thread?”
    “Nope.”
    “An invisible red thread connects those destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstances. The thread may stretch or tangle, but never break.”
    “Sounds like a good saying for a refrigerator magnet.” She glanced over at him and blew him a kiss.
    He grinned. Time passed as she sculpted another batch of vegetables.
    “I wish you had a free hour,” he said.
    “To shop for a new bathroom curtain, right?”
    “Something like that.”
    He hoisted himself up from the floor, floated over to her, and placed his hand in the middle of her back. “Thanks for letting me watch you.”
    “There’s a thought.” She grinned, pecked him on the cheek, and sent him on his way.
    Hesitating at the door, he whirled around. “If you could do anything on your next day off, no matter what, what would you do?”
    “Let’s take a ride to New Jersey.”
    “That’s the best you’ve got?”
    “Yes.”
• • •
    Nick and Sassa took off for New Jersey on a sunny fall afternoon and headed out Route 80 toward the Delaware Water Gap. They cruised into the bucolic, northern part of the state. He had no idea where they were going, and that was perfectly okay.
    “Why does everyone make fun of New Jersey? It’s beautiful here,” she said.
    “We live in America.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “People like to judge without knowing.”
    They exited the highway to drive the fall country roads. The trees, still holding most of their red, yellow, and orange leaves, formed a canopy overhead. Sunlight laced the leaves together, mottling the hood of their car.
    “I want to see where you grew up. I want you to show me your old house, your high school, that pizza place you told me about the other day, the railroad tracks, the race track, everything.”
    A short time later, he entered