The Color of Love

Ignoring Pat's question, he continued, "The other day Kristen was coloring in her coloring book.  She stopped and looked up at me and asked, 'Poppy, what is the color of love?'"

"What was your answer?  I'd like to know."

"I told her, 'every color in your coloring box, and a thousand colors more.'"

"What did she say?"

"Nothing.  She already knew the right answer.  She just wanted to make sure I did.  Sometimes, I believe, she's the adult and we're the children."

"I know what you mean.  You want me to open the curtains?  It's starting to get light outside?"

"No.  I want to hold back the light, hold back the dawn.  I know it won't change anything, but today I just want to put off everything that has to be done as long as possible."

She just sat on the arm of his chair as he sipped his drink.  They watched the fire together but somewhere in the flames their memories drifted apart.

The fire was out and the curtain was drawn when he awoke.  From the kitchen the smell of bacon and eggs made his mouth water in anticipation.  He was caught by surprise at how hungry he was.  He had not been eating well since that night at the hospital.  There was a twinge of guilt stirring inside him.  He forced himself to accept the fact that his own life would have to go on.

As he approached the kitchen, he could hear Kristen's spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl.  She looked over at him.  "Grammy, Poppy's up."

Pat came over and gave him a peck on the cheek, "Hungry?"

He paused and she admonished him, "Don't be ashamed of being alive.  Life goes on -- no matter how much things hurt us -- life goes on."

Jack looked over at Christopher in the playpen, contentedly sucking on his pacifier.

"What time is it?"

"A little after 9:00 a.m.  Maggie called this morning and suggested that I put our phone on call forwarding to her office so we wouldn't be bothered.  It was very thoughtful of her."

"She's good people.  Remind me to send her a thank you card and gift."

"I will."

"When do we have to leave for church, Poppy?"

"It's about a twenty minute ride and Pastor Haynes wants us there promptly at two o'clock, so I guess we'll leave about one-thirty, just to be on the safe side."  He glanced over at Pat for her input.  She continued cooking the eggs, nodding her head in agreement.

"Jack, you'll have to take care of the children.  I'm going to have my hands full."

"Might as well get used to it, I guess.  As long as I don't have to change any diapers."

"Oh, Poppy!  It's easy.  I've already changed Christopher myself."

"Well it's easier for girls to do those kinds of things," he teased, "that's the reason girls have smaller noses than boys, so they can't smell the dirty diapers."

"Grammy, is that true?"

"Your grandfather likes to think so, but I rather suspect there is no scientific evidence to support his theory."

He laughed.  It hurt to laugh, but he laughed.  Jack reached inside the refrigerator for one more beer.  Pat reached the can at the same time and held onto his hand.  "You're not going to make it through this day using alcohol as a crutch so forget it!"

Jack had a whole handful of excuses ready.  But he knew she'd never accept any of them.  He turned loose the can of beer and grabbed a pitcher of tomato juice instead.

"Better?"

"Better.  Better?"

"Better," he smiled.  It was probably the shortest case of alcoholism in history.