Pieces of the Heart

by Karen White

  She looked down at the bright scraps of fabrics that littered the table and the double row of squares that had already been stitched together. These first squares were made from her mother’s baby blankets and sleepers, the yellow and pink bunnies and floral patterns completely at odds with the memory of a mother who had favored bright geometric shapes of her own designs.

  But, she supposed, that was what a memory quilt was for. It showed a life from the beginning to the end, mapping out the changes of a person in the course of a lifetime, the stitches tying the squares together like days tying together years.

  Jewel looked up and saw that Caroline was standing apart, as if afraid to come closer. Her grandmother and Mrs. Collier had finished arguing and were picking up various scraps of fabric and talking excitedly to each other.

  Mrs. Collier held up a light-blue-and-white-checked gingham dress. “Oh, I remember this! Was it kindergarten or first grade? For Halloween, Shelby was Dorothy, Caroline was the Wicked Witch, and Jude went as Scarecrow—remember?” She fingered the light cotton fabric in silence for a moment. “I’m surprised this isn’t worn out. Caroline wore hers every day for a month.”

  Caroline looked at her mother. “Jude was in second grade, I was in third, and Shelby in fourth. And I was Glenda the Good Witch and Jude was the Lion. He wanted to be Scarecrow, but you had already made the lion costume. The kids made fun of him at school.”

  Mrs. Collier put down the gingham dress, her face pinched like she was sucking on a sourball. “I don’t remember that.”

  Caroline came closer to the table and lightly touched the pleated skirt of a cheerleading uniform. “You wouldn’t. Jude never told you because he didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  “I never knew,” Mrs. Collier said softly as she laid her hand gently on the gingham fabric again.

  Caroline looked as if she wanted to say something else and even lifted a hand as if to touch her mother, but quickly dropped it and with a jerk of her chin went back to examining the items on the table.

  Jewel watched as the three women circled the table as if waltzing with memories. She felt a little zing in her head again as the tension in the room became almost touchable. If Caroline and her mother accidentally bumped into each other, Jewel figured there’d probably be lightning.

  Caroline leaned closer to get a better look at a class photograph, the one that showed Jewel’s mom in fourth grade holding hands in a playground with a boy who came up to her shoulders. Suddenly Jewel realized who that boy was. A deep blue aura seemed to grow around Caroline and crept into Jewel’s head again, giving her blind spots on the edges of her vision.

  Grandma Rainy put a hand on Caroline’s arm. “You made such beautiful memory quilts when you were in high school. I would love for you to help me and Jewel make Shelby’s.”

  Caroline’s aura deepened almost to purple. If grief and old sadness had a color, it would be that one. Her dad had it sometimes, too.

  Caroline backed away from the table, shaking her head. “I . . . can’t. I haven’t quilted in years. I wouldn’t even know how to begin.”

  Jewel watched as her grandmother and Mrs. Collier exchanged glances, and the sharp, stabbing pains in her head nearly obliterated her sight. The door opened and she felt her dad walk into the room, and the tension in the room came crashing down on her head. Whatever was between Caroline and her mother was even worse when it came to Caroline and her dad.

  Her father turned to Grandma Rainy. “I’ve put all the chairs in the back room. I’ll bring the table next time.” He glanced around at the solemn faces. “Everything okay in here?” He gave a pointed glance at Caroline. “Anybody throwing things?”

  She felt her grandmother put an arm around her shoulders. “Everything’s fine. I’m going to get Jewel another cup of tea; then you can take her home.” She threw a look over her shoulder at Caroline. “And think about helping us out with the quilt. You really have a gift, and I could sure use the help.”

  Jewel stared back at Caroline through the pain swallowing her head and saw a lost girl who seemed to be drowning on solid ground and didn’t know how to come up for air. She closed her eyes again and let her grandmother lead her from the room.

  CHAPTER 6

  July 3, 1986

  The Colliers have come back to their house for the summer. Jude has grown about four inches and is taller than Caroline now. I think that really pisses her off. I think she always thought of her height as something she could point out to people—especially her mom—as if to say that at least in one area of her life she was bigger than Jude.

  We all went swimming in the lake yesterday. The water is still freezing, so after a quick jump I was back on the dock. Jude didn’t want me to be lonely so he tucked us up in a big towel and we sat together and watched Caroline swim. She’s so beautiful in the water. She wraps the water around her body like it’s a part of her, and nobody can move faster. She’s got a closetful of trophies to prove it.

  Jude says that Caroline only feels beautiful when she’s in the water. Which is silly, really. Caroline could be really pretty if she made any effort. But maybe that’s what happens to a person whose trophies are hidden away in a closet.

  Caroline rapped on the neighbors’ door, hoping that Jewel was home. She’d seen Drew drive away in his truck but hadn’t seen anybody in the passenger seat. Knowing this might be her only chance, she’d fled from her house and run next door.

  It took a few minutes for anyone to answer, and Caroline was halfway down the back steps before Jewel opened the door, a surprised look on her face.

  “Sorry I took so long. I was . . . reading.”

  Caroline tried hard to hide her surprise at how much Jewel resembled her mother, Shelby. It would take a while of being around her to get over the shock. But right now it was a little like seeing a ghost. She smiled. “That’s all right. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

  Jewel shrugged. “It’ll still be there when I get back to it.” She looked at Caroline expectantly.

  Caroline glanced back over her shoulder, making sure she didn’t see her mother marching across the yard toward her. “Um, can I come in? I have a favor to ask.”

  “My dad’s not here, but he should be back in a couple of hours.”

  “Actually, I wanted to talk with you.”

  Jewel moved back and Caroline entered the house, quickly closing the door behind her and effectively hiding her from her mother’s sight. She felt all of thirteen years old again, sneaking out to the lake in the middle of the night with Jude.

  The young girl motioned for her to follow. “Want a Coke or something?”

  “Yes. Thanks.” She tried not to be nosy as she followed Jewel’s bouncing ponytail into the kitchen, but Caroline couldn’t help but notice the incredible furniture that seemed to be crammed against every available wall. The pieces all reflected good lines and artistry, much like her trophy cabinet, and she wondered if they had all been made by the same man.

  Caroline slid onto a black-painted bar stool, its four legs twisted like corkscrews. She resisted the urge to squat down next to the chair and examine it more closely and instead focused her attention on Jewel as the girl placed a Coke can in front of her and then, as if on second thought, pulled a glass from the cabinet and placed it on the counter.

  Jewel sat down across from her on a matching stool and rested her chin in her hands. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

  Those eyes were so disconcerting, Caroline faltered in her resolve as she stared into old eyes set in such a young face. To pull herself together, she took her time pouring her drink into the glass before taking a fortifying sip. She smiled. “I was wondering if I could use your phone.”

  Jewel looked at her for a moment in confusion. “Is yours out? I’ll have to check, because ours is probably out, too. . . .”

  “No, there’s nothing wrong with our phones. I just needed to use one . . . in privacy.” She smiled again. “My cell phone doesn’t work out here, and my
BlackBerry’s at the bottom of the lake. I need to call my office in Atlanta, but my mother . . . Well, it’s complicated. To avoid a conflict, I just thought I could pop over here on a semiregular basis to use your phone. I have a phone card, so there’d be no long-distance charges, and we could just sort of keep this between the two of us.”

  Caroline waited expectantly for a simple “fine” or “great,” but instead Jewel sat across from her with a frown on her face and began gnawing at her bottom lip as if she were really contemplating a more complicated answer than “yes.”

  “I don’t know. . . .”

  “Well, I guess you could tell your dad if you’d prefer not to keep anything from him. Just as long as he knows not to mention it to my mother. I know Rainy would let me use her phone, except then I’d have to get in a car and drive instead of just walking next door.”

  Jewel continued to stare at her as she worried her lip. Then she smiled. “I think we can work something out.”

  “Work something out?”

  “Yeah—like a bargain or trade or something.”

  Caroline narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, ‘a bargain or trade or something’? It won’t cost you anything. All I’m trying to do is make some phone calls in peace.”

  “Oh, I understand that. I’m just seeing if I can somehow work this to my advantage.”

  Caroline almost smiled. “I see,” she said, nodding her head slowly. “Sort of like, ‘I’ll scratch your back, and you’ll scratch mine’?”

  “Exactly.” Jewel smiled broadly. “Except it would be more along the lines of you get to use my phone, and I get coaching.”

  For a long moment Caroline felt as if her head were being held underwater and she couldn’t fill her lungs with air. “No,” she finally managed.

  “I’m a good swimmer. I know my dad doesn’t think so, but I am. I just need a coach to help me be a more competitive swimmer so I can make the swim team. And I’d be a quick learner. . . .”

  Caroline shook her head. “No. It’s not that. It’s just that . . . I can’t. I haven’t been in the water in almost thirteen years.”

  Jewel regarded her silently, her eyes probing where Caroline didn’t want to go. “Why?”

  Why? How could she explain something she didn’t really understand herself? Because I have a horrible scar that will show in a bathing suit? Because it reminds me of my dead brother? “Because I haven’t had time. I don’t think I could even float now, so I couldn’t possibly be the right person. . . .”

  Jewel leaned forward. “I’ve seen your trophies. I think you’re the perfect person to coach me.” She smiled angelically. “Especially if you need to use the phone in peace.”

  Caroline stood abruptly, knocking over her empty Coke can. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  Jewel stood too. “My mom died while swimming, you know. But I don’t think she’d want me to stay away from the water. She’d have been the first person to kick my butt and push me into the lake and tell me to get over it.”

  A corner of Caroline’s mouth turned up. “Yeah. That sounds like Shelby.” And then she thought of the water again, of the cool weight of it against her bare skin. She could feel her heart beating heavily in her chest, the feeling of restlessness falling on her again. She needed to get outside. She needed to breathe. “I need to go. Thanks for the Coke.” Taking deep breaths, she made her way to the back door without waiting for Jewel.

  Jewel called out to her, “I’ll see you Saturday.”

  Caroline turned back, a questioning look on her face.

  “At dinner. Your mom invited me and my dad.”

  Caroline nodded slowly, then continued walking. Maybe if she walked fast enough she’d be back in Atlanta before anybody noticed.

  Drew ran his hand over the smooth wood of the rocking chair, feeling the power of creation under his fingertips. He leaned forward and blew off a small scattering of sawdust, then straightened to get an overall perspective.

  He’d have to wait and see what Mrs. Collier thought, but in his own mind it was perfection. The curves of the spindles and arms were soft and round, like a woman’s body, the seat of the chair like the shape of feminine hips. He wasn’t sure where the inspiration had come from; maybe it was the thoughts of Shelby that followed him while he worked. Maybe the outline of a woman’s body embracing empty space was really what his life had become.

  Drew propped the back door open, then hoisted the chair and carried it next door. As he approached the back steps he heard the halting notes of a piano. He set the chair down on the porch and paused a moment to listen.

  He recognized the Chopin nocturne from one of Shelby’s cassette tapes he kept in the glove box of his truck because he hadn’t had the heart to give them away. The notes from the piano were choppy and unpracticed, but the depth of emotion erased all imperfections. The notes became music, and the music touched that part of him that he’d been able to reach only through woodcarving tools and sandpaper since Shelby’s death. It refreshed him and unnerved him at the same time as he realized he had a fifty-fifty chance of figuring out who the pianist was.

  He knocked on the door and the music immediately ceased as if turned off by a switch. There was a long pause and then the sound of footsteps walking across wood floors to the door. He forced a smile when Caroline answered.

  She was barefoot and wore jean shorts and a high-necked T-shirt. Her hair was swept back in a ponytail and her face was bare of even a trace of makeup. Her skin was pale, as if it had been kept away from the sun for a very long time. A corner of his mouth quirked up. It would be like her, he thought, to shun the warmth and brightness of the sun, and he wondered again what had made her be like that.

  “Was that you playing?”

  Caroline turned her head over her shoulder as if seeking another person to answer. Drew followed her gaze to the upright piano set against the wall in the great room. The lid had been closed over the keys as if to hide the evidence. “Yes.”

  “Have you been playing for a long time?”

  “No.”

  “That was Chopin, wasn’t it?”

  She sighed, as if the effort of issuing monosyllabic responses were too much for her. “Yes.”

  “Is your mother home?”

  “No.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away for a moment, trying not to grin. She reminded him so much of Jewel’s pre-pubescent attitude it was hard to believe that Caroline wasn’t thirteen. And then he remembered the smile that had radiated from her face when she’d been examining the quilt in Rainy Days, and he looked back at Caroline, trying to fathom where that woman was and why she was kept hidden.

  Drew nodded toward the rocking chair on the porch floor beside him. “I’ve brought a chair over for your mother on approval. If she likes it, I can make three more for her.”

  Caroline glanced over at the chair as if noticing it for the first time. She left her position as guardian of the back door and placed both hands on the arms of the chair. Slowly she slid her hands around the curved headrest and down the rest of the chair until she reached the rockers at the bottom. It was like watching a woman caress a new lover for the first time, and Drew had to look away for a moment.

  Finally she said, “It’s very feminine, isn’t it? It reminds me of a pregnant woman almost. Sort of lush and round and ripe. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Drew stared at her in surprise. Lush and round and ripe. Those were the same words that had bounced around his head as he’d been making the chair. He shifted the chair over so that the seat of it was facing Caroline. “Do you want to take it for a trial spin?”

  She gave him a tentative smile before sitting down, placing her hands on the armrests, closing her eyes, and leaning her head back. She was swallowed by the chair like a child in her mother’s arms, and for the second time since he’d known her he saw the wariness leave her face. Once again he was intrigued by this woman and the masks she wore and wondered if getting beneath t
hem would be worth the bruises he’d have to endure.

  She pushed her feet against the porch floor and rocked back and forth a few times before opening her eyes again, and for a moment Drew was broadsided by their gray-green intensity. Until she spoke. “You could make a fortune mass-producing your furniture. I’ve seen only two pieces up close, but if there’s more where this stuff came from, the sky’s the limit.”

  Something deflated inside of him. He’d thought for a moment that she understood that what she was sitting in wasn’t just a piece of furniture. He should have realized that he’d known her long enough to have known better.

  He leaned over her. “Get up. Please,” he added.

  She stood, obviously annoyed. “It’s just silly for you to be selling your furniture piece by piece at Rainy’s when you could be making a lot of money. Trust me—I know a lot about it. I’ve worked for a furniture manufacturer for over ten years. Kobylt Brothers Furniture—maybe you’ve heard of them?”

  Drew lifted the chair and moved it to safety at the other side of the porch. “I’m not interested.”

  “Why not? Your pieces are so unique. I could see an entire line coming from just a few of your designs. It could even be called the Drew . . .” She paused, and he could see she was having trouble coming up with his last name. He didn’t enlighten her.

  Caroline waved her hand through the air. “Well, whatever. It could be a big deal for you.”

  “I don’t want or need a big deal. I’m happy the way things are.” Despite his words, he felt the old spark ignite inside of him. It’s been so long. Pushing the thought away, he moved toward the porch steps. “Just tell your mother I was here and to let me know if she wants more of these chairs.”

  She followed him with a determined gait. “Can I come see your workroom and check out more of your stuff? I’d love to tell my boss—”