Written on My Heart (24 page)

T
he next morning I found myself back in Grand's house again. She always kept a sock with spare cash behind a brick in back of the stove, and I had followed her lead. Financially, things were a little tight with us, and it was time to raid the sock. I hated to do it, but we needed it. So, I walked up the hill from Ida's house and knocked on my door, again thinking how foolish it was to have to do that.

Glen let me in, dressed in camouflage pants and a white T-shirt. He was carrying the coffee mug Bud usually used.

“Want some tea? I feel funny asking you that,” he said, and grinned.

“I would love for someone else to make me a cup of tea,” I said.

We walked into the kitchen and he put the kettle on. “Want some eggs?” he asked. “I can fry some up in no time.”

“I ate,” I said. “I came to withdraw some cash from behind the brick.”

Glen frowned. “The what?”

“Grand's stash,” I said. I reached behind the stove and pulled out the loose brick, reached inside the dark space it had left, and pulled out the old sock.

“Well, I'll be damned,” Glen said. “I had no idea it was there.”

“Old trick that Grand caught onto, way back,” I said. “Her family had a habit of hiding money. When her father died, he left her and her mother with no money, so they thought. Turned out that he'd cut a
hole in his mattress and stuffed it full of bills. Grand found it when she was playing under the bed.”

“Think we should have a scavenger hunt to see if there's money anywhere else?” Glen asked.

“No, she would have told me,” I said.

“Bud mentioned things was a little stretched,” Glen said.

“He told you that?” I said. The teakettle whistled and I automatically reached for it and switched off the stove.

“You sit down, let me get the tea,” Glen said, skipping over my question. “Tell you what, go into the tent and I'll bring it to you.”

The kitchen table would have worked for me, but if the tent worked better for Glen, why not? The flap was up and I ducked inside. No sign of his girlie magazines, and the funk had faded, somewhat. I listened to him whistle as he brewed my tea.

“You take milk?”

“Yep. And a little sugar.”

“Coming right up.” In a few seconds, his whistle grew louder and I scooted over to make room for him. He ducked through the flap, handed me my tea, and sat down on the sleeping bag in almost the same place Dottie had hunkered down the day before during her confessional about being a lesbian.

“Sorry about the magazines,” Glen said. “I probably should have hidden them when I knew you was coming up to clean.”

I blushed. “Sorry I invaded your privacy,” I said. “Dottie and I couldn't resist coming in. It's cozy. I guess I can see why you put it up in here.”

“Thought you might think I was crazier than I already am,” Glen said.

“I couldn't possibly think you were any more crazy,” I said, and smiled. “You feeling better?”

“It comes and goes,” he said. “I'm calmed down. Nights are the worst.”

“You figure out what you want to do yet?”

He shook his head. “No fucking idea,” he said.

“Maybe you shouldn't worry about it,” I said.

“Well, spring's bound to come, and I can't live here when you come back down. I can go back out to the woods for the summer. That wouldn't be so bad. Come back here in the winter.”

“You could do that for the rest of your life,” I said. “But we'll be coming back, at some point, to The Point to live all year round.”

“Bud says that probably won't happen,” Glen said. He sipped steam off the top of his coffee while what Bud had said sunk into me. We had never said that to each other.

I tried not to sound mad as I said to Glen, “I guess you and Bud got things all figured out. Sounds like he's got a plan. Guess we'll talk about it someday.”

Glen shook his head. “Well, him and me, we talk sometimes, like you and Dottie do.”

“What else does he say?” I asked. I slurped tea from Grand's old, thick diner mug and took comfort in its plainness, in its devotion to duty.

“I can't tell you,” Glen said. “Nothing you don't already know, probably.”

“He tell you he's going to go traveling by himself when he gets the chance? That he's leaving me and the kids behind to do it?”

“He said he'd like to take some trips, yes.”

“Does he want to get rid of me and the kids?” I asked, frustration making my question sharp. “He want to go back to Susan? He wish we'd never gotten married?”

“Jesus, Florine, of course not. He's just restless. And he's nervous about money. He ain't sure about working at Cecil's, but he don't want to come back down here. Says he would feel like a loser, if he did. He's scared of letting you down. He says he thinks you're too much woman for him sometimes.”

“Oh, for chrissake,” I yelled. “That's the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard.”

Glen looked down at his coffee. “Yes, ma'am,” he said.

“Is that why he's drinking whiskey? Because I'm too much woman?”

“I ain't saying anything else,” Glen said, looking out of the tent flap
toward the kitchen, wondering, maybe, how he could get out without getting hurt.

“Because the whiskey, you know, it doesn't set right in Bud,” I said.

“I agree,” Glen said. “I don't like the way his eyes get when he downs a shot or two.”

“You got to stop him from doing that,” I said.

“He's a big boy,” Glen said. I watched his face shift as he tried to change the subject. Suddenly his face brightened. “I got a date tomorrow night, in Long Reach,” he said.

“You do?” I said. “Who? Do we know her?”

“Nope. She's new in town. Works at the shipyard.”

Long Reach existed because the waters along its shores, the Kennebec River, were deep and wide. The shipyard had produced some of the best destroyers ever built for the navy. Daddy had never worked there, but almost everyone in town was either employed there or had a relative who was a ship fitter.

“Where'd you meet her?”

“Harbor Light, the other night. She come right up to Bud and me whilst we was sitting there. Friendly.”

“That's comforting to know,” I said. “That makes me feel good.”

On he went, bumbling into quicksand, Glen-fashion. “Well, she looked at Bud first. But he just flashed his wedding ring and pointed at me.”

“Good for me, I guess,” I said. “I don't want to have to fight her for my husband.”

“No, you don't have to do that. She and I are going to the movies.”

“I hope you have fun,” I said.

“Me too,” Glen said. His face darkened. “You know, I think I told you, it ain't ever worked out for me. Me and girls, well, something always happens.”

“You had lots of girlfriends in high school,” I pointed out. “Dottie and I stopped remembering their names, there were so many of them.”

“Yeah, but, I don't know,” Glen said. He ran his thumb around the
rim of his coffee mug. “Things go wrong,” he said. “I want to tell them to go to hell when they get too close to me.”

“How come?”

“I don't know. I guess I think they might wind up thinking I'm not who they want me to be. That I ain't good enough for them.”

“Well, Glen, that's bullshit,” I said. “Of course you're good enough for them. Any woman would be lucky to have you in her life.”

To my surprise, he teared up. “Someone told me once that I wasn't much,” he said. “That no one would put up with me because I'm stupid and the only thing I had going for me was my dick. Excuse me, but that's what she said. I think of that when I'm with other girls; that I'm too stupid to be anything but a fuck machine. And when someone gets all gooey-eyed, what she said just takes over my head and I get scared they're going to find out how numb I am and then they'll leave.” He struck the sleeping bag with his fist.

“Well, fuck that girl,” I said. “You talked to Bud about it?”

Glen shook his head. “You're the only person knows that. Don't tell Dottie.”

“I won't,” I said. “But you know she was an asshole, don't you?”

“I'm beginning to think she was a ballbuster, but what she said still messes up my head, along with everything else. She was smart. She was older than me. She was . . .” Glen stopped talking.

“Do I know her?” I asked.

“Nope,” he said, and with that he crawled out of the tent, stood up, and walked into the kitchen. I followed him. We put our mugs into the sink and I took the money-filled sock from the kitchen table.

“Happy New Year,” I said. “Clean the bathroom. Have a fun date and don't worry about what some asshole said once. You're a good guy. You're amazing.” I hugged him hard, left the house, and headed down the
hill.

O
ur little family left for Stoughton Falls on December 29. Then 1974 blew in, toasting itself with a spiteful blizzard. It also was kind enough to hand out, for free, nasty colds to both kids, and it gave an extra one to Bud.

Travis was the one who broke my heart. His nose was completely filled, and he hated the rubber bulb thing that I stuck up his nostrils to clear them out. He cried and hacked and coughed so bad that one night I found myself in the bathroom, running the shower at full steam, on the advice of the kids' doctor. The next day I took him in to see her.

“Yep, croup,” Dr. Rollins said. “Going around.”

“Scary,” I said.

“Yep,” she said. “He'll be okay, though, believe it or not.”

“You come sit with him and tell me that,” I said, growling with grumpiness.

“Believe me,” she said, “I've spent time sitting by worse things. I could give you a list, but that would be a waste of time. Besides, he's with the best people he could possibly be with to see him through this. Am I right?”

When she put it that way, what could I say but yes?

After a week of dancing from bedroom to bathroom to living room and back with medicines and tissues, the three of them began to
come back to themselves, even as snow continued to shimmy down from the silky silver skies.

“It's January everywhere,” I said to Bud at breakfast one morning.

“Zat bad?” Arlee asked.

“No,” Bud said. “Just freakin' long.”

And it was. If summer made a mockery of our memories of winter, winter made mincemeat of summer's memories. Once the kids were better, I bundled us all up and lugged us outside. I stuck Travis on a slat-sided sled and dragged him around the back and front yards while Arlee trailed us at her own little pace. She stopped to eat snow, or to leap facedown into it, shrieking with laughter, which made Travis lose his mind with giggles. Their antics knocked January back on its ass for brief periods.

Dull routine shrouded our days. We grew stir-crazy and bored. Bud and I handled it in our own ways. By the time he got home from work, it was dark. He ate supper and played with the kids for a while before he sat down in front of the news with a shot of whiskey and two to four beers. The shot of whiskey made me wary, but I left him to his territory until seven thirty or so, when both kids went to bed. Then, armed with knitting bag and needles, I would claim my space in front of the television in Grand's rocker, which we had lugged up after Christmas. As I knitted, I took comfort in the fact that sitting in that rocker felt as if she were hugging me.

Once in a while, I would attempt a conversation to push us out of our winter-forced doldrums. They usually went something like this:

Me: “You okay?”

Bud: “What do you mean?”

Me: “You're awful quiet.”

Bud: “It's friggin' dark. All I can do to stay awake.”

Me: “I know all that. I'm making sure you're okay.”

Bud: “I appreciate that. I guess when I got something to say, I'll say it.”

My concern for his state of mind grew, particularly when he began to add a little whiskey to his coffee thermos in the morning. The first time I caught him doing it, I think he thought I was in Arlee's bedroom,
but I was standing in the hall, holding her while she tried to wake up, watching him fill a shot glass and pour it in with his coffee.

“Do you really need that?” I said, walking up to him.

He jumped. “Puts a little heat in the day,” he said. “Warms me up.” He stared at me, daring me to say something, so I obliged.

“Do all the guys in the garage drink?” I said.

“I don't ask 'em. They don't tell me.”

“You're working on cars that weigh a ton,” I said. “You're working with gasoline and oil and stuff that catches on fire. That's dangerous work. You've gotten along without any help from booze before this. Why now?”

Arlee squirmed and I put her down.

“It's a shot of whiskey, Florine,” Bud said. “A pick-me-up. I don't even taste it in the coffee. It don't affect my work at all.”

Before I could say anything else, he closed up the thermos and put it into the lunch bag I had packed for him. He gave me a peck on the cheek. “Love you,” he said, and went out the door.

“Love you,” I murmured. He backed his truck out onto Route 100 and drove toward the garage. “Dammit,” I whispered.

“No, Mama,” Arlee said, from the sofa.

My life brightened when Robin called in mid-January.

“I just got back from California,” she told me. “Dad bought me a ticket. How was Christmas?”

I filled her in.

“Must be frustrating as hell,” she said. “You get snippets of info, then nothing.”

“It's been that way for over ten years,” I said. “I'm used to it.”

“But you know, clues keep coming to you,” she said. “Letters, people. They're turning up.”

“So?”

“Maybe Carlie is pushing things along. Maybe she wants to come home in whatever way she can. Maybe the universe is telling you something.”

“That's weird.”

“Might be. But how is it stranger than anything else that has happened?”

“It isn't.”

I wanted to tell her about Bud's drinking, but a sense of loyalty to him stopped me.

“Love to see you soon,” she said.

“Me too. We'll figure something out.”

Figuring out time to get together with Robin became a challenge, as a knotted string of storms raged well into February. She surprised me when she showed up, unannounced, on a rare, clear Saturday. I pulled in behind her little car after buying the weekly groceries. I hoped she and Bud were getting along. I honked for help, but no one came out. “The hell with you all,” I said as I opened the Fairlane's trunk. Bud came out to rescue me as I stood wondering how many trips it would take to get the six bags into the house.

“How long has Robin been here?” I asked.

“About a half hour,” Bud said. “Thought she'd drop by, see if you wanted to get out for a while.”

The set of his mouth as he hefted three grocery bags told me he wasn't pleased about the prospect.

“You want to go out, instead?” I said. “Or we all can take the kids down the road to the park in town. They've plowed it out.”

“Why don't I go out?” he said. “Might go into Stoughton Falls for a while, have a beer at the Wayside Bar and Grill. Sounds good to me. Sound good to you?”

“Not really,” I said.

He shrugged and I followed him into the house. Robin sat on the floor rolling a ball to the kids. She was wearing the sweater I'd made her for Christmas. She grinned. “I
love
this,” she said.

“It looks great,” I said, conscious of how hard Bud was setting the grocery bags on the counter.

“I'm going,” he said abruptly. He pecked me on the cheek. “You
girls have a good time.” And he was out the door, backing out of the driveway in a spray of loose gravel. He burned rubber until he was out of sight. I sighed and put the groceries away while Robin continued to play with the kids.

Quick as I could, I said, “Let's get out of here.” We dressed the kids and packed them into the car. I drove us into Stoughton Falls, past a diner, a hardware store, and a sweet library. I parked in a lot close to that library. We lifted the kids from the car and put them down on a plowed pathway that led through the town's park while Robin got the sled from the trunk. Soon we were moving along, me pulling Travis while Arlee ran ahead and jumped into snowbanks.

“The sweater is beautiful,” Robin said. “No one has ever made me a sweater. Florine, it's amazing. You could sell these for some good money!”

“Once in a while I do,” I said.

“You could strike up a deal with some craft stores.”

“You think?”

“I think,” Robin said.

Arlee grabbed her hand and they jumped into a virgin patch of snow. I pulled Travis from the sled and we watched them, our breath mingling. The sun burned the fog from my brain, and a touch of happiness crystallized into a pearl of pure joy.

Robin and Arlee waded back to the path. Arlee climbed onto the sled. I put Travis in front of her.

“I'll pull them for a while,” Robin said. “Not to keep hammering at you but, no kidding, Florine, you could make and sell these. Valerie asked me if I could ask you if you'd make one for her. And for my father, for his birthday. They'll pay good money.”

“Well, get me sizes,” I said.

“Valerie works in a clothing shop and she said she could carry one or two to see how they sell.”

“Wow!” I said. If someone in California was willing to carry my sweaters, maybe people living in other states might like to too. I'd have to knit like a bastard, but I worked fast, as Grand had taught me.

“Did you happen to find the present I left for you?” Robin asked.

I stopped walking. “Shit—I mean shoot—no! I totally forgot. I got the phone call from Parker and off we went. Crap! I'm so sorry.”

“You can open it when we get back,” she said, which made me want to hurry, so we dragged the kids back to the car, stuffed them into their seats, and drove through the small town. We all staggered into the trailer red-faced, cold, and happy, dripping melted snow throughout the trailer.

Robin helped Arlee shuck her coat and boots and began to undo Travis's snowsuit.

“Where is it?” I asked.

“The angel-food-cake pan near the back of the cupboard,” Robin said. I fished out a small square package wrapped in red-and-gold-striped Christmas wrap. Robin had curled the same color ribbon over the top. I admired it quickly, and then tore open the wrapping.

The plain white box revealed a layer of soft cotton. I lifted it and gasped. It was a gold bracelet with a red stone. “Oh my god,” I said.

“Mama, no,” Arlee said. I ignored her.

“It was our grandmother Maxine's,” Robin said. “She left me all of her jewelry. She didn't have much, but what she had was nice. I wanted you to have a piece for yourself. The heart is made of ruby.”

“You have no idea what this means,” I said. Tears ran down my cheeks. I sat down at the kitchen table and wiped them away.

I said to Robin, “I don't think I told you, but you know Grand's red ruby glass cabinet? The one in the corner of the living room? There used to be a red ruby heart that sat in the center of the middle cabinet. I took that heart one day when I was really upset and I threw it off the ledges at the end of the state park.”

“Why were you upset?” Robin asked. She sat down across from me at the table. Arlee clambered into my lap and Travis crawled over to her. She picked him up and then settled back to listen.

“It was New Year's Day. Grand always cleaned the glass on that day and I usually helped her. I wasn't living with her then; I was still living
with Daddy. Carlie had been gone for a little over four months. I had stayed overnight at Dottie's house for a New Year's Eve party. I was walking up to Grand's to help her with the glass when Stella Drowns walked out of Daddy's house. She'd slept with him. Oh my god, Robin, I was so mad. I went into Grand's house and I yelled about Stella and Grand tried to calm me down. I grabbed the heart and I was going to wash it, but Grand said I should settle down first. I got mad at that and I stormed out, without a coat, by the way, and ran to the ledges. I threw the heart into the ocean and asked for my mother back in exchange for the heart. It was insane, I know, but I was crazed.”

“Hungee, Mama,” Arlee whined.

“In a minute,” I said to her.

“Wow,” Robin said. “I wish I'd been there for you. I would have kicked Stella's butt for you.”

“Well, you're here now, and you've given me back the heart, in a way. It's a piece of Carlie.”

Robin grinned. “The universe, again, working in strange ways.”

I slipped the bracelet onto my arm and admired it. It was made of thin gold that twined itself around tiny prongs cupping a precious stone. I touched the ruby and held my finger on its surface until it grew warm and my finger throbbed with the pulse of it.

Arlee said, “Eat now, Mama.”

Robin cleaned the kitchen as I put the kids down for naps. We sat down at the table again with cups of tea. I stared at the stone in the bracelet, trying to see into the center of the heart.

Robin took in a deep breath. “I'm moving to California,” she said.

I looked up, startled. “What? Why? When?”

“In June, when school lets out. I'm torn, but I like the weather, and I like being close to my family.”

“Not to be selfish, but I was getting used to having you here.”

“I'll be back. And you and Bud and the kids can visit. We can go to Disneyland, and to the beach. And you can meet your uncle for the first time. He can't wait to meet you!”

I gave her a little smile, hoping it covered the sudden lump in my throat.

“You okay?” she asked, and I said of course. We went back to chatting about what we would do while she was still here. She would help me with my GED. We would visit Portland and look for places that might sell beautiful, homemade sweaters. We still had some days together, we told each other, and we would make the most of them. But in my mind, she was already gone.

After she left, the blues settled in and I mooned around the trailer, cleaning up the mud and water from our earlier visit to the park.

The kids and I ate supper without Bud, who never called to let us know he'd be late. I sat through a boring television show after I put them down for the night. I switched it off at nine thirty and sat on the sofa, twisting the golden bracelet with the red ruby center around my arm, trying not to worry.

About an hour later, his pickup's lights pinpointed the icy particulars of our gravel driveway.