Cora's Heart: A Cypress Hollow Yarn

by Rachael Herron

  It hit her while staring at the paper products that one could pack more toilet paper in a smaller space if the cardboard core was removed and the tissue rewound, like winding yarn off a cone into a ball. It was something she would experiment with later. Brilliant. It might even make a good little video.

  “Hello?”

  Not recognizing the voice, Cora went up the bomb shelter steps, pushing the heavy door closed behind her. It was her spot. No one else’s.

  “Hello?” she called back.

  “Hey, you.”

  Trixie. Pretty much the last person Cora would have expected to visit. She looked down at her overalls, comparing them to Trixie’s perfect skinny-legged jeans. No rhinestones on Cora’s ass, that was for sure. A goat would nibble those off in a split second of distraction.

  “Royal and I were in the area, and he wanted to see your little place here.”

  “Mine?” Cora was confused. “Not Mac’s next door? Is Mac with you?” She peered behind Trixie and felt a surprising amount of disappointment when Royal shook his head.

  “I’m just getting a feel for the land around here,” said Royal. He looked delightedly at Trixie. “Turns out I have the best tour guide in the county.”

  “Maybe if I do a good enough job, he’ll give me a horse.” Trixie touched his shoulder and smiled.

  Royal looked dazed. “Okay,” he said.

  “Oh, you silly thing. I was teasing. I don’t want a horse.”

  Cora said, “Olivia would like it if you got one, though.”

  “Olivia?” said Royal.

  Trixie turned so that she faced Cora. “What?”

  Cora bit her lip. What had she been thinking? “I met your daughter last week at the farmers market.”

  “Oh.” Trixie frowned. “Don’t mind her. She’s going through a phase.”

  “Seems like a great kid.”

  “You talked horses?”

  “She didn’t want to talk about anything else.” Cora wouldn’t ask if Olivia had told her mother about the stables. Every teenaged girl needed a few secrets, she remembered that, at least.

  But Trixie made the connection. Slowly, she said, “You’re the one who took her to ride the other day.”

  So she did know. “She’s a natural.”

  “You?” If Trixie’s eyes could shoot lasers – and Cora wouldn’t be surprised – she’d be dead on the spot.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Damned right you’re sorry. You pick up a girl from the high school without her mother’s permission –”

  She hitchhiked. “I didn’t pick her up.”

  “Even worse! You make a girl you barely know ride the public bus to a place at the back of beyond, and then put her up on a horse. Did she happen to sign a liability waiver by any chance?”

  God, Cora hadn’t even thought of that. How had that not crossed her mind? She knew the Windward kids were signed off – she’d had to make copies of some of the forms when she’d been helping out a couple of months ago.

  What if Olivia had been pitched from the horse and ended up breaking her neck? Stark would have been shut down in a heartbeat. Cora knew Stark was actually the one responsible for that kind of thing, and she was the one who should have thought of it. But it had been so organic – one minute they were looking at the horses, and the next, Olivia had been hiking herself into the saddle. Cora supposed the years of kids running around unsupervised, climbing trees and saddling horses, the years she’d had as a teenager, were over. Now it was about who could sue whom, and she’d been an idiot not to think of it.

  “No.”

  “That’s right. Of course she didn’t. You know why? Those kinds of waivers require a parent to sign for a minor. And I for sure as hell didn’t sign anything.” Trixie even looked gorgeous in fury, Cora couldn’t help noticing.

  “I’m sorry, I truly am. I should have thought of that.”

  Trixie wasn’t listening. “You know, last year I did a piece on that place. What’s that woman’s name? Stork something?”

  “Rebecca Stark. She’s good at what she does, I promise you. She’s responsible.”

  “There was something else.” Trixie frowned. “That’s right. There was a lawsuit against her. Someone sued for negligence after their kid got bucked and broke both legs. That’s where you took my daughter?”

  “If you reported on it, then you know how it ends. The case was unfounded.”

  “It means there’s an ongoing problem. My child does not go back there.”

  Cora knew, just from the one visit, that Olivia had been hooked. She’d seen it her eyes – horses were going to be Olivia’s passion. “You should have seen her, Trixie. She came alive.”

  “You’re telling me my daughter wasn’t alive before you took her to a shitty public stable?”

  Cora thought about the downcast young woman who had shuffled into her booth at the farmers market last week and contrasted her with the bright-eyed girl who had come into the booth last night, haranguing her about meeting up at the stable on Saturday. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I just mean that when someone finds something that they love, that they didn’t see coming – it happens to a lot of us at that age. I found Eliza, and knitting. Spinning. Remember how Mac learned he loved to take care of animals? And Logan’s thing was riding?” If the memory of Logan didn’t work, then nothing would. Everyone had loved Logan. “And when he got up on a horse, he transformed, remember?”

  “If by transformed you mean lobotomized, then yeah, I remember.”

  That had been exactly Cora’s biggest problem with Logan. She had come in second to the horses, always.

  Trixie went on, “You think that’s what I want? Another one of them? You think we don’t have enough of those in Cypress Hollow? Idiots who think only of horses and rodeo and racing? She could have died.”

  “There was never any danger of death,” said Cora. Crap, crappity, crap. How was she supposed to handle this?

  How would Eliza have handled it?

  Taking a deep breath, Cora took a step forward and placed a hand on Trixie’s arm. In her mind she pictured Trixie lying in bed, alone, worrying about her daughter, who as far as Cora knew was the only family she had. “I can’t imagine what that’s like, to be that scared about a child, since I don’t have one of my own.” The words brought back that old deep ache. “But I know what it’s like to be scared about someone, and there’s really nothing worse than that.”

  “Don’t pretend to understand me,” said Trixie. But some of the heat had left her voice.

  “I wish you would consider it. For Olivia’s sake.”

  “No. I won’t.” Trixie tightened the brilliant green and blue scarf around her neck. If Cora had worn it, she would have looked like a parakeet. Trixie looked like a wild creature, passionate and full of an electric energy that was spitting sparks at Cora. “And I’ll thank you,” Trixie went on, “to stay the hell out of my daughter’s life. Royal, I’ll be at the car.”

  They watched her stalk away. At least Royal was classy enough not to trot off at her ankles.

  “Holy shit, Cora,” said Royal, taking a deep breath. “Does that always happen when you two get around each other?”

  Cora shrugged, pretending that her insides weren’t quaking. “Dunno. We’re never around each other.”

  “You live in the same town.”

  “We ignore each other.”

  “Always?”

  Cora nodded. “Since high school. If we pass on the sidewalk, she gets out her cell phone or rummages in her purse or something, anything so that she doesn’t have to look at me.”

  “Why?” Royal still looked rapt, as if he were watching a movie.

  “Old habits die hard, I guess,” said Cora. “I should really get her to get that waiver signed, though. Before Olivia goes riding again this weekend.”

  “Her daughter really rides that well?” Royal asked.

  “She’s a natural as my husband Logan was. As Mac is.”

&n
bsp; “Mac doesn’t ride,” said Royal.

  Cora was so startled she laughed. “Are you kidding? He’s the best rider I’ve ever seen. He’s actually better than Logan was, but he decided he liked being under a horse more than on top of one.”

  Royal pushed back his ball cap. “He told me he got thrown and that he can’t ride because of it.”

  “What?” said Cora. “Yeah, he got thrown. Of course he got thrown. He was a teenage boy, addicted to breaking broncs even then. Both he and Logan got thrown so much they had a word they’d shout as they were going over the pommel. Not a word I’ll share with you, either, because it’s so dirty it’s never come out of my mouth.”

  Royal said, “So you’re telling me Mac didn’t have a terrible, life-altering, death-defying moment of clarity when he swore he would never ride again?”

  “Nope.”

  “Wow. I’m gonna bust his chops over this one, for sure.”

  Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe Mac had a reason he didn’t ride anymore. But Mac had loved riding. It was like breathing to the cousins. “Don’t say anything to him.”

  But as she spoke, she got it. She knew what it was – it fit like a thump in her chest. “Oh,” she said.

  Royal said, “What? What is it?”

  “Logan,” Cora said. “He doesn’t ride because Logan can’t.” It hurt to think about. It would have been like her giving up spinning when Eliza died. It didn’t make sense.

  “Well, that would be stupid.” Royal scratched his scruffy cheek.

  “And very Mac.”

  Royal nodded. “You’re right. You know the man, don’t you?”

  Cora raised a shoulder. “I used to. I thought so, anyway.”

  Royal gave her a look she couldn’t interpret. Then he said, “I’m off to find a high-spirited filly who went round the front, I think. It was nice talking to you, Cora. You have a beautiful piece of land here.” With a strange little half-military half-peace-sign salute, he was gone, leaving Cora with the image of Mac in her mind, the time he was thrown so far off a bronc they’d thought for sure he’d broken his back. Instead, they’d found him lying in the weeds, his hat still miraculously clamped to his head, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. She’d been furious with him. Logan, though, had sat down next to him in the foxtails and had laughed just as hard as Mac.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Pace yourself. Avoid the yarn hangover. Just like you, I’ve stayed up all night just to see what the yarn does next, but it makes collecting the eggs in the morning a wee bit more difficult. – E.C.

  She spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning with Silas, who barely said seven more words to her – he wasn’t known for talking. God knew how Whitney and he had managed to have their daughter, but they seemed happy.

  As she bathed the day’s dirt from her body, Valentine called, inviting her to the house for dinner.

  “Just me?”

  “Yep, just you, dear heart.”

  Valentine made her favorite, grilled cheese sandwiches with tater tots on the side. As a child, she’d thought tater tots in various school cafeterias tasted like home.

  “There you are, just way you like them, crunchy on the outside, soft inside.”

  “Where’s your sister?”

  Valentine pushed two dachshunds that were snuffling at Cora’s feet out of the way with one foot and placed a glass of chocolate milk next to her. “She had some board meeting or something. I don’t know. Now eat more.”

  “I brought that fleece. It’s on the front porch, in case I forget to tell you,” Cora said as she popped another tot into her mouth. She’d loved them as a kid. No matter what school she’d been at, no matter who she’d been sitting near, the crispy potato treat had always tasted the same. Reliable. Predictable.

  The fleece she’d brought Valentine was one that had luckily been in the barn after being shorn from Genevieve, the light gray Corriedale, who was Val’s favorite of Cora’s flock. Valentine was going to prepare it for her – she would wash it in her big top-loader and dry it, and then card and comb it. It would save Cora hours and hours of labor, and she knew as well as Valentine did that her mother-in-law was just being nice to her. But she said she wanted to work with Genevieve’s wool, to feel it slipping between her fingers, and Cora allowed the assistance if only for the reason that Cora hadn’t asked for help, and they both knew it. It wasn’t like she had much choice – Valentine was very much like her twin Louisa in her stubbornness, although hers ran to kindness as opposed to Louisa’s bitterness.

  As if she’d conjured her with the thought, Louisa stepped into the kitchen.

  “Meeting done?” asked Valentine lightly.

  “Finally. Someday I’ll have to stop supporting so many foundations. How can I say no, though? They need me.”

  Valentine rolled her eyes.

  Louisa shuffled her way through the three tiny dogs demanding her attention. “Do we have any wine? Good wine, I mean? Not that stuff you buy at Trader Joe’s. We have to talk.”

  Valentine sighed and got a bottle of white out of the fridge.

  Cora said, “Let me.” She poured Louisa, and herself, a generous glass. If Louisa was going to talk, she’d need the fortification. “Valentine?”

  “No.” Valentine shook her head. “Thank you.”

  “It’s about Mac,” said Louisa. She took the pansy-covered tea towel that hung from the refrigerator door and brushed off a kitchen chair.

  Valentine’s voice was tight. “Was it that dirty?”

  “You never know.”

  “You’re at home. What on earth do you do when you eat out?”

  “They pay people to keep the surfaces clean at restaurants. It’s safer to eat out than in most homes. Even ours.”

  Valentine took a deep breath and leaned against the sink, keeping her back to her sister, but Cora could see her face. She reminded herself that while Louisa drove her crazy, at least she wasn’t actually blood-related to her. Poor Valentine.

  “What about Mac?” Cora asked.

  “I think he’s up to something.”

  Well, for once they agreed. Cora finished washing and drying the silverware and dumped it into the drawer with a clatter that made Louisa wince. Then she sat in the chair opposite Louisa. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s here. He’s home, finally living in Dad’s house. He doesn’t have a visible job, as far as I can tell, and he told me he’s not going to try to start his own practice, nor does he have any interest in buying in with Jim Younger.”

  “As far as I know, Younger isn’t looking for a partner.”

  “But he could use one, I’m sure.” Louisa frowned into her glass. “He has no idea how good Mac is.”

  Cora decided to share what she knew. It was only fair. “He works privately now. For some rich guy and his thoroughbreds.”

  “Ooh!” Louisa brightened. “Rich?”

  “Drives a Rolls.”

  Louisa sighed happily.

  “So he’s not at the track?” asked Valentine. “Imagine that, a Wildwood who left gambling on purpose.”

  “My son has never had a problem with that particular bug,” said Louisa.

  Oh, crap. Cora wondered if it would be rude to get up and run.

  Valentine shut the water off with a ferocious twist. “And what, exactly, does that mean?”

  “Nothing.” Louisa blinked, her eyes wide.

  “You’re throwing Logan in my face again. The fact that he had a problem. And you don’t realize, do you, how hypocritical –”

  “Sister, I’m not saying that at all. I just knew the gambling world was no life for a son of mine.”

  Valentine cleared her throat and took a deep sip of her wine.

  “What?” said Louisa. “Do you have something to say to me?”

  “No,” said Valentine, keeping her eyes on the far right corner of the kitchen. “Just that any life is a good one.”

  Her voice dripping with sarcasm, Louisa said, “Oh, r
ight. You’re playing the Logan card again.”

  Cora gasped. The sisters sniped at each other, yes. But not normally like this. It felt as if the air were sucked out of the room, leaving just the sound of Valentine’s old clock ticking slowly in time with the dripping faucet. Valentine carefully placed her glass of wine on the kitchen table.

  Valentine rarely got mad. Annoyed at her sister occasionally, but Cora had almost never seen her without a cheery expression. She’d smile as she remembered something wonderful about Logan, the corners of her lips turned upward even as tears ran down her cheeks.

  But now Valentine took a deep breath. Slowly and very quietly, she said, “The Logan card is the only card I have. You’ll excuse me if I play it whenever I want to. My son is dead. My darling boy who loved nothing more than horses, and my sweet almond pie, and this girl – She gestured to Cora. “He’s gone. Forever. Your son gets to walk around and smell the night air and look with his eyes up into the heavens and wonder what he did to get lucky, what he did right in some other life that made it so that he lived while Logan died in pain. Mac’s alive. Even though he’s been gone for years and years, even though he hasn’t had the respect to care about the family he has left, your Mac is alive. Because of that – and thank God for it – you have no idea what I’ve gone through.”

  Louisa opened her mouth and then shut it again. “I’m…” Her voice trailed off. Sorry? Was that what she was going to say? It would be an interesting moment if it actually happened. Louisa rubbed at her cheek with three fingers, pushing the skin up as if to test whether it would stay or not. ‘I’m sure I have a little bit of an idea. And besides, is it a contest?” Pointing to Cora, Louisa said, “She was his wife. You think she doesn’t get to mourn?”

  “Don’t you drag me into this,” said Cora, pushing herself away from the table as far as she could while staying in the chair.

  Louisa went on, “I was Logan’s only aunt. I knew him from the minute he was born, and I was the second person to hold him, since your idiot man was at the races.”

  Valentine grimaced. “Your husband with him.”