Pieces of the Heart

by Karen White

  “Don’t I know it.” His gaze swung around the room until it rested on Jewel in the athletic association booth, who was waving at them. He waved back. “Are you staying for the bonfire tonight?”

  Caroline shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought about it. I don’t think so. I came with my mom, and I don’t think that’s her kind of thing.”

  “How about I bring you home, then? That way your mom can leave early if she wants.”

  “Yeah, I guess. . . .”

  “Great. It’s all settled then. We’ll find Margaret and tell her. First, why don’t we go do the water-balloon toss? I’d like to take my chances just so I can see you in a wet T-shirt again.”

  He was grinning, and she couldn’t resist grinning back. She looked around the crowded gym at all the people dressed in costumes, talking and laughing. It sucked her in, as she supposed Drew had expected it to. She met his eyes. “I have to warn you: I have a great throwing arm, and I have every intention of staying dry.”

  “There you go again. You know I can’t resist a challenge.” He stuck out his hand. “After you. Loser has to carry the backpack on our hike tomorrow.”

  “Better get ready then, because it’s not going to be me.”

  He laughed and followed her to the booth, where a plump vampire took their tickets and placed the large bear behind the counter.

  “You two know how this works?” The vampire wore his fangs over braces, which made it difficult to understand him.

  Caroline nodded. “Absolutely. We toss the water balloon to each other while we take a step back after every toss. And in the end he bursts the balloon and gets soaked.”

  The vampire laughed. “Yep. Something like that.” He handed the balloon to Caroline and showed them both to the lines marked with masking tape. “You can start now.”

  Caroline smiled at Drew, trying to remember the last time she’d had this much fun. Or any fun. She thought of her own quilt again, thinking that there would be only two squares on the entire thing: one for work and one for sleep.

  With a gentle underhand toss, she lobbed the balloon at Drew. He caught it carefully and then, with an evil grin, tossed it back to her. Each toss became more and more challenging, but both of them managed to catch the balloon without breaking it until they stood fifteen feet apart.

  Drew had the balloon, and he smiled as he gingerly tossed it from one hand to the other. “So. What will you give me if I drop this here?”

  “A pat on the back?” She looked innocently at him.

  “I was thinking of something a little more intimate.”

  She blushed but didn’t lose her composure. “A pat on the head, then.”

  He shook his head, then did a good imitation of a major-league pitcher doing his windup before a pitch, then released the balloon. It flew high overhead, and to Caroline it seemed to be moving in slow motion. She watched it sailing over her, and she had the sudden memory of Jude pelting her with water balloons when she’d made the swim team for the first time. It was the clearest memory she had of him: laughing and full of joy and as happy for her as she herself had been. Yes, Jude. I see. She placed her hands on top of her head and allowed the balloon to hit her hands, wet and stinging at the same time, the water cascading down her face like a blessing of holy water.

  When she finally opened her eyes she spotted Drew in front of her, his face closed and concerned. “Are you all right? I threw it high enough so you could step out of the way.”

  She smiled and took his hand. “I know. I guess I wanted to get wet.”

  He looked down at her soaked T-shirt, and his mouth quirked. “Well, I got that part right.” He pulled off his own sweater and held it out to her. “This is becoming a habit with us, isn’t it? Here—put this on, unless you really do want to flash everybody here. I see a bunch of teenage boys over by the basket raffle and their eyes are about to fall out of their heads.”

  She quickly slid the sweater over her wet hair, enjoying the warmth and Drew’s scent that clung to the soft cotton. Awkwardly she smiled up at him. “Sorry about getting your sweater wet.”

  “Trust me, Caroline, it’s not a problem.”

  Caroline looked away and saw somebody waving from the athletic booth. “I think that’s my mom—let’s go see what she wants.”

  Drew took her hand and pulled her through the crowd. She was surprised to see her mother on her knees next to a seated Jewel and holding a wet paper towel to Jewel’s forehead.

  Drew squatted next to Caroline’s mother. “Are you all right, hon?”

  Jewel shrugged. “It just kinda hit me suddenly. And it’s different this time, too. It’s like more pressure than pain.” Her eyes clenched and her hand went to her forehead.

  “I’ll take you home right now.” He took the paper towel from Caroline’s mother and gently pressed it against Jewel’s cheek.

  Caroline’s mother stood. “Actually, they don’t really need me here. I’d be happy to take her to her grandmother. Rainy’s tea is the only thing that seems to help.” Margaret still wore her tweed suit, but it now sported a rhinestone pumpkin pin.

  Drew slowly shook his head. “I don’t think so. She really seems to be in a lot of pain. I’d feel better if I were with her.”

  Jewel pulled her father’s hand away from her face. “Dad, I’ll be fine. Grandma Rainy always makes it better. Mrs. Collier has to drive by Rainy Days on her way home, so she might as well drop me off.”

  He still looked undecided. Jewel must have guessed this, because she said, “Really, Dad. Stay. I don’t think your hovering over me is going to make me feel any better.”

  His eyes widened. “No, I don’t suppose so.”

  “And Grandma Rainy gave you her cell phone so she can reach you if she needs you.”

  “True . . .”

  She pressed her fingers against her forehead again. “Then it’s all settled. Mrs. Collier will bring me to Grandma’s and I’ll just see you later.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded, her eyes closed. “Definitely. Just don’t forget the blanket in the back of your truck for the bonfire.”

  Caroline studied Jewel’s face for any hint of subterfuge, but the young girl really seemed to be in pain.

  Drew stood. “Thanks for the reminder,” he said, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. “I’ll call Rainy so she’ll have something ready for you when you get there.”

  While he was on the phone, Caroline turned to her mother. “How are place mat sales going?”

  “You won’t believe it—every single one of them. And look—Coach Dempsey blew up the picture Jewel took of her mother’s quilt and posted it on this huge backboard. We’ve already sold over one hundred tickets for the auction.” She indicated a six-by-six-foot whiteboard. Shelby’s quilt appeared almost life-size, and Caroline had to step back to take it all in.

  “We’ve done a pretty good job, haven’t we?”

  Her mother crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. “You’ve done a great job, Caroline. I’ve been telling everybody that you did the quilt and we just helped.”

  Warmth twisted inside of her as she faced her mother. “But that’s not true.”

  “Sure it is. You’re such an artist. I always wondered why you chose to be an accountant instead of something more creative. You’re just so good.”

  A woman and her daughter came and stood by the whiteboard, and Caroline’s mother moved toward them with a roll of raffle tickets. Caroline simply stood staring at her mother’s back. Had she always believed those things? Or was this just the first time that Caroline had really paid attention long enough to listen?

  Drew closed his cell phone and clipped it on his belt. “All right. Rainy’s got the tea brewing already. I told her you would be there soon—and that I’ll call a little later to see how you’re doing.”

  He helped pull Jewel from her seat, and Caroline watched as the girl leaned into her father. His big hands went around her shoulders as her head rested on his chest.
Margaret handed the roll of raffle tickets to a teenage helper in the booth and gently took Jewel from her father. She supported the girl in the same way Drew had, and Caroline wondered if that particular stance was something a person was born knowing or something you learned when you became a parent.

  Drew tugged on her hand. “Come on. Let’s put Mr. Bear in the truck and get the blanket. If we get there early enough, we can stake out the best spot for the bonfire.”

  Caroline nodded absently, feeling the now-familiar sense of going forward on a moving sidewalk, unsure of where she was heading but not quite ready to step off yet, either.

  Drew watched Caroline from the corner of his eye as they headed out to his truck. There was something in the way she walked that seemed different to him. Her footsteps were surer and more solid, as if she had a good idea of where she was going now. He knew better than to mention it, though, sensing the old Caroline still close to the surface. But after seeing her face when he’d tossed that last water balloon, he knew that there was room now to hope.

  He slung the blanket over his shoulder and led the way through the parking lot to behind the football stadium, where a farm pasture had been set up for the bonfire. Tall stacks of timber and kindling stood in a large triangle in the middle of a clearing where people had already begun to stake their claims on spots of ground with brightly covered blankets, creating the illusion of a large quilt.

  “Over here,” he said, leading Caroline to the edge of the pasture where small spruces marked the edge of the woods. “It will be easier to get to the truck this way and we won’t be blasted by the heat.”

  She nodded, looking small and vulnerable swallowed in his sweater, and he found he couldn’t stop watching her—this Caroline who seemed to be in the process of making peace with her past. She began to roll up the too-long sleeves of his sweater as she spoke. “We used to do this as kids—Jude and me. When we were real small our parents would come, too. My mom would pack a big cooler of food and drinks, and we’d stay here really late. Well, it was probably only ten o’clock or something, but when you’re young it’s way past your bedtime. We’d lie on our backs and look at the stars and pretend we were seeing the constellations our dad pointed out to us.” She grabbed two corners of the blanket and helped him spread it on their patch of ground.

  “Shelby would take Jewel to these kinds of things all the time. I can’t say that I ever joined them.” He felt the old stab of guilt, but this time it was tempered somewhat, as if the guilt didn’t sit in front of him anymore, but had been left on the road somewhere far behind.

  She sat down near the middle of the blanket and pulled her knees up. “It’s going to be dark soon.”

  He sat next to her and put a small cooler on the blanket in front of them. “I come bearing gifts,” he said as he opened it and handed her a beer. “Nonalcoholic for you. I hope you don’t mind. Jewel and I were looking up heart transplants on the Internet the other day, and I saw that one of the things they suggest is for recipients to give up alcohol. I hope you don’t mind.”

  He saw a flash of the old Caroline for a moment as she took the offered bottle. “Why on earth were you searching the Internet for that?”

  He focused on opening her bottle, not meeting her eyes. “Jewel was curious about your donor. She was looking to see if there were any accounts of recipients having talents after the transplant that they didn’t have before.”

  Despite the chilliness of the night, she held the frosty bottle to her cheek. “Did she find anything?”

  “Not really. Several accounts of people with new talents, but most attribute it to their newfound energy and lease on life.”

  She looked up to where the light was just leaving the sky and the evening stars were beginning to shine. Turning toward him, she took a sip of her beer, then put it down. She deliberated over her words, and he waited until she was ready.

  “You can tell her it’s true. At least with me.”

  The bonfire exploded into light and flame behind them, creating a halo behind her head and a shadow where her face was. But when she turned her head, she glowed again as if the light that had fallen from the sky now filled her from the inside.

  They watched the bonfire for a long moment before he spoke. “Did you know your donor?”

  She nodded, her eyes meeting his. “It was Jude. They put Jude’s heart into me.”

  She watched him closely, as if measuring his reaction. He wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but all he could feel was the endless capacity of a heart to grieve and the even greater capacity to love.

  He touched her face. “What an amazing gift.”

  She was looking at him oddly, her head tilted to the side as a person did when they couldn’t hear clearly.

  “What is it?”

  She gave him a half smile. “Nothing. It’s just . . . well, I’ve never told anybody before. I always thought their reaction would be . . . different.”

  He put his bottle in the grass and moved closer to take both of her hands in his. “I can’t speak for anybody else, but I can honestly say that my first thought was that you have received the most incredible gift of love imaginable. From both Jude—and your mother. It was her decision, wasn’t it?”

  She didn’t answer as hot tears splashed on his hands, and he lifted a finger to gently wipe her eyes.

  “Maybe you haven’t thought of it that way before?”

  She shook her head. “I always thought it was my punishment—a reminder of my mistake.”

  He moved her into his lap, needing to put his arms around her, to somehow take the pain away. She affected him this way, and he didn’t know why. When did things change between us? As he held her to him, he remembered holding her after she’d fallen into the lake. It had been then, he thought. When he’d seen the girl she had once been and become determined to find the woman she was supposed to be. And now, holding her in his arms, he found that he had.

  Bending close to her ear, he whispered, “I wish I could show you, when you are lonely or in darkness, the astonishing light of your own being.”

  She looked up at him with a look of surprise, her eyes bright.

  “If Jude had been given the chance to choose, where do you think he’d want his heart to be?”

  She blinked in confusion, and he knew there was more she had to tell him. But it wasn’t the time right now; now with the rising moon, the stars in the sky and the light of the bonfire making her glow as if from her own inner fire.

  He bent his head to hers and kissed her, and one by one the stars went out, leaving only a burning glow behind his eyelids as she pulled him closer and began to kiss him back.

  CHAPTER 25

  June 25, 1991

  Jude and Caroline have been at their lake house all summer. When I’m old and gray, and I have to think back to a time when my life was perfect, I’ll pick this summer. Caroline’s been teaching swim lessons at the Y before she goes to swim camp next month, and Jude and I have been working at my grandmother’s store. It’s so wonderful to see him every day. I thought that maybe seeing him all the time might make me not miss him so much when I get back to UNC. But even at night when I know he’s just next door, I miss him. This must be what an addict feels like—never having enough. I’m already wondering how I’m going to survive the weeks between when school starts and Thanksgiving break. He gave me his football jersey to sleep in, but it’s a poor substitute for the real thing.

  Drew sends a letter about once a week. He says he’s actually enjoying working at his dad’s law office but is looking forward to the start of school. He keeps his letters light and funny and impersonal, and I try to answer them in the same way, but I can tell that he’s waiting for me to tell him that Jude and I are no longer together, but I know that will never happen. I miss Drew, but in the way that a girl would miss her favorite pair of shoes or her best bike when she’s grown out of it. I wish that I could tell him this, but I think he already knows.

  Last night, after everybo
dy was asleep, Jude and I went swimming in the lake. We made love in the water and again on the shore, and more than ever I feel like there will only ever be the two of us. We just need to survive these separations, even though it’s killing both of us. As we lay on the dock with our skin drying, and the full moon lighting the night like a giant flashlight, we were waiting for the laughing call of the loon. But he must have been sleeping, because all we heard was the water lapping against the dock pilings, and the breeze blowing our hair and chilling our skin.

  Caroline rose early the next morning, having slept soundly through the night for the first time since she’d returned to Hart’s Valley. She felt lighter, as if a heavy burden she’d been used to carrying had suddenly shifted. It wasn’t gone, but it was easier to carry. She looked at her reflection in the bathroom and smiled, almost hearing Jude’s voice. If I didn’t know you better, Caroline, I’d say you were looking almost perky. She had hated that word, which was why, of course, Jude had always chosen to use it.

  She dressed quickly in her hiking shorts and boots and hurried out of her bedroom. She wanted to grab a cup of coffee and whip out a few place mats on the sewing machine before her mother got up and before Drew came to pick her up for their hiking trip. She warmed at the thought of him, and allowed herself a little bit of hope.

  When she entered the great room, she found her mother fully dressed in a lemon-yellow linen pantsuit, sitting at the quilting table, her glasses perched on the end of her nose and quietly stitching on a corner panel of Shelby’s quilt. She looked up as Caroline entered, and smiled.

  “I didn’t expect you to be up so early. I was up early myself and I thought I might as well finish this square I was working on yesterday.”

  Caroline waited for disappointment at the unexpected interruption of her solitude, but instead found herself looking forward to being alone with her mother and working with her on the quilt. She didn’t analyze the feeling, wanting instead just to savor it before it went away.