Written on My Heart (32 page)

Bud looked at me. I shrugged. “I'm not your keeper,” I said.

“Hell you're not,” Bud said, but smiled when he said it.

“And you're not mine,” I said.

“Nope,” he said.

That weekend, we cleaned and moved out of the trailer in Stoughton Falls. The four of us, Glen, Dottie, Bud, and I, made short work
of it. I left the grass a little long, and I did feel bad about not putting together the garden I had dreamed up, but it was the only thing I felt bad about. I would not miss anything else about it.

Bud and I celebrated my birthday up in Long Reach, where we went to an Italian restaurant and saw a movie at the same theater Daddy and I had gone to shortly after Carlie had gone. That night so many years before, restless and stunned, we hadn't stayed for the whole movie. We had gone back to the truck, where Daddy had said to me, “
Florine, the only thing we can do is take it day to day. You got school and I got work. We got to get on with both of them. You with me?
” We had done that, he and I, longing for an absent woman we both loved more than each other. He had gone on to the arms of someone else, and I had, with the grace of Grand, Jesus, and everyone else on The Point, tripped and fallen into marriage and motherhood.

But this night with Bud didn't hold painful memories. I sat through a whole movie holding the hand of the man I would love for the rest of my life.

Life was going well. Our friends were happy, Bud was working hard on staying sober, and we were thinking about our future. Our children slept in their beds, watched over by a loving grandmother and a sweet aunt.

And then, ten days later, my mother came home.

A
rlee spent the early part of Tuesday morning, May 28, being pissed off at me because I wouldn't let her wear the purple velvet dress that Robin had bought for her in California. She had sized it one up for Arlee, so that she would be able to fit into it for the upcoming Christmas. That morning, I made the mistake of trying it on her to see if it fit. Not only did it fit, she would outgrow it before Christmas.

“We'll find someplace special to wear it when the weather gets colder,” I promised her, and I hung it back up in her closet.

“Why?” she asked.

“It's hot, and it's not a play dress,” I said.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because you can't,” I said, and walked away with her brother in my arms. “Mean Mama,” followed me all the way down the stairs. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I mumbled. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

I set Travis on the kitchen floor while I turned around to put the kettle on for a midmorning cup of tea but a sudden retching sound turned me around in a hurry. He sat covered in vomit. “Oh, honey,” I said, “what the hell is that?”

He began to cry and I picked him up, holding him away from me as I carried him up to the bathroom. The telephone rang.

“Not a good time,” I said to the phone.

I bathed Travis, dressed him in clean clothes, and hoped he wouldn't puke again. He whined and I cuddled him close.

I peeked into Arlee's bedroom. There she stood, in front of the mirror, admiring her little madam self, still wearing her purple velvet dress. “Are you kidding me?” I hollered. “I told you no!”

“Don't care,” she hollered back.

Travis whimpered and I lowered my voice.

“Take it off,” I said to Arlee.

“No.”

The phone rang again.

“Change it,” I said. I carried Travis downstairs and grabbed the receiver. “Hello,” I said. “Warners' nuthouse.” I waited for a laugh but got a pause instead.

It was Parker Clemmons. “You busy right now?” he asked.

“Hah!” I laughed. “Yes, but I am every day. Why?”

“I'd like to come talk to you,” he said.

“Oh—you read Edward's letters,” I said. “I didn't touch them. They—”

“Florine,” he said. The quiet tenderness in his voice made my insides go hollow.

“What is it?”

“Is Bud with you?”

“He's at Billy's. What's the matter?”

“You might want to have him come home.”

“Why?”

“I'm on my way over to talk to you. I have some news.”

“Why can't you tell me now?”

“I want to tell you in person,” he said.

“Did . . . Did . . . Carlie?”

“I want to talk to you and explain what's happened. We've been through a lot, you and I, and I want to talk to you proper.”

“Okay,” I said, and I hung up. Travis put his hands on my face and
patted my cheeks. I buried my head against him and took deep, deep breaths while my heart hammered in my ears.

Bud came home and brought along Billy, Ida, and Glen, who had been painting the hull of the
Florine
. Glen had knocked on the Buttses' door on the way up and gathered up Dottie. It was a warm spring day, but I shook with cold. Ida put her arm around me. We gathered in the kitchen. “Sit down,” she said. We all took chairs at the table. Bud sat next to me and Dottie took my other side, Glen next to her. Billy leaned against the wall behind the table. Bud took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Billy said, “Let's have a prayer.”

Healing phrases with “faith” and “forgiveness” in them bounced like buckshot throughout Billy's words, but I didn't hear most of what he had to say until “amen” came in strong at the end.

The room went quiet except for the blocks that Travis was banging together on the porch floor. Ida asked, “Do you want me to take the kids down to the house?”

I shook my head, but Bud said, “If you could, Ma, that might be best. We'll let you know what's going on when we know.”

“Travis may have some kind of bug,” I said, motherhood kicking in on automatic. “Arlee needs to change her dress before it gets dirty.”

“No,” Arlee said. I looked up, startled to find my little girl downstairs and standing in front of Billy. His hands rested on top of her head.

“You look some pretty,” Dottie said to her.

“Don't encourage her,” I said.

“I a princess,” Arlee said.

“Come with Grammy, princess,” Ida said to her. She grunted as she picked up Travis. “Good lord,” she said, “Grammy isn't going to be able to do this much longer.”

“I'll help,” Dottie said. She took Travis from his grateful grandmother and they went out the door.

“I should make coffee,” I said to the three men in my kitchen. “You'll have some coffee, won't you? Think Parker might like some?
It is getting later in the morning, so maybe everyone has had enough coffee for the day. He's going to tell me she's dead. I know he is. She's dead.”

Bud caught me before I crumpled onto the floor and steered me back to the kitchen chair. I sat and covered my face with trembling hands. The front door opened and shut and Dottie came back in and sat down next to me. She rubbed my back with her big hand.

“Where's the Kleenex?” Bud asked. I pointed to the porch, near the bassinet that Travis had outgrown. As he got up to get it, someone knocked at the door. Billy answered. I pulled myself together as Bud handed me a tissue and sat down.

Parker stood in the kitchen doorway, his hat in his hand.

“Tell me straightaway, please,” I said.

“Carlie's dead, Florine,” Parker said. “I'm sorry.”

My heart snapped and I squeezed my eyes shut. Bud and Dottie grabbed my hands.

“When did she die?” I asked Parker through the storm in my head.

“In 1963, in Crow's Nest Harbor. She's been dead since before Patty reported her missing.”

I swallowed something sour. “How did she die?” I asked.

“Her neck was broken,” Parker said. “She didn't feel a thing.”

I went numb. “Who did it?” I asked.

“We have a suspect in custody,” Parker said.

“Edward Barrington?”

“We have a suspect. Let me take you through this step by step.”

“I have to go to the bathroom first,” I said, and bolted upstairs. If anyone heard me upchucking everything I'd ever eaten going back through the past almost eleven years, no one ever let on. When I was done, I brushed my teeth, slapped water on my face, walked back downstairs, and sat down again. Dottie plunked a cup of hot tea in front of me and I put my hands around the mug. The warmth seeped into my palms.

“Okay,” I said to Parker. “Tell us what happened.”

“Did you read them letters Stella and her sister gave to you? Them letters from Edward to Carlie?”

“No. I didn't want to know what that suckass had to say to my mother.”

“Well, I matched most of 'em up with the ones that Barrington's wife dropped off last winter.

“Carlie's letters to him are kind of like I remember her. Funny, light, pretty clever, about stuff she had going on in her life. She wrote about how much she missed him and told him she loved him. Up until she met Leeman, that is. The last letter she sent to him, in July 1950, she said that she loved Leeman and she hoped that Edward would be happy.

“Now, Barrington's letters are a different story. From the get-go, his letters are filled with how much he loves her and how he can't live without her. Later on, he talks more and more about what he's going to do to her when he sees her. Stuff that made even me blush, and I've heard it all. One letter says ‘I Love You' for twenty pages. That letter was written in August 1950, when Carlie was eighteen and Barrington was twenty-two or three or thereabouts.”

“Carlie and Daddy were together by that time,” I said.

“Didn't seem to faze him. He was married and had a son on the way, but he wrote the twenty-page I Love You letter after his wedding. He also wrote Carlie a nasty letter, after he found out about Leeman. Says that she won't be happy with him, that he's just a fisherman. That she'll get bored and come back to him, and he was going to wait for that, no matter how long it took.

“His letters didn't stop with the letter telling her she'd be sorry she met Leeman. He kept on sending letters to her. Twisted stuff, like how he was better at sex than Leeman, and how he could make her happy that way. About how much money he had compared to Leeman. About how he'd seen you at The Point at Ray's with Dottie. Said he gave you both lollipops. The date on that letter tells me you and Dottie was about five.”

Dottie and I squeezed each other's hands at the same time.

“Other stuff too. Says he watched Leeman and her in bed one night.”

“Oh my god. Why didn't she turn him in?” I cried.

“Because she never read them letters. You saw how the envelopes were sealed shut. She didn't know he'd given you and Dottie candy, or he was pretty much stalking her.”

“Then why did she keep them at all?” Bud asked.

“I can't say,” Parker said.

“Maybe she knew something might happen to her,” Dottie said.

“That's conjecture,” Parker said. “May help build a case, but evidence seals them. She never read the letters, and she didn't turn them in, so I can't say why she kept them.”

“Who killed her?” I said, hating those words. “That's all I want to know.”

“We have a suspect . . .”

“You said that. Who the hell killed my mother?”

“Florine, take a deep breath,” Billy said. “Parker will tell you.”

“Thank you, Pastor,” Parker said. “I don't know as you noticed, Florine, but none of them letters—except for the ones that Grace Drowns sent to you in different envelopes—has a postmark or a stamp. Barrington didn't want them going through the mail, so I wondered how he might have gotten them to Carlie. He could have left them in her car while she was at work, I suppose. Or he could have stopped by the Shack and made sure she got them that way.

“I went to the Shack when Carlie first disappeared and talked to everyone there. They was confused and scared, but they didn't know nothing. Cindi and Diane both said that, as far as they knew, Carlie always went home after her shifts. Edward didn't come up, because no one thought he might be involved. And of course Patty swore up and down she didn't know nothing.

“After I read the letters, I went back and I talked to Cindi about Barrington, about two weeks ago. She's the only one still there that knew all the players.

“She told me that Barrington's been coming to the Shack since he's been legal to drink. Spent a lot of time there over the years. Sits at the bar by himself. Cindi said that he came in when Carlie was working, and he came in when she wasn't there. Said Carlie acted the same around him as her other customers, friendly and nice. He talked to Patty a lot, Cindi said. Said she never thought much about it. Patty liked anyone who gave her good tips, and Edward was loaded.

“So, then I got to thinking about Patty,” Parker said. “I asked Cindi if she knew where I could find her. Cindi gave me the address where she sent her last paycheck and I looked it up. Turns out her sister lives there, with Patty, who has emphysema and needs an oxygen tank. I asked Patty if she'd mind talking to me. Took a while, but finally she agreed. So, last week, I went to New Jersey to talk to her.”

Parker shook his head. “I was shocked when I saw her. She's forty-two years old or thereabouts, but she looks to be about thirty years older. She couldn't even get up. She had to stop and catch her breath a lot when we was talking.

“She had a lot to say. She told me that she wanted to get it off her chest, that it might help her to breathe better. I asked her about the letters. She told me that Barrington used to slip the letters to her, along with a ten-dollar bill. She would sneak them into Carlie's car sometime during the shifts she and Carlie shared. She said that Barrington wouldn't do it because he had a reputation to protect and was afraid of being caught.”

“Why would she do that?” I asked. “She and Carlie were friends.”

“She liked the money,” Parker said. “And she said she didn't see the harm. She admitted that she liked to stir things up. But when I asked her, she said she never told Barrington when she and Carlie were going to be in Crow's Nest Harbor. Patty figured out he was a creep when he showed up in the Harbor the first time.”

“He could have asked anyone else at the restaurant where they'd gone without them becoming suspicious,” Bud said.

Parker nodded. “That's probably what he did. Out of the nine years
they went up to the Harbor, he showed up for five of them. They'd be walking through town and there he'd be. They'd go to a restaurant, and he'd waltz in and sit at the bar and watch them. Neither Patty nor Carlie wanted him around, but Patty told me they agreed that they'd be damned if they were going to let him ruin their good time and their special place, so they put up with him. They even made a game out of finding ways to avoid him.

“The summer Carlie disappeared, Patty told me that she came up with the idea that Carlie should bleach her hair blond and wear Patty's clothes, while she dyed her hair red and wore Carlie's clothes. They did it partly for laughs, and partly to confuse Barrington, should he show up.”

“Why did they go to all that trouble?” I asked. “Why didn't Patty just come forward and tell someone she thought Edward was weird? For that matter, why didn't Carlie?”

“I don't know why Carlie didn't,” Parker said. “Maybe she didn't think he was a threat. Maybe she thought she could work it out on her own. Maybe she didn't want the attention. But I know why Patty never came forward,” Parker said. “She had her own issues. And Barrington found out what they were.”