Written on My Heart (12 page)

On Tuesday, May 1, at about nine in the morning, they cut me open and took all six pounds of my baby boy from me. Bud named him Travis because he had heard it somewhere and liked it. We added Daddy's first name, Leeman, for his middle name. I wanted to add Sam's name too, but Bud shook his head.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “We won't have any more.” We had decided to tie my tubes. I would not go through this again. Neither would Bud.

“I'm sure,” Bud said. “We got Dad in our blood. That's
enough.”

O
n my twenty-second birthday, Bud and I took Travis home to The Point. As we passed Ray's, my heart sped up, and I don't think that it was just my mind telling me that Bud's foot pressed down a little harder on the gas pedal. The pure blueness of the harbor snatched my breath away. We bucketed down the hill to Grand's house.

Madeline Butts came out of her house and waved at us from her green lawn. “Welcome back!” she hollered. As Bud stopped the car in front of the house, Ida, Maureen, and a little girl I almost didn't recognize walked up the hill to meet us.

“Please take the baby,” I said to Bud, and handed Travis over. My legs shook as I got out of the car. God, would she remember me? Oh, yes. Before I could call her name, the little girl broke away from Maureen's hand and headed for me in a jerky run, her small face lit by a big smile. “Mama!” she cried, and then she was in my arms. I held her tight, trying to take her all in at once.

“I missed you, so much, sweet girl,” I whispered. Arlee muckled onto my ribs with her now-long legs clinging like a starfish to a rock.

“Told you she wouldn't forget you,” Bud said. Arlee reached for him and we switched kids off so that he could hug his daughter.

“She's been so excited,” Maureen said. “I told her Mama and Daddy were coming home and she woke me up at sunrise, holding her best dress out, ready to go. She's been wild ever since.”

“She's heavier, that's for sure,” I said. “And taller. What have you been feeding her?”

Ida was transfixed by Travis and didn't hear me. It was hard not to fall under his spell. He was a beautiful baby, and I say this with the understanding that many babies are less than pretty. It isn't their fault. They grow into themselves. But Travis was a handsome boy from the start.

“He looks like Leeman,” Madeline said. “He's just so sweet.”

He did look like my father. His hair was pale and curled in waves over his head, and Daddy had passed his sky-blue eyes on to his grandson. His hands and feet were big for a newborn. And he
was
sweet, for the most part, except when he wasn't, and then his mood rumbled in like a sudden summer thunderstorm before leaving as if it had never been there in the first place.

“How are you feeling?” Madeline said. “You had quite a time.”

“Good,” I said. “A little sore. It's weird to remember how sick I was.”

“Happy birthday, by the way. Dottie comes home next week,” she said.

We stood outside for a few more minutes, holding babies, catching up, and then the house in back of me spoke out and said,
I'm waiting. I've missed you. You ever coming inside?
Madeline kissed me on the cheek and trotted off. Ida and Maureen headed down to their house. For a few seconds, Arlee was confused, but when I said, “Come on,” she frisked around us like a lamb and followed us into the house. I walked right into the kitchen, where the sun hit the table, and I let out the breath I had held for over nine months. “We're here,” I said. “We're home.”

Someone, or more than one someone, had dusted and swept out winter for us, and turned on the water and the electricity. Bud checked the refrigerator. “Milk. Bread. Butter. A dish of something for supper,” he said. “Ha! And a six-pack of Schlitz. All set.”

I headed for the living room and stopped in front of Grand's red ruby glass cabinet on the way. Every piece of glass sparkled and the cabinet had been wiped free of dust, its shelves polished and shining. I tried not to look at the empty space in the center of the top shelf, where Grand's
red ruby heart had set until New Year's Day, 1964, when, enraged by Stella's growing relationship with Daddy, I had grabbed the heart, run to the ledges in the state park, and thrown it into the sea, begging for some sort of trade that might bring my mother home. Carlie hadn't come back, but Grand had been quick to forgive me for my temper and my impulsiveness. The empty spot reminded me of her goodness.

History filled this house, but I didn't have time to dwell on it. Travis brought me back to the present with a tiny whimper. “He needs a bottle,” I called to Bud.

“So do I,” he said as he went out to the car, Arlee skipping behind him.

“Thanks,” I muttered. I went into the kitchen and warmed it up myself. Every noise I made, the clanking of the metal pan, the
shish
of running tap water, the click of the stove knob, was music to me. The sound of the gulls bitching at one another outside, the wind chasing its tail off the water, the smell of the clean May sky, all of it was glory on Earth.

With the bottle warmed, I took my son out onto the porch for his first sit-down in one of Grand's rocking chairs. I settled my butt onto the woven bamboo slats, placed him in the crook of my arm, and put the bottle into his greedy mouth. Behind me, I heard the pitter-patter of little girl feet as Arlee traipsed into the kitchen. “Mama, where you?” she called.
Where you?
How many times had I said that in my mind after Carlie had gone away? And how many times had I wanted to hear what I was about to say. “I'm right here, honey. Right here.”

When Arlee reached us, she stared at the fuzz on top of Travis's head. Then she saw the bottle in my hand. “Me,” she said.

“How about you feed Travis?” I said. She scrambled up into the chair next to me.

“You're the boss,” I said, and I placed her brother into her arms. I took an old pillow from the chair next to us and placed it in the space between the arm and seat of the chair. I handed her the bottle and guided it to his mouth. After a couple of tries we got the nipple where it was supposed to go and Travis sucked away.

The rest of the day blurred as I learned how to take care of them together. Travis was a mellow lump of lazy love, while Arlee walked and talked close on my heels like a fawn tracking its mother.

I had a little time in the afternoon, after I put Travis into the bassinet on the porch. Seeing me do this, Arlee pulled me into the living room, climbed up onto the sofa, and tugged at Grand's old afghan. I put it over her and she was asleep in no time.

I snuck toward the kitchen, but before I cleared the hall, someone pounded on the front door. Red rage made me want to strangle whoever might be there, but I managed to choke it back before I opened the door. It was good old Grace.

I blinked. She didn't.

“Yes?” I said, thinking to hurry things along.

“I wanted to see the baby,” Grace said, “before I leave.”

“You leaving?”

“That's what I just said.”

“And you want to see Travis?”

“That his name?”

“Yes. Be quiet. They're both sleeping.”

I turned, Grace followed, and we walked over to the bassinet. She looked down at Travis, and then she busted out laughing.

“What the hell was that?” I sputtered.

“Stella's gonna have a shit fit,” she said. “Looks just like her old man, don't he?”

“That old man was my father,” I said. “Show some goddamn respect, for chrissake. Why don't you and Stella both go and good riddance.”

“Stella don't have nowhere else to go,” Grace said. “I'm going because I don't like it here. People ain't friendly.” And with that, she left.

“Where is your father?” I asked Arlee near suppertime as I sat in the kitchen feeding Travis. During the day, I hadn't thought much about
Bud's whereabouts, but now that the sun was warming the back of my head before heading for its nightly slumber, it occurred to me to wonder if he had gone back to Stoughton Falls without telling me.

Arlee ran to the window. “Daddy,” she said. And Daddy walked through the door. Arlee ran to greet him.

He held her as he came through the door, and gave me a big grin. “Hello, Muthah!” he hollered. His eyes sparkled and swam.

“You been drinking?” I asked.

“Well, a couple of beers and a shot or two of whiskey,” he said. “Ran into Bert and a couple of fellas at the Lobster Shack. Been catching up. Forgot the time.”

“I guess you did.”

“Well, pardon me for taking some time for myself. Figured Ma and Maureen was helping out here.”

“No,” I said. “Only person I've seen today is Grace.”

“You whining?” he said, and smiled. “'Cause you sound like you're whining.” He got down into my face and planted a sloppy kiss on my lips.

“Mama's whining,” he said to Arlee. “Let's go see the water, and let Mama get over it.” I watched them walk toward the wharf, wondering if her little hand was all that was holding him up. As I thought about following them, Maureen came out of the Warner house and joined them for a while, until a car I didn't recognize grumbled down the hill. Maureen waved, walked up the ramp, and hopped into the car. The driver, a girl I also didn't recognize, turned the car and rattled back up the hill. I smoothed back Travis's golden curls as he finished his bottle.

While I fixed supper, I wondered at the way Bud had said, “
Mama's whining
.” Almost like a sneer. It bothered me. He had never spoken to me that way. He had been drinking beer since high school, but he hadn't gotten ugly. Had the whiskey done that? Then, I reasoned, maybe the booze had just hit him wrong. Maybe it was his way of shaking off the butt end of a horrible winter. It had been hell on all of us. I tucked my resentment away and relished the fact that we were home.

We all deserved a little drop of
kindness.

B
ud fell asleep sitting up on the sofa after turning down supper. I fed the kids and worked around him.

“Daddy tie,” Arlee said at one point. When she said it again, I came close to explaining the difference between Daddy tired and Daddy drunk. Patience and aggravation with my husband set my mood to cranky. I decided to cheer myself up by blessing Ida with Travis, Arlee, and myself. We walked down the hill as the sun sank below the treetops in the west.

“How's your first day back been?” Ida asked me as she took Travis from me and we sat down in the living room.

“Like I never left,” I said. “Thanks for cleaning up and putting food into the fridge. Can't thank you enough for taking care of Arlee.” My daughter clambered up onto the sofa and cuddled tight against me.

“She's glad to see you,” Ida said. “She was a good girl, weren't you, honey?” Arlee snuggled closer to me. Ida said, “How'd you make out taking care of two babies?”

“Piece of cake, for today,” I said. “Oh, Grace stopped by. She said Stella's staying. Has she fallen off the wagon yet?”

“Stella is trying her best to stay sober,” Ida said. “I take her to church with me, every Sunday. I'm proud of her.”

“Well, good,” I said.

“It is.”

Ida's face set. Time to change that subject.

“Maureen okay?” I asked.

“I let her go up to Long Reach for the night. She's made some nice friends.”

“Aren't she and Evie friends?” I asked.

“They aren't like you and Dottie were,” Ida said. “They're different.”

“Dottie and I are about as different as we can get,” I said. “And we get along fine.”

“I'm happy with the friends that Maureen has now,” Ida said. Her face set again. We were done with this topic too, evidently. Tiredness tugged at my bones.

Suddenly, I blurted out, “Sometimes, it's hard to talk to you. I feel like I say the wrong things, or I'm about to say the wrong things, or I'm thinking the wrong things.”

Ida's eyes opened wide. “What do you mean, Florine? You can tell me anything.”

“No, I can't. I live a hop, skip, and a jump away from hell's front porch, but I try. I try my best. Do you even like me?”

Ida smiled and said, “Of course I like you! I love you! I practically raised you, in a way. It's just that I believe it's important to live each day for Jesus, in any way you can.”

“Well,” I said, getting up, “I appreciate all you've done. I am what I am, and that's all there is to it. Grand always said that Jesus loved me, no matter what. I figure that gives me lots of room for messing up.”

“Oh, honey,” Ida said. “She was right. And that makes you one of Jesus's special ones. I wouldn't change a thing about you.”

“Well, I would,” I said. “I've had a day, Ida, and I'm going home now to put the kids to bed.”
And to have a talk with your drunk son
. She stood up and I took Travis from her. “Say good night to your grandmother,” I said to Arlee. Ida reached down to scoop her up, but my girl had had a day too, and she whined and pulled away. Ida kissed my cheek.

“I imagine as the days pass, you'll get your Point legs back,” she said. “You had yourself a time for most of the winter. And you
can
talk to me, remember that.”

No, I can't, I thought, but I hugged her and we trooped back up to Grand's house. We walked into the house as if Bud wasn't passed out nearby on the sofa. I turned out all of the lights and climbed the stairs so as not to wake Travis, who slept in my arms. I took Arlee to bed with me and read her a story. I put her into her little bed next to Travis's crib, went across the hall, and climbed into my lovely, warm bed.

Bud came upstairs about two hours later. He woke me up as he stumbled into the bathroom in the dark, snapped up the toilet seat, and peed for about five minutes. As the waterfall fell into the pool, Travis made waking sounds. Bud thumped the seat down and flushed the toilet, which roused Travis more.

He went into the kids' room and I heard his low voice trying to quiet Travis down. My baby boy did settle a little bit at his father's soft words, but just long enough to let Bud come across the hall, pull back the covers, and climb into bed.

“Love you,” he said to my back and he kissed me somewhere near my ear before he stretched out on his side of the bed. Travis began to cry again. Finally, Bud turned over and said into my ear, “Florine? You awake? Travis is up.”

“Bottle in the fridge,” I said. “Diapers on the porch with the changing table.” I snuggled deeper into the blankets as Bud took his son downstairs. Soon after that, Arlee wandered in and I brought her into our bed, where she took up any space I didn't claim. We woke up curled against each other. In the morning, I went into the kids' bedroom to see Bud coiled like a snail shell in Arlee's bed.

My kids and I began that day with bottles, cereal, and tea, when I could get a sip of it. Maureen came up just as we finished breakfast.

“Morning,” she called from the hall. She walked into the kitchen and Arlee threw a fistful of Kix at her.

“That any way to say hello?” Maureen said to Arlee. “I've never
thrown cereal at you.” Arlee threw another piece of Kix and Maureen caught it and gulped it down. She said to me, “How are you doing?”

“We're good,” I said. “Nice to be home. I thought you were uptown.”

“Came back really early this morning,” she said. “Can I take Arlee outside?”

“Fine with me,” I said. Carrying Travis, I followed them out and looked down at the water. Gulls cracked rude jokes as they flew out to sea to play tag with the fishermen. My eyes tracked them down an endless sky busy running its race toward eternity.

Carlie had loved horizons. “
If you could walk through that line and come out the other side, you would be somewhere completely different. Wouldn't that be a gas?
” she had said, so many lifetimes ago. Travis cooed. “Whose sweet baby are you?” I said.

“Mine.” My husband put his arms around my waist and rested his head against my shoulder. “And yours.”

“You smell like yesterday's good time,” I said. “Let's go inside.”

He let go of me. “Ladies first,” he said. I walked past him, to the kitchen, and then I turned to face him.

“I don't mind you having fun, but don't come home and start on me,” I said. “And don't talk to me that way in front of the kids.”

“Been a long winter, Florine. Could be I was melting the ice inside of me. Your being sick wasn't hard on just you.”

“I didn't think it was,” I said. “Do you think I planned it?” Travis squirmed as I tensed. I made myself relax and I studied Bud as he squinted against the brightness of the spring sun. His face sported a hangover along with what else? Regret? Resentment?

I said, “I know we owe money to the hospital. I know insurance didn't cover everything. But getting drunk on whiskey won't take care of any of that.”

One side of Bud's mouth lifted. “Helped, for a while, yesterday.”

“Not helping much, today, is it?”

Bud shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “I should cut the lawn.”

My nose touched Travis's head and I sucked in the scent of new baby as Bud left the house.

Maureen carried a sleepy Arlee back home at about noon. “We went to Ray's and picked up the mail,” she said.

“Thanks,” I said. “You want lunch?” Maureen said no and left. Arlee nodded off in her booster seat, leaving most of her sandwich for later. I covered her up on the sofa. Travis slept in the bassinet. Bud had finished the lawn and gone off somewhere. “Ain't leaving with the intention of tying one on, just so's you know,” he had told me. “Going up to see Fred. I'll be back in a couple of hours.”

I brewed myself a cup of tea, sat down at the kitchen table, and reached for the pile of mail. I flipped through bills, flyers, and one letter that had no return address. The small cream-colored envelope matched the one upstairs in my bureau. Same block writing on the front. Lewiston postmark. I sheared it open with a bread knife and pulled out a folded, white, lined piece of paper. The elegant cursive, slanting forward like the sail of a schooner taking on good wind, read:

C. I waited for you as long as I could. I asked you to meet me and you did not, although you had indicated that you would do so. Do not do that to me again.

“What the hell?” I said out loud. I held the lined paper up to the kitchen window and looked through it, as if some hidden words might appear. The paper had been torn above the words and below them, making a mystery out of whatever other writing it contained.

I crammed the piece of paper back into the envelope and tucked it into the junk drawer under the kitchen countertop. Who was “C”? Was this about Carlie? Had the first letter been for her? From who? Why was I getting them? Who was sending them? Why? What would Bud say?

I decided to sit on it for a little while.

My little girl woke up crying about a teeny scratch on her pinkie that had happened somewhere on her walk with Maureen. I fetched a Band-Aid, folded it around her finger, and gave it a big kiss. Bud got home on time and we carried on, two young parents and their two babies, supper, feedings, bath times, clean pajamas, a little picture book, and then bed.

Bud and I were both so tired we went to bed about an hour after the kids.

“Feels weird to lay here with the sun still up,” Bud said.

“I know,” I said. “I feel like I've been bad.”

“Speaking of . . . I'm sorry about how I acted yesterday. I was an asshole.”

“You were,” I said, and then I changed the subject. “You sorry we're married?”

“Kind of dumb question is that? Why? You sorry?”

“That's a dumber question,” I said. “No. Who the hell else would put up with me?”

“That's true. You're nothing but trouble,” he said. I ran my hand over his thighs and showed him how much trouble I could be until dark flooded the room.

Sunday passed like a quiet prayer. I said nothing about the letter, barely even thought about it, in fact, my day and my arms were so filled with children.

Monday morning, Bud left for Stoughton Falls. I worked in the side garden all that morning, with Arlee's help, while Travis slept away the time in his carrier under the honeysuckle bushes. The breeze off the water begged us to come down to the shore, so after lunch, we wandered down that way. Ida took the baby, and Arlee and I continued on to the little beach. Arlee ran for the water as soon as I put her down, her sneakered feet slipping over the round stones, seaweed, and snails. I chased her and brought her back to the top of the beach, put her down, and let her run
again before going after her. Finally, I slipped off my loafers, took off her sneakers, and we plopped our feet into the cold water.

Her small face opened like a blooming daffodil. I held her hand as she splashed in the salt water until her toes turned red. She whined when I whisked her out and dried her feet, but laughed when I kissed them all over.

We walked along, picking up deserted shells and little bits of seaweed she wanted to keep. Something red winked among the pebbles. I bent and picked up a jagged piece of red glass. Could this be a piece of Grand's red ruby heart? Most likely not. The heart had been solid. Being tumbled all over the sea bottom would have rubbed it smooth. I lifted the glass and looked through it, into a memory.

Carlie and I had once walked this beach, me picking up shells, wading in water that covered my feet. I saw me as Carlie might have seen me, a little girl wearing light-blue overalls. My curly hair was pulled back into a tiny knot. I saw Carlie's bloodred toenails. She hummed a song as we walked and said, “Careful,” as I balanced on a crooked rock.

“Careful,” I said to Arlee as
she
tried to balance on a crooked rock, possibly the same one I had balanced on. The connection of my mother and me, and me and my daughter, skewered time and confused me. I suddenly felt the need for a solid presence.