Heart of the Country (6 page)

10

“I
T’LL BE JUST
a minute there, Liv,” Roger said. He looked disorderly this morning, like he could use a good hair combing and maybe even a shave. I stood there trying not to look impatient, even though I was. I know that about myself, the impatience thing. I kind of hate it, if I’m telling the truth, but it’s what makes my world go around. If I didn’t snap my fingers, things wouldn’t get done.

“Nell,” I said to my oldest daughter, “for pete’s sake, stop touching the merchandise!”

“But
 
—”

“Don’t ‘but’ me, sister. I will make that butt of yours sting like it’s being fried in a pan.”

“I’m nine. You can’t really spank me. You know that, right?”

I narrowed my eyes. “I can keep you from going on that fishing trip you and Grandpa got planned. We’ll call it a spanking of the soul.”

Nell’s eyes grew wide and she stepped away from the kitchen gadgets they had hanging on the wall next to the laxatives and then the rat poison. I was going to have to talk to Bernie about how his store was set up.

Roger had the phone cradled against his shoulder, immersed in some conversation. He was probably talking to Martha Dixon, who had to be the neediest woman in all of Columbus County. I checked my watch.
Come on, Roger, I don’t have all day.

Nell stood next to me, wiggling. “Momma, I’m bored.”

“Nell, we’ve been standing here for ten minutes. Why don’t you go over the multiplication table in your head. I’m testing you on that this afternoon.”

“I thought you said we were done for the day.”

“No ma’am. I said we’d take a break, go get Grandpa’s pills, stop by and see him.”

“Maybe today Grandpa will let us ride.”

I sighed. “Don’t count on it.”

Nell continued to wiggle. Victoria was stooped, looking for pennies on the floor. Probably not sanitary, but it was saving my sanity at the moment.

Roger gave me a desperate one-more-minute signal.

For crying out loud. I decided to go have a talk with
Bernie about the laxatives and the kitchen gadgets, not to mention the shotgun pellets by the greeting cards. He had condoms by the baby diapers, which might’ve been by design, but still. From what I could tell, his arrangement got thrown off when he had to start carrying car chargers and long-distance cards. But really, the whole thing ran better when Belinda was alive.

I stood at the counter, waiting for him. He was in the back somewhere, no doubt smoking a cigarette. I started feeling sorry for him. His whole life had been wrapped around Belinda. They’d known each other since birth, and when she died of cancer, he kind of fell apart. Now he ran this place like it was a junkyard.

Kind of like Dad was keeping the barn these days.

I sighed for a moment and realized that I was probably going to come across as harsh because I was having to wait on Roger and his one-man pharmacy. I really preferred Walgreens
 
—an extra twenty-five minutes away but well worth it
 
—but Daddy wouldn’t hear of it. Said we had to support the local business.

Bernie came out of the back room, smelling like an ashtray. He managed a smile. “Sorry about that, Liv. Thought you were back at the pharmacy.”

“Was. But Roger’s got his hands full with Martha. At any rate, I wanted to talk to you about your greeting cards.”

“What about them? I ain’t carrying those ones that you open and they sing to you. I have to listen to these kids open
and close them and it just ’bout drives me insane. I say you shouldn’t let a card sing
 
—you should sing yourself.”

I put a gentle hand on the counter. “Bernie, look, what I’m trying to say is that I’d like to help you with your store.”

“I ain’t hiring.”

“No, no. Volunteer.” I gestured around us. “It needs a makeover, wouldn’t you say?”

Bernie eyed the place like he’d never noticed.

“See? Where the greeting cards are? Why not move ’em over there, by the window? You and I could have this knocked out in a weekend.”

He tapped his fingers against the counter, seemingly fixated on the motor oil. Then he looked at me. “You’d do that for me, Liv?”

I smiled. “Of course I would, Bernie.”

“You’re right. This old place needs a pick-me-up.”

“Let’s plan to get it done before Thanksgiving. Just in time for Christmas. Sound good?”

“You are a darling, Liv. Your daddy raised a mighty fine daughter.”

I nodded. Nobody mentioned my momma much anymore, but it was Momma who was always doing things for other people.

I glanced around for the kids, hoping Vic wasn’t setting the place on fire and hoping Nell wasn’t fingering the
 
—

“Nell, put those down!” I gasped. I looked at Bernie. “Maybe they should go behind the counter?”

Bernie nodded but said, “Maybe. It kinda embarrasses
me to hand them out, to tell you the truth. Bel used to have ’em here, and she’d lecture any kid who had the guts to come in and try to buy a package.”

I walked to the front window, glancing at my watch for the twelfth time. I was momentarily distracted by a fancy car driving slowly by. Sleek and black. Shiny like it hadn’t driven a mile on the road before.
Just wait till it hits some of these unpaved roads out here,
I laughed to myself. But I wondered who it belonged to. Nobody around here drove that kind of car. Few people had the money to. And if they did, they’d buy a bigger, better truck. Or maybe a new tractor.

I watched it creep forward. The windows were darkened so I couldn’t see the guy. It looked like a fancy hatchback.

Nell looked up at me. “Who was
that
?”

Vic walked up beside us. “Somebody rich and famous.”

“The rich and famous don’t come to Columbus County, kids. And that’s a good thing.”

“Liv, I have the prescription ready!” Roger called.

I checked my watch again as I strolled to the back of the store. There was never enough time in the day. But I tried to catch my second wind. I thought I had just enough time to stop by the market and grab Dad some of that sweet corn he liked. And maybe a pumpkin.

My feet were killing me.

11

W
E COULD ALWAYS TELL
when somebody was coming to the house. A large dust cloud announced their arrival as they drove down the quarter mile of gravel that led to our house. Even with the windows rolled up, it caused me to cough.

The red mailbox that had been knocked down a dozen times by the postman was standing but leaning a little to the left. And after that, the long, winding road that led to the house.

I stopped my car and watched the dust cloud lift into the air and away from me, sitting in silence, with the air conditioner off. I could barely see the red barn and part of the roof of the house. I kind of wanted to burst into hysterics. Just cry. No . . . sob. Sob and tremble and bury my face.

But what a mess that would be to encounter. I didn’t want him to see me like that. I didn’t know what I wanted him to see. I was returning to all the hopes that had ushered me off in the first place. I left here swearing I’d come back a somebody. And here I was, broken and half the person I’d been when I left.

I checked my hair, my makeup, because that’s what I did in New York. I had to look the part. But here, I wasn’t even sure what my part was now. How was I going to explain myself? Would he even want to see me? I’d made the occasional phone call, but Daddy wasn’t much of a phone talker.

My hand rested on the gearshift, but I couldn’t get myself to put it into drive. And I couldn’t help the tear that ran down my face, probably streaking right through my blush. I couldn’t help any of it. I was facing my own worst fear, and driving toward it, I’d found my confidence and ordered my excuses. But now, with the dragon lurking restlessly behind the beautiful rust-colored maples, I’d lost every ounce of courage I’d mustered.

I stared at the glowing R on the dashboard. And with one swift motion, I backed up, causing the dust to rise again, like smoke from the dragon’s nostrils.

I only got ten yards or so before I stopped myself, though. Because I realized, with great dread, that I had nowhere else to run to. It was here or there. And
there
was gone, like the dust from the road when caught in even the mildest wind.
There
had crumbled under the weight of reality.

I caught another tear with my finger. I noticed my hand
trembling. I noticed my heart skipping beats. And then I noticed him.

He was far away, but he was wearing that bright-red shirt he liked so much. Sitting on the small bench that looked over the fields and pastures he loved. His back was facing the road, so maybe he didn’t notice my car.

I pulled to the side. For some reason, I needed to walk this out. Some of my most cherished memories were along this road, walking to get the mail, with my mom, my dad, my sister, or sometimes by myself. Wildflowers, purple and yellow, grew alongside it in the spring. I must’ve picked a hundred bouquets for my momma. And she’d put each one in a vase, as if it were the first time I’d ever given her anything. She was so good at gushing.

The road leading to our house was dirt, with some gravel and oyster shells thrown in holes here and there to keep down the amount of mud created when it rained. Daddy was not keeping it as pristine as when Momma was alive. Bradford pear trees lined the drive on both sides. In the spring, they were virtually covered with white blossoms, but in the fall, the leaves turned deep orange and red, each forming the rounded pyramid shape that made them so popular in this area.

One of the trees had died, hunching under the weight of its dead limbs. I wondered if it had grieved to death after Momma died.

One foot in front of the other, I walked. I wrapped my arms around myself even though the air was pretty warm for
this time of year. I realized I was chilled by my own guilt. For all of it, I might as well be a blizzard inside.

I kept my eyes on him. Without him, I would stop. He was all at once what I feared and what I hoped for. What I hoped for more than what I feared. So I was able to keep walking. Dust settled against my ankles. I wondered when the last time was that I walked on dirt.

A few yards away, he sensed me and turned. My heart stopped as I watched him get to his feet. I was taken aback by how he’d aged.

I realized as I walked, faster now, that he couldn’t see me well enough to know who I was. I watched him fish his glasses out of his pocket, put them on his face. By now I was close, twenty feet away. I stopped because I didn’t know what else to do. His eyes widened.

“Faith?” He stepped forward. “Is that you?”

“It’s me, Daddy,” I said, my voice choked and weak. “I’m home.”

12

“M
A’AM?
Can you hear me?”

There is a dirt road that leads to my house. It’s spectacularly unspectacular, except it’s our road. Calvin had it named. I saw Olivia bounding down it, her floral skirt tangled between those lanky legs. Her curls bounced around her head, like they were square-dancing. She was my serious one. Always on task. Always together, confident in her decisions. Like her daddy.

She was smiling today, running fast in those new cowboy boots she’d saved up her allowance for. I loved that rare smile.

Behind her came Faith, little, maybe three, with her
matching skirt. She wanted to dress like her sister. But the skirt came down to her ankles. Beneath the hem I saw she didn’t have shoes on. I could never get that girl to wear shoes.

“Blood pressure is fifty-two over thirty-five . . .”

I felt my eyes open, even though I thought they already were. I stared up at this boy. How old could he have been? He looked so young. Terrified. His sharp blue eyes opened wider as he noticed mine.

And then searing pain through my legs. I almost laughed, except I’d never felt pain like this in my life. I’d delivered both girls naturally, but it was nothing like this. I tried to move my hand, tried to find his. I needed a hand.

There it was. His found mine. Squeezed it. I couldn’t squeeze back. I couldn’t move anything. But I felt pain.

“I’m alive!”

The young man lowered himself, put his ear close to my mouth. It was strange. I thought I’d shouted it, but it appeared he could barely hear me.

“Her blood pressure is rising!” he said, sounding relieved. He looked at me again. It seemed maybe he realized I could see him, and so he smiled a little. “You hang in there, ma’am. Do you hear me?”

But I felt his hand trembling inside mine.

He let go and put his hands on my stomach. Heavy, like a brick. Just holding his hands there.

Then the pain faded again. I tried to grab for it, willing it back.

“Momma . . .”

Her voice. Her sweet, sweet voice in my ear.

“I heard that music you’re always talking about.”

I swept her around in a circle, holding her tiny waist as her legs clung to my hips. “You did?”

“Yes, I did. When I was in the pasture.”

“What did it sound like?”

“I don’t know. It smelled.”

I laughed. “Smelled?”

“Yes. Like you and Daddy.” She dropped to the ground, placing her arms around my waist. “I want to be like you someday, Momma.”

“Me?”

“Everybody tells me I look like you.”

“You do.”

“And so I am going to sing like you, too.”

I knelt down and smoothed her hair out of her face. “You just remember that the music comes from here.” I put a hand on her heart. And then she ran, wrapped in the bright light of midday.

It enveloped her, and I couldn’t see her any longer. “Faith? Faith?”

“Ma’am, calm down. I’m right here. Right here with you.”

His hand slid into mine again. I felt the rubbery latex. I wanted to feel his flesh. Something wet dribbled down my arm. Warm.

The pain was there, but it was distant, as if someone else were feeling it.
Don’t let it go. Don’t let it go.

“Don’t let go.”

His face was near mine, his eyes like beacons of light.

“Okay.” And then I heard the music.