The Color of a Dream Read Free

replied.
    “And you’ve been out here with him all this
time?” my mother asked, laying a sympathetic hand on my cheek.
    I nodded, grateful for her gentle warmth in
light of my father’s severity.
    She looked down at Francis and rubbed his
side. I could see her eyes tearing up.
    “Did he suffer at all?” she asked.
    “I don’t think so,” I replied. “It happened
really fast. As soon as we got out of the car, Rick said he was
dead.”
    My father’s eyes lifted and he regarded me
from beneath those bushy dark brows. “How did he get loose? Did you
leave the door open again?”
    “No! I swear I didn’t! It was Rick! It had
to have been.”
    My parents exchanged a look and I knew they
didn’t believe me.
    “Well,” my mother said gently, “whatever
happened, we can’t change it now and we can’t bring Francis back.
This was a terrible accident, Jesse, but you mustn’t punish
yourself. It’s no one’s fault.”
    Why did everything seem to think it was me ? That I was the one who had something to answer
for?
    “Yes, it is someone’s fault,” I
argued. “It’s Rick’s, because he was driving.”
    “Now, see here,” my father scolded. “I won’t
hear talk like that. If Francis got out of the house, it could have
happened to any of us. It was an accident and if I hear you say
otherwise to your brother, you’ll have to answer to me. He must
feel guilty enough as it is. Do you understand?”
    “But it was his fault,” I pleaded.
“He was driving too fast and I told him to slow down but he
wouldn’t.”
    My father’s eyes darkened. “Did you not hear
what I just said to you?”
    I’d been raised to respect and obey my
father—and to fear him. We all did, even Mom. So I nodded to
indicate that yes, I’d heard what he said.
    That didn’t mean I had to believe he was
right.

Chapter Six
     
    Rick didn’t come home that night. He slept
at Greg’s so it was left to me to help Dad bury Francis at the edge
of the yard under the big oak tree. My mother suggested the spot
because it was visible from the top floor windows of the house, and
I agreed it was the right place.
    It was ten o’clock by the time we finished.
I was so exhausted afterwards, I went straight to bed, but I hardly
slept a wink all night. What happened that day had been a terrible
ordeal and I couldn’t stop replaying all the vivid images in my
mind: Francis bounding down the hill to greet us; the sound of our
car striking him; then finally the eerie sight of my father
shoveling dirt on top of him while I held the flashlight.
    I imagined we must have hit Francis in the
head with the car, which was why he died so quickly. At least, if
that was the case, he probably felt no pain.
    That thought provided me with some comfort,
though I couldn’t overcome the white-hot rage I felt every time I
remembered how Rick stood over me in the yard blaming me for what
happened.
    That perhaps was the real reason I couldn’t
sleep. My body was on fire with adrenaline, and I wanted to hit
something.

Chapter Seven
     
    I woke late the next morning, having finally
drifted off into a deep slumber sometime before dawn. Sleepily, I
rose from bed, used the washroom, and padded downstairs to the
kitchen in my pajamas.
    “Mom?”
    My voice never echoed back to me in the
kitchen before and the implications of that fact caused a lump to
form in my throat.
    “Mom? Dad? Is anyone here?”
    When no answer came, I went to the front
hall and looked out the window. Both cars were parked in the
driveway, which meant Rick had come home.
    “Rick?” I climbed the stairs to check his
room, but it was empty and the bed was made.
    Suddenly it occurred to me where everyone
must be and a feeling of panic swept over me. I hurried to the
window in Rick’s room, which looked out over the back field and
apple orchard, and sure enough, there they were, my mother, father
and Rick, all standing over Francis’s grave.
    I had no idea what was going on out there,
but I felt