Pieces of the Heart (6 page)

Caroline awoke to the smell of coffee, the loon’s cry still fresh in her mind. She sat up, disoriented for a moment, with a terrible stiffness in her neck where it had been pressed into an unnatural position against the back of the chaise. Her mother stood before her, completely dressed in a crisply ironed linen pantsuit and a freshly made-up face. She held a wooden breakfast tray with a plate of wheat toast, turkey bacon, and scrambled faux eggs, and a steaming cup of coffee. Tucked neatly under the china plate lay a snowy-white linen napkin. Caroline could be on her deathbed and her mother would still be trying to make her point about napkins. The woman never gave up.

Caroline tried to sit up straighter and felt every bone in her body protest as she moved them out of cramped positions and allowed her mother to place the breakfast tray on her lap.

“Honey, if your bed isn’t comfortable, I’ll give you mine. I don’t know how good the night air is on your health.”

Caroline pasted what she hoped was a pleasant smile on her face. “Fresh air’s good for me.” She picked up the mug and took a sip of coffee. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“You’re welcome. It’s all low-fat and low-calorie. I have some low-sugar jam for your toast if you’d like some.”

Caroline looked down at the butterless toast and tried to be thankful. “No, thanks. This is fine.”

Her mother wiped off the seat of a green lawn chair with the palm of her hand, then sat on the edge, facing Caroline. “What would you like to do today?”

Caught by surprise, Caroline stammered, “I, uh, I thought I’d go see Rainy. But you don’t need to come with me. I’m sure you’ve got your own plans.”

“Nonsense. I need to go see Rainy anyway. She just got back from Atlanta from her last round with chemo and I should go see how she’s doing.”

Caroline’s mouth went dry around a forkful of eggs. “What? What chemo?”

Margaret frowned, deep furrows creasing her forehead, reminding Caroline again of how quickly she seemed to be aging. Or maybe this was the first time in a long while she had really looked at her mother.

“Oh, I thought Rainy would have told you by now.” She straightened her back. “She’s got ovarian cancer, but she’s responding real well to treatment. Not that a stubborn old coot like Rainy would ever allow cancer to get the better of her. I always knew it didn’t stand a chance.”

“Mom! How can you talk like that? She’s your best friend and she’s got cancer.” Completely losing her appetite, Caroline moved the breakfast tray off her lap and sat up. “I’ve got to go see her. I can’t believe nobody told me.” Angry now, she turned on her mother. “How could you not tell me?”

Margaret stood and stared her daughter in the eye. “It’s hard to tell you things when the only communication I have with you is by e-mail or by leaving you a message on your voice mail.” She paused. “Then you had your stress attack and she and I decided you didn’t need anything else to upset you.”

A small ball of guilt found its way into Caroline’s throat. Her contact with her mother for years had been strictly superficial, easily compartmentalized into snippets of information that could be imparted without being discussed. She always thought she liked it that way. Caroline took a deep breath. “I need to see her.”

A loud buzzing sounded from the laundry room. Margaret turned and said, “I’m going to go fold towels. Let me know when you’re ready to go and I’ll drive you.”

Resigned, Caroline watched her mother march off to the laundry room as if she were walking on a fashion runway; then she carried the breakfast tray back to the kitchen, shuffling in her fuzzy slippers.

She had almost made it to her room to get dressed when the doorbell rang. She looked toward the laundry room to see if her mom had heard over the noise of the washing machine. When Margaret didn’t appear, Caroline moved toward the front door, then yanked it open.

Drew What’s-his-name stood on the covered front porch, a large dark wood cabinet with glass doors sitting on the floor next to him. He didn’t even have the manners to smile and look her in the eye and pretend she looked normal. Instead his eyes roamed over her bulky robe, fluffy slippers, and bare pale legs, then up to the chair creases on her face before resting on her hair. “Rough night?”

She stared at him for a long moment, trying not to look as embarrassed as she felt. “Are you lost? I can draw you a map to show you the way home, if you like. No charge.”

He was still staring at her hair. “How do you get it to stay up like that?”

She started to close the door on him, but he stuck his hand out to stop it from shutting completely. “Is your mother in? She’s expecting me.”

Margaret appeared from the laundry room, a look of horror crossing her face as she took in Caroline’s appearance and the man at the door. While greeting Drew, she reached into the hall table drawer, pulled out a tube of lipstick, and handed it to Caroline. Caroline stared at it, thinking that putting lipstick on her face at this point would be a bit like hanging ornaments on a dead tree. She slipped the tube into the pocket of her robe and crossed her arms, prepared for battle. Except no one was paying any attention to her.

Drew lifted up the piece of furniture in two parts and brought them in from the porch at her mother’s direction, declining her offer of help and making two trips. The furniture came to rest against the blank wall below Jude’s drawing and next to the closed-up piano. Curious, Caroline followed them into the great room.

Both Drew and Margaret were looking at her with expectant expressions. Her mother spoke first. “Well, what do you think?”

Curious, Caroline stepped forward, looking closely at the piece of furniture for the first time. It had short, squat legs that had been carved to resemble crescent moons. The top and sides were made of a dark-colored wood, with an inlaid checkerboard pattern marching around the perimeter. But the pediment intrigued her the most. Across the top were what appeared to be ocean waves in different sizes, like the surf rolling forcefully to shore. It was nothing a machine could ever have made. She knelt before it, awed, and slid her hands across the smooth wood. It made something inside of her spin, as if the connection between artist and viewer had been firmly made. She used to get the same feeling when listening to Jude play the piano. “It’s beautiful.”

And then she wished she hadn’t uttered a word, because it sounded so inadequate. She’d worked in the furniture manufacturing business her entire career and knew what to look for in a quality piece of furniture. This was simply art.

“It’s exquisite,” she said as she stood.

“Thank you.” Drew bent down and retrieved a shelf that he’d brought in from the porch and placed it inside.

Caroline looked at him in confusion. “Where did you buy it?”

“I didn’t.” He picked up another shelf and put it in place.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, so where did you steal it?”

Her mother laid a hand on her arm. “Caroline, don’t be silly. He made it—that’s what he does. He makes furniture. It’s for all your swimming trophies.”

Caroline wasn’t sure which bit of news stunned her more—the fact that Drew What’s-his-name had the carpentry skills of a master craftsman or that her mother even remembered that she had won any swimming trophies.

Margaret continued. “I’ve been keeping your trophies all these years, hoping to find someplace wonderful to put them. I thought they’d look great here, in this house, since this is where you learned to swim. When Drew showed me some of the pieces he was working on, I knew immediately that he’d be the one who could make something special.” She smiled broadly. “I’m glad you agree.”

Caroline couldn’t say anything, so she reached out and smoothed her hand over the top of the cabinet again, smelling fresh-cut wood and stain. Awe, surprise, and anger seemed to swirl around in her head, making her heart beat faster. She concentrated on taking deep breaths while she stared at the waves racing across the top of the cabinet.
I’ve missed the water,
she thought again, remembering the loon and the way her body had ached as she’d looked out onto the lake.

Drew was no longer staring at her hair and was now looking into her eyes. He had nice eyes, dark blue and clear with few creases around them, as if he didn’t spend a lot of time laughing. “My daughter, Jewel, wants to try out for the swim team—but I’m making her sit out this year and work on her confidence. She’s a good swimmer, but she needs to build some strength and stamina. I think it would be too dangerous just to put her in the water before she’s ready. Maybe you can coach her and give her some pointers.”

She dropped her hand. “I don’t swim anymore. I haven’t for a long time, so I don’t think I’d be able to help.” She drew her robe closer around her body and pulled her lips away from her teeth to resemble a smile. “I need to go get dressed now.” She hurried from the room, eager to get away before anybody could see her cry.

Jewel heard the front door shut and immediately slammed the diary closed, then stuck it under her mattress.

Her father called from downstairs, “Jewel?”

She stayed on her bed where she’d been reading and shouted, “I’m here!”

Her father paused for a moment and then she heard his footsteps on the stairs. He hated shouting—he said it reminded him too much of growing up with Grandpa—and preferred to speak softly face-to-face. Which was fine with her as long as it didn’t require her to move from her comfortable perch.

There was a brief tapping on her door and she did a quick check to make sure the diary was out of sight before telling him to come in.

“I have to deliver some chairs to Grandma Rainy’s store—do you want to come with me?”

Jewel leaped from the bed before remembering that wasn’t her style. She sat back down on the bed and shrugged. “Whatever.”

Her dad stared at her for a long moment without saying anything. “Okay—go hop in the truck. I’m ready to go.”

She waited until she heard her dad reach the bottom of the steps before grabbing her backpack and racing to follow him.

Her dad had already started the truck and had it in gear by the time she climbed into the passenger seat. In her opinion, the whole switch from city lawyer to country woodcarver had been weird. But buying the pickup truck had sent her over the edge. She could even stand the new plaid shirts and jeans more than she could stand having to climb up to get inside the truck.

The windows were rolled down and she stared out at the scenery as her dad wound the truck down the mountain. They passed an ice-cream shop and she almost asked him to stop before she remembered that she wasn’t speaking to him.

As if reading her mind, he said, “I’ve been thinking. I’ll arrange for private swimming lessons for you, if you like. That way when you try out next year, you’ll be more confident and more ready to be on the team.”

She shifted her head to look at him, keeping her face expressionless. She should cut him a break. After all, her mother had died while swimming, although technically it wasn’t the water that had killed her. Her mother had just happened to have had a massive brain aneurysm while swimming off the shore of Sullivan’s Island, where Jewel and her mom had been vacationing. As usual, her dad had stayed behind in Charleston to work and hadn’t been there. Yeah, she should cut him a break. Except he was being completely unreasonable about the swim-team thing.

“I’m a good swimmer, Dad. I can handle it.”

He didn’t say anything for a while but concentrated on navigating the winding road. Finally he said, “I think it’s best that you wait.”

She turned her head back to the window and kept her eyes straight ahead, making all the scenery go by in a blur.

Her dad missed the point entirely that she didn’t want to talk. He cleared his throat and said, “Have you had any headaches lately?”

“Not really—not any bad ones, anyway.”

“Good. You’re scheduled to see Dr. Oifer next week for a checkup. He’ll probably schedule you for another MRI to make sure everything’s okay.”