Graystone

Chapter One

The Girl Who Wasn't Gray

The city of Graystone had earned its name honestly.

Everything was gray.

The roads were gray stone, stretching through the city in long, straight lines. Gray sidewalks followed beside them, cracked in places from years of weather and countless footsteps.

The buildings were gray, too.

Apartment buildings stood shoulder to shoulder along the streets, their stone walls rising several stories into the sky. Office buildings filled the downtown blocks. Small houses lined quieter neighborhoods farther from the center of the city.

Every building looked as though it had been carved from the same enormous piece of stone.

Even the trees were gray.

Their trunks were dark gray, their branches lighter, and their leaves were a dusty shade somewhere between silver and charcoal. When autumn came, they didn't become orange, yellow, or red.

They simply became gray in a slightly different way.

The parks were gray.

The benches were gray.

The bridges were gray.

Even the small lakes scattered throughout the city were gray.

Their still water reflected the gray sky above them so perfectly that it was sometimes difficult to tell where the water ended and the sky began.

And the sky itself never seemed to change.

Gray mornings.

Gray afternoons.

Gray evenings.

Even when the sun was shining, the light seemed washed out, as though someone had placed a thin gray filter over the entire world.

The people of Graystone were gray as well.

Their skin had a natural gray tone.

Their hair was gray.

Their eyes were gray.

And their clothing was almost always gray.

Gray shirts.

Gray coats.

Gray dresses.

Gray trousers.

Gray shoes.

Nobody thought much of it.

Why would they?

Graystone had always been this way.

Children born in the city were gray.

Their parents were gray.

Their grandparents had been gray.

It was simply how life worked.

Color existed mostly in old photographs, paintings, and textbooks.

Children learned about colors in school.

They learned that grass was green.

That the ocean was blue.

That apples could be red.

That sunlight could make flowers yellow.

But those things felt more like ideas than realities.

Nobody in Graystone had seen them.

At least, not in person.

Daniel and Sarah Miller had lived in Graystone their entire lives.

They lived in a small apartment on the fourth floor of a gray stone building on Maple Street.

Their apartment wasn't particularly large, but they liked it.

There was a small kitchen, a living room with an old gray couch, one bedroom, and a second room they had spent months preparing for their first child.

Everything in the nursery was gray.

The crib was gray.

The walls were gray.

The curtains were gray.

Even the little stuffed animals sitting on the shelf were gray.

Sarah had carefully arranged everything.

She wanted the room to be perfect.

Daniel thought it already was.

On a cold gray morning, Sarah went into labor.

Daniel drove her through the quiet streets toward the hospital while rain tapped against the windshield.

Gray buildings passed by.

Gray trees blurred beside the road.

Gray streetlights reflected off the wet pavement.

Sarah sat in the passenger seat, holding her stomach.

Sarah: "Daniel?"

Daniel: "Yeah?"

Sarah: "I'm scared."

Daniel glanced at her before looking back at the road.

Daniel: "I know."

Sarah smiled weakly.

Sarah: "You're supposed to tell me everything is going to be okay."

Daniel: "Everything is going to be okay."

Sarah laughed softly.

Sarah: "You didn't even hesitate."

Daniel: "Because I believe it."

He reached across the center console and took her hand.

Daniel: "We're going to meet our baby today."

Sarah squeezed his hand.

Sarah: "Our baby."

There was something about saying those words that made them both quiet.

They had spent months imagining what their child would look like.

Would she have Sarah's eyes?

Daniel's smile?

Would she be tall?

Would she be quiet?

Would she be stubborn?

Neither of them could know.

But there was one thing they had never considered.

Whether their baby would be gray.

Of course she would be.

Everyone was gray.

Why would their daughter be any different?

Several hours later, Daniel sat alone in the hospital hallway.

He paced back and forth.

Then he sat.

Then he stood again.

Then he paced.

He had been doing this for nearly an hour.

Finally, a nurse opened the door.

Nurse: "Daniel Miller?"

Daniel immediately stood.

Daniel: "Yes."

The nurse smiled.

Nurse: "You have a daughter."

Daniel's entire face changed.

The nervousness disappeared.

A huge smile spread across his face.

Daniel: "A daughter?"

Nurse: "A healthy baby girl."

Daniel exhaled.

Daniel: "Is Sarah okay?"

Nurse: "She's doing very well."

Daniel smiled.

Daniel: "Can I see them?"

The nurse stepped aside.

Nurse: "Of course."

Daniel walked into the room.

Sarah was lying in the hospital bed.

She looked exhausted.

Her gray hair was slightly messy, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes.

But she was smiling.

She held a tiny bundle against her chest.

Daniel slowly walked toward them.

Daniel: "Hi."

Sarah looked up.

Sarah: "Hi."

Daniel leaned closer.

Daniel: "How are you feeling?"

Sarah smiled.

Sarah: "Tired."

Daniel chuckled.

Daniel: "I figured."

Sarah looked down at the baby.

Sarah: "Come meet your daughter."

Daniel moved beside the bed.

He looked at the baby.

Then he froze.

His smile slowly disappeared.

Sarah noticed.

Sarah: "What?"

Daniel didn't answer.

He stared at the baby.

Something was wrong.

Or at least, something was different.

The baby's skin wasn't gray.

It was soft and warm.

Pink.

Daniel looked at the tiny hands resting against the blanket.

They weren't gray either.

He looked at her face.

Her cheeks were pink.

Her lips were naturally red.

A small amount of dark brown hair covered the top of her head.

Daniel looked at Sarah.

Daniel: "Sarah..."

Sarah: "What?"

Daniel pointed toward the baby.

Daniel: "She's not gray."

Sarah stared at him.

For a moment, she didn't understand.

Then she looked down.

Her eyes widened.

Sarah: "Oh."

Daniel stepped closer.

Daniel: "Is that..."

Sarah: "Color."

Neither of them spoke.

Sarah gently touched the baby's cheek.

Her finger trembled.

The baby's skin was warm beneath her touch.

Soft.

Pink.

Real.

Sarah looked at her daughter's tiny face.

Sarah: "She's beautiful."

Daniel swallowed.

Daniel: "I've never seen anyone like her."

Sarah looked toward him.

Sarah: "Neither have I."

The baby suddenly opened her eyes.

Daniel stopped breathing for a second.

They were brown.

Not gray.

Not even close.

A deep, warm brown.

Sarah stared into them.

The baby looked back at her mother as though nothing about the situation was unusual.

Sarah smiled.

Sarah: "Hello, little girl."

The baby's tiny fingers wrapped around Sarah's finger.

Sarah's eyes filled with tears.

Sarah: "She's perfect."

Daniel slowly reached down and touched the baby's hand.

Daniel: "She really is."

Sarah looked at him.

Sarah: "Do you think something is wrong with her?"

Daniel immediately shook his head.

Daniel: "No."

He looked at their daughter.

Daniel: "She's healthy."

Sarah nodded.

Sarah: "Then being different doesn't mean something is wrong."

Daniel smiled.

Daniel: "You're right."

The baby made a tiny sound.

Sarah laughed quietly.

Sarah: "I think she likes that."

Daniel smiled.

Daniel: "Maybe she knows we're talking about her."

Sarah looked down at her daughter again.

They had spent months trying to decide on a name.

They had written dozens of names on pieces of paper.

They had crossed some out.

Argued over others.

Laughed at a few.

But now, looking at their daughter, the answer suddenly seemed obvious.

Sarah: "Rose."

Daniel looked at her.

Daniel: "Rose?"

Sarah nodded.

Sarah: "Rose."

Daniel looked down at the baby.

Daniel: "Rose Miller."

The baby blinked slowly.

Daniel smiled.

Daniel: "I like it."

Sarah gently touched her daughter's cheek.

Sarah: "Welcome to the world, Rose."

Outside the hospital window, Graystone continued exactly as it always had.

Gray buildings.

Gray streets.

Gray trees.

Gray water.

Gray sky.

Nothing had changed.

Not yet.

But inside that small hospital room was one tiny girl who didn't belong to the grayness surrounding her.

Rose Miller had been born with color.

Neither Daniel nor Sarah understood why.

They didn't know what it meant.

They didn't know what would happen when they took her home.

And they certainly didn't know that Rose's difference would eventually become something much bigger than the color of her skin.

For now, she was simply their daughter.

A tiny, healthy baby girl sleeping peacefully in her mother's arms.

And for the first time in their lives, Daniel and Sarah had something in their home that wasn't gray.

They had Rose.