Pieces of the Heart

by Karen White

  He cradled her head as something snapped inside him, like a bubble bursting from bright sunlight. He saw things with a clarity he usually experienced only while crafting out of a block of wood something he could see in his head. It wasn’t about the scar. It had never been about the scar.

  Lifting her face, he pressed his cheek against hers, remembering the words somebody else had once whispered in his own ear on the day he’d buried his father. “I wish I could show you, when you are lonely or in darkness, the astonishing light of your own being.”

  She pulled her head back slightly so she could look in his eyes. “Shelby . . . right?”

  He nodded. “One of her favorites. She said it once to me, and I thought it was appropriate for you right now.”

  She dropped her eyes, staring at the middle of his chest where her tears had made a dark spot on his shirt. “It’s not because of the scar that I don’t swim.”

  “I know.”

  Her tear-soaked eyes flicked up, an unasked question lurking inside.

  Drew spoke softly. “How did Jude die, Caroline? Does it have anything to do with your scar?”

  Her brows puckered, and she nodded, her eyes studying his shirt again. Her trembling had subsided, but he kept his arms held tightly around her.

  He waited until she looked up again and started to speak. “It was a car accident. Jude was killed in a car accident, and my heart was damaged so badly that I needed a new one.”

  He let the words sink in. “Were you driving?”

  She looked away toward the lake and shook her head. “No. He was. I was in the passenger seat.”

  “Then why do you feel so responsible for his death?”

  Her eyes were dry as she continued to stare out over the water. “Because I promised my mother that I wouldn’t let him drive. He was being punished because he had just gotten another speeding ticket. But he was Jude, you see.” A brittle smile lifted her lips, and just as quickly it died. “Nobody could ever tell him no. He told me Mom would never find out. So I switched seats and let him drive.”

  His grip tightened. “It was an accident, Caroline. You couldn’t have stopped it.”

  “But he wasn’t supposed to be driving. It had been raining, and when the car slipped on some wet leaves, he didn’t know what to do.”

  He couldn’t take looking at her empty face and dry eyes. Gently he pulled her head to his chest. “You can’t keep blaming yourself. It was an accident.”

  “You don’t understand. Jude wasn’t supposed to die. Everybody loved him, and people like that just don’t die.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “And every time my mother looks at me, I know that she can’t help but think that the wrong child died.”

  Oh, God. He couldn’t speak. All the words in the world could not heal the wounded woman he held in his arms. But then he remembered the woman who cared enough to save an injured bird and who had once planned to travel around the world, and he knew that he would have to at least try.

  She kept her head on his chest until she slept, dry eyed. He kissed her lightly on the top of her head before he, too, fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 18

  May 16, 1990

  Everybody’s teasing me because I’m bringing a younger guy to my senior prom. They can’t understand that I don’t even notice other guys, and that if Jude couldn’t come, I wouldn’t be going. Ever since spring break, when we realized how it was between us, things have changed.

  The only person I’ve really been able to tell is Caroline. She didn’t blink an eye and accepted it as I would imagine she accepts that each day will become night. She asked me what had taken us so long to figure it out, since she’s known for years, and that made me laugh. Caroline is so wise in so many ways. So quiet, but with eyes that see everything and with a heart that knows all. I hope I have a daughter just like her someday.

  My mom helped me find the perfect dress. It’s yellow, with small daisy appliqués and a sweetheart neckline. At first I thought the color made me look like a six-year-old, but when I tried it on I knew it was perfect. I imagined I could see myself in Jude’s eyes, and I liked what I saw. I think my senior prom will be a special night I’ll remember forever.

  I made the mistake of saying that to Caroline, and her only comment was to make sure I brought condoms! I almost died. But then she told me she always carried them around in her purse just in case, and that shocked the hell out of me. She told me she’s still a virgin and likely to remain that way for a long, long time, but that she always likes to be prepared just in case. She said that the first guy she slept with didn’t necessarily have to be a guy she knew that well or even liked—just somebody with the right equipment who could teach her the mechanics of what’s involved. That’s so Caroline. For such a creative person, she’s very methodical about most things. If I didn’t think a career as an accountant or something would be a huge waste of her creative juices, I could imagine her being very successful as one. But then I wonder if her obsession with methods and order is her way of tying down a creative mind and joyful heart that would soar all day long without Caroline (and her mother) to rein it in.

  Caroline put her hands to her face for about the thousandth time that night, feeling the heat in her cheeks as she remembered the mortification of the previous day. She tried to focus on the embarrassment instead of the other emotions that seemed to bombard her every waking thought. Like the feelings caused by Drew holding her tightly in his arms. And the feeling of his warm breath on her neck and on the top of her head when he’d kissed her.

  Most of all, she remembered the feeling of being under the water again, of the cold wetness against her skin like soft hands, and the power she felt as she pushed it aside to propel her body. In the moments before the chilly iciness had taken over her senses, she had almost forgotten why she’d given up swimming, why the self-punishment had been necessary, and how she could have once thought that the joy and rightness of her moving through water could ever be taken out of her life.

  I wish I could show you, when you are lonely or in darkness, the astonishing light of your own being. She buried her face in the pillow again, remembering his words. How could he know just the right thing to say to her? The last time she’d seen Shelby, after Jude’s funeral and before Shelby returned to college, she’d visited Caroline in the hospital and been witness to Caroline’s battered body and soul, and to the hollow numbness that beat in her chest. And Shelby had said those same words to Caroline. Right before she’d told Caroline to get off her ass and stop feeling sorry for herself. Not in those exact words, but they had been just as effective.

  She’d always meant to write or call Shelby after that, but by the time she was recovered enough to think about it, Shelby had gotten married. It had always seemed the ultimate betrayal to her, but now, years later, she couldn’t help but wonder if there had been an underlying reason. After finally meeting Drew, she could almost understand. Almost.

  Giving up on sleep completely, Caroline threw back the sheets and sat up to glare at the clock. One thirty in the morning was becoming way too familiar to her. Sliding on her slippers, she tried to look at the bright side of things. At least at this hour she could brew an entire pot of real coffee all for herself instead of that tepid stuff her mother was making her drink.

  She put the coffeemaker in the laundry room so her mother wouldn’t hear it, then wandered into the great room while waiting for the coffee to brew. Flipping on a lamp, she paused by the quilting table and gazed down at the scraps of fabrics, smelling the new cotton batting, her fingers itching to feel the tug of needle and thread. A stab of alarm hit her as she realized what little progress had been made. A few photographs had been silk-screened and attached to large squares of the blue fabric her mother had picked out, but everything else was scattered about the table in a haphazard mess with no sense of placement or continuity. Nothing had actually been attached to the backing piece at all.

  Pulling the full carafe from the coffeemaker in the laundry
room, she moved it to the folding table by her side and poured herself a cup. She had almost finished the entire cup before she decided to sit down and see if she could at least help get them started.

  She spotted the yellow piece of satin and picked it up, smiling to herself as she remembered Shelby trying on for her the dress it came from. Somewhere in the boxes of photos, there was a prom picture of Shelby in the dress and Jude standing next to her. When she found it, she decided, she’d put it in a frame for Rainy. But right now she’d cut out a miniature yellow dress from the scrap and lay it down on the backing just to help them out.

  When she first picked up the needle and began threading it with pale yellow, the old excitement gripped her and she could feel her brain working separately from what she was telling it to do. It was in those moments that she’d always thought of the most creative things. Jude had once told her that when he sat down at the piano to play, he felt the same way.

  With a fabric pen, she drew an outline of the dress as she remembered it, then began to cut. In the silence of the sleeping house surrounded by the smell of coffee, she could almost believe that things were the way they had been when she was a girl, and she found comfort in it. But somewhere, in the back of her mind, she did know where she was—that her mother was sleeping alone in a bedroom nearby, that Drew and Jewel were in the house next door, and that an injured loon was being taken care of by a woman who had fought cancer and won—and that it wasn’t such a bad place to be.

  Jewel and her grandmother knocked on the Colliers’ door at seven thirty a.m. Jewel didn’t complain, because once she was on the swim team, she’d have to wake up even earlier on school days to practice or for meets. She hoped her dad had noticed how sprightly and alert she was when she’d stuck her head in his workroom to tell him where she’d be.

  The door was opened by a bright-eyed and perky Caroline wearing a long sleep shirt and fuzzy slippers. Jewel almost looked past her shoulders to find out where this person standing in the doorway had hidden the real Caroline.

  Grandma Rainy smiled, too, but it looked like the kind of smile you gave somebody who was wearing her shirt inside out. “Well, aren’t you a breath of sunshine this morning.” She moved inside the house as Caroline stepped back. “Is your mother up yet? I’m sorry to be here so early, but Jewel wanted to pick up the place mats you made before school.”

  Mrs. Collier made her appearance wearing an apple-green flowy dress thing with pants and matching house slippers with bows. Jewel had always thought that only people on TV commercials dressed that way.

  “Good morning, everyone. I’ll be dressed in just a moment—I just want to get the coffee started.”

  Caroline appeared not to have heard. She pointed to the craft table. “I actually have a bunch of place mats for you, Jewel. I can’t seem to stop myself once I get started.”

  The bench that had been practically bare the previous week now held about fifteen multihued place mats. Jewel walked closer and picked one up. “Hey, they all have a bird outline stitched on them.”

  “It’s a loon. I used to put them on all my quilts as a sort of signature. I hope it’s all right.”

  “It’s perfect—it makes them really stand out, I think.” She held it higher to get a better look. “Wow, look at these tiny stitches. Did you use a machine for them?”

  “Absolutely not. And I’d watch what I say if I were you. In some quilting circles, those can be considered fighting words.”

  Jewel laughed, then started picking up the place mats. She was startled to hear Mrs. Collier calling loudly from the kitchen.

  “Caroline—why is the coffeepot in the laundry room?”

  Caroline swore under her breath, using a word Jewel was pretty sure would send her to her room for a week.

  “That’s not regular coffee, is it?” Mrs. Collier marched into the room holding an almost empty coffeepot with the electrical cord dangling.

  Caroline crossed her arms over her chest. “It might be.”

  Mrs. Collier let out a heavy sigh and put the pot down on a side table before approaching her daughter. “How do you feel?”

  Her face brightened. “Really alert. Almost perky.”

  Mrs. Collier grabbed hold of one of Caroline’s wrists, and Jewel watched her count beats as she looked at the clock on the wall.

  “It’s really fast. Have you checked your blood pressure this morning?”

  “No, I haven’t. And it was only caffeine—it’s not like I OD’d on heroin or something.” Caroline stumbled a bit and held her hand to her head. “Whoa. Just a little light-headed, that’s all.”

  Pulling her daughter over to a sofa to sit, Mrs. Collier asked, “Did you drink any water?”

  With her eyes closed and her head against the back of the sofa, Caroline shook her head. “I wasn’t thirsty. I’d been drinking coffee all night and hardly felt the need for water.”

  Mrs. Collier turned to Jewel. “Could you please go get a glass of water from the kitchen and bring it here?”

  Jewel nodded and raced to the kitchen. Even without watching the mother-daughter tug-of-war, she could still hear the battle being fought from the words that weren’t spoken. But she noticed something else, too. Besides what was being said or not said, it was clear to anybody listening that both women were on the same side of the battlefield.

  Jewel handed the glass to Caroline, then sat next to her on the sofa. “Why can’t you have caffeine?”

  “Good question. Why don’t you ask the warden?” She indicated her mother with her elbow while taking a long drink of water.

  Mrs. Collier crossed her arms over her chest the way Caroline had done when her mother first entered the room. It was so weird how much they looked alike. If Caroline ever got married, Jewel would have to tell her husband to look long and hard at Mrs. Collier because that’s what he’d be married to in thirty years. Which, except for the fact that she was old, wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

  Caroline put the glass on the coffee table. Sitting beside her daughter, Mrs. Collier reached for the glass and handed it back. “You need to drink all of it. And when you’re through, I want you to get more and drink all of that, too.”

  “Mom, really. I can take care of myself.”

  “Then why aren’t you?”

  Caroline sank back into the sofa without answering.

  Mrs. Collier turned to Jewel. “In answer to your question, caffeine seems to have a negative effect on Caroline’s blood pressure and heart rate—which isn’t unusual with heart-transplant recipients. A little is okay every once in a while.” She sent a pointed glare in Caroline’s direction. “But too much can make her blood pressure soar and her heart beat at a much higher rate than it should—which is why we need to limit the caffeine. See, when a new heart is put in, a lot of the nerves are severed and the recipient loses a lot of feeling around the heart. A lot of times the recipient misses the signs of a heart attack because they simply can’t feel the pain. Which is why we need to eliminate as many of the causes as we can.”

  “I didn’t have that much.”

  Mrs. Collier narrowed her eyes. “How much? A pot?”

  Caroline just stared at her mother and blinked.

  “Oh, Lord, Caroline. Did you have two pots?”

  Caroline gave her mom a little smile. “There’s still a little left in the second pot.”

  Mrs. Collier sighed, then took the empty glass and stood. “Another thing with heart-transplant recipients is the danger of kidney failure. Caroline’s antirejection drugs can also harm her kidneys. Which is why she needs to drink lots of water to keep them as healthy as possible.” She turned and began striding toward the kitchen, her green floaty thing flying behind her like the cape of a superhero. “Of course, if one doesn’t care about oneself, then one can just ignore all the medical advice and then do what one wants.”

  Her footsteps stopped abruptly, and both Jewel and Caroline leaned forward to see why she’d stopped.

  Mrs. Collier stood next
to Grandma Rainy by the craft table and they were both looking at the quilt that lay across the top. Jewel was about to turn away when she realized that her grandmother had tears slipping down her cheeks.

  She moved to stand on the other side of her grandmother. “What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t need an answer as she caught sight of the quilt. The top row of eight squares, each one ten inches wide, had been completed. Each one showed a part of her mother’s babyhood, from the birth dates stitched on the first square to portions of baby blankets, clothing, and the actual shoelaces from her first pair of shoes. But the most special part of it was the tiny loon that had been stitched on each square. He seemed to be swimming from square to square, always seen in a different position, but sleek and beautiful and always pointing forward as if anticipating the next square.

  Caroline joined them. “I would have done more, but I couldn’t remember where all the scraps came from.” She held up the yellow satin that had been cut into the shape of an evening gown. “I couldn’t remember if this was from her junior or senior prom.”

  Jewel took the fabric. “Senior prom.”

  The three women looked at her in surprise.

  “I, um, remember my mother telling me about this dress, that’s all.”

  Mrs. Collier pulled out a neatly pressed linen handkerchief from her lounge pants and gently pressed it into Grandma Rainy’s hand. “Take this before you make water spots on my table.” Her voice sounded suspiciously thick, and there was no disguising her sniffle as she turned to Caroline.

  Surprising everyone, she hugged her daughter. Caroline’s hands lay at her sides as if she didn’t know what to do with them. Grandma Rainy tugged on one hand and put it at Mrs. Collier’s waist, and Caroline must have caught on, because she raised her other hand, too. They stood like that for a long time, and Caroline’s fingers clutched at her mother’s green robe as if hanging on to something precious she didn’t want to let go.