Written on My Heart

by Morgan Callan Rogers

  I scurried back to Mr. Dion and Mrs. Carlson, who said she was all right, even though she was a little wobbly.

  “I’ll call you,” I said to Robin as we walked out the door.

  23

  “Stop fidgeting,” Bud said.

  “I’m not,” I said. I was, though. I couldn’t stop moving. I moved the cheese plate around on the little dining-room table. I rearranged the plate of homemade bread.

  “Bed, peas,” Arlee said. I tore a corner off the top piece of bread on the pile for her, and rearranged it again. Travis grinned at me from his little swing in the living room. His fat toes scraped the floor. “Unh,” he said. “Unh, unh.”

  “You tell her, pal,” Bud said.

  He sat on the sofa in the sun in front of the picture window, reading the Sunday-morning funnies. Arlee crawled up beside him and he read to her, moving his fingers from frame to frame. He sucked in the air and said, “That bread smells good.”

  I sighed. “Want a piece?”

  “Wouldn’t mind it.”

  “What’s the magic word?” I said.

  “Peas,” Bud said.

  I handed him a slice of bread.

  “And how about some of that cheese, peas?” he said.

  “Can you make me half a sandwich?” he asked. He elbowed Arlee, who giggled and said, “Peas?”

  I grabbed the bread and cheese, stomped into the kitchen, grabbed mustard and mayonnaise and two knives, because god forbid the two should mingle on the knife, even though Bud liked them together on a sandwich. I slathered the bread, put the cheese on it, and folded the bread. Somehow, in the process of doing this, the glass jar of mustard fell to the floor and shattered, spattering my panty-hosed legs.

  “She’s here,” Bud said.

  “Of course she is,” I said. “Screw it.” I peeled the panty hose off, threw them into the trash, swiped the dishrag over the mustard on my legs, threw the rag back into the sink, and ran out of the house and down the driveway to the slender woman getting out of the navy-blue Toyota Corolla. She shut the door of the Corolla and we stood, taking each other in.

  “I just got mustard all over my legs,” I said, and she grinned. She came toward me, her arms outstretched, and then we hugged, crying and laughing and remembering that time, so far back, when we had looked at each other and known it was forever, no matter if we hadn’t seen each other for almost twenty years.

  “I couldn’t believe it when I saw you in the hospital,” I said.

  “I hoped I would find you. I didn’t know how or where, but I hoped we would meet up somehow,” she said. “I’m in Portland to study nursing. When you said your name, I thought, there are not too many people named Florine. And then it struck me and I thought, oh my god, it’s my Florine!”

  Bud came out to meet us, holding Travis. Arlee trailed behind them.

  “This is Bud, my husband,” I said.

  Bud’s dark eyes shifted between us. “Definitely a resemblance,” he said.

  “It’s so nice to meet you,” Robin said. “And you,” she said to Travis, who jounced his way into her arms. He charmed her until she laughed.

  Arlee stood quiet by her father’s side, holding his hand and staring at Robin, who squatted down to her level and said, “Do you like flowers?”

  Arlee nodded.

  I took the baby as Robin reached into her car and brought out a small African violet in a purple foil plant pot. “Do you think you can water it and make sure it gets some sun?”

  Arlee nodded again.

  “Well, then, it’s yours,” Robin said. Arlee let go of Bud’s hand, took the flower, and cradled it to her. She grinned at me. “Jeeza fowa,” she said.

  “What did she say?” Robin said.

  “‘Jeeza’ is Jesus,” I said. “Ida, Bud’s mother, told her that Jesus was in everything and everyone. So, Arlee thinks he’s in the flower.”

  “I think I’ll take the kids to the playground down the road,” Bud said, shifting uncomfortably. “So you can talk.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to go,” Robin said.

  “Yes, he does,” I said. I kissed him and took the plant from Arlee, after promising to take care of it while she was gone. They all climbed into the Fairlane and drove away.

  Sudden shyness washed over me. “Well,” I said, “come in.”

  “Nice lawn,” Robin said.

  “Thanks. We don’t always live here,” I said. “I have to take you down to The Point.”

  “You know, Florine, I tried to find it, once, but I got all messed up and ended up sitting by the ocean in another spot so pretty I gave up and watched the sun set.”

  “Sit down,” I said, motioning to the dining-room table.

  “This is so cute,” Robin said, taking a seat. “This trailer is adorable.” She pointed out the way I had arranged little things throughout.

  “Grand—Daddy’s mother—had an eye for putting things in the right place,” I said. “I guess she passed that on. She always said, ‘A house doesn’t need to be a clutter box.’”

  Robin said, “Grandma Maxine did that too. Not one of my talents, I’m afraid.”

  “I only just met her that one time,” I said. “She seemed sad, but nice. Is she okay?”

  Robin’s face fell. “She died when I was ten.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry to hear that. I wish I’d had a chance to know her.”

  “Grandma Maxine loved meeting you,” Robin said. “She thought you were so pretty. She wanted to come and visit. She really did.”

  I smiled and said, “Okay, we’re past the hellos, right?” Robin nodded.

  “Was Carlie’s father the mean son of a bitch Daddy told me he was?”

  “He was cranky, but by the time I knew him, he had lung cancer and was probably dying. I didn’t pay much attention to him, but Dad walked on eggshells around him. A couple of years ago, Dad told me the story of why Carlie left for good.”

  “Daddy told me too, when I was about seventeen. He said that Carlie got pregnant and her father was ashamed of her and wouldn’t let her out of the house. She used to sneak out anyway, by going out her bedroom window. Said she would sneak to the lowest place along the roof and jump down.”

  Robin nodded. “That’s what Dad said to me. He said one night she slipped and landed in the yard. Dad said the baby died. He said Carlie almost died too. After she got better, she stayed away from home more and more.”

  I nodded. “That’s the same story.”

  “I can’t blame her,” Robin said. “Anyway, he died about a year after you came down.”

  “After he died, why didn’t Grandma Maxine—and this is the first time I’ve ever said that—come to visit? Why didn’t she tell you where we lived?”

  “She had really awful rheumatoid arthritis. After Grandpa Dennis died, her body let go. That happens sometimes. The body stores up stress, and when the stress is gone, the body can react in negative ways. Not always, but sometimes. Anyway, she stayed sick five years after he died.”

  “But she could have given you the address. She knew where we lived.”

  “Well, she never let on that she did,” Robin said.

  “I don’t know,” I said, “maybe Carlie never mailed the letter.”

  “It’s a mystery,” Robin said. “But we’ve found each other now! The only time we ever saw her was that day. That was it. So, Grandma got sick, Dad had to take care of her, and Ben and I were just little kids. Grandma died, then Dad met Valerie and they got married. She moved in and we grew up. I graduated early, at seventeen, and came up here to college. Dad and Valerie sold the house and moved to California. That’s my story, I guess. Not very exciting, but it’s all mine. And now, here we are!”

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” I said, trying not to cry. “Finding you is almost like finding Carlie. You’re a pi
ece of both of us.”

  Robin knitted her mahogany eyebrows and said, “Did you ever find out anything about Carlie? I only knew she’d disappeared, and then Grandma got sick.”

  It took a while to fill her in. We ate lunch at some point, and then Bud was back, carrying a sleepy Arlee. I went out to the car and toted in a hungry Travis. Robin gave him a bottle. After she burped him, he fell asleep on her shoulder.

  When she found out what Bud did for a living, she talked about her car and how it worked and didn’t work. She asked him about his family and about how we had gotten together. She stayed until Arlee woke up from her nap and wanted supper.

  “Love to have you eat with us,” I said.

  “Wish I could, but I have plans tonight,” she said.

  “I don’t want to sound clingy or anything, but please come back,” I said.

  She hugged me tight. “I’ll always come back,” she said. She kissed me on the cheek and drove away. I stood in the driveway, rooted to the ground.

  24

  Just before Thanksgiving I got my license. I drove the Fairlane for the first time to The Point with my quieter-than-usual husband sitting shotgun. As the days had shortened, he had clammed up. All that space between conversations made me nervous.

  “What’s wrong?” I said from time to time.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “Is it my driving? Too slow? Too fast?”

  “A little slow. Not fast. Doing good.”

  About ten minutes later, I said, “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

  “Nothing to say.”

  “Does it feel funny to be in the passenger seat?”

  “A little bit.”

  “You want to change the radio to the country station? You like country.”

  “It’s fine where it is. Can’t beat Grand Funk.”

  “You’re so quiet.”

  “I’m fine, Florine. I got something to say, I’ll say it.”

  I sighed and imagined Dottie and now, Robin, sitting next to me. We would talk and laugh and our trips would fly by. “Oh!” I said.

  “What?”

  “Now that I have my license, I can take girls’ weekends.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like Carlie used to do. Travel up the coast with Robin and Dottie, or one of them. Stay overnight somewhere. Look at the sights. Eat something I don’t cook.”

  After a short silence, Bud said, “I guess you could.”

  “Next summer, maybe.”

  “How you going to do that? Who’ll take care of the kids?”

  “Ida. You. You can do it for one weekend.”

  Silence. Bud switched off the radio. He said, “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “I really don’t need your permission,” I said.

  “Do if you want me to take care of the kids,” he said.

  “Wow,” I said, “I didn’t think it would be such a chore for you.” I sniffed.

  “Jesus, Florine, you get pissed if I have a few beers and come home late.”

  “That’s because you add whiskey to that beer and you come home ugly.”

  “Oh, here we go,” Bud said. “You’re speeding up. Slow down.”

  “I’m a good mother and a good wife. I love it, but it would be nice to get away for a little bit. Now I have a cousin and a best friend to do things with. It would be a blast!”

  “The Point is your vacation. You can have Robin down here.”

  “The Point is our home. A vacation is an away thing. You sound like Daddy. My parents had this argument all the time. Carlie wanted to go, Daddy wanted to stay.”

  “Slow down.”

  We both shut up and I concentrated on my driving. We didn’t talk for the rest of the way. Arlee sang “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” over and over, until I thought I’d lose my mind. We finally got to The Point at about eleven in the morning.

  Before I had even stopped the car, Maureen ran up the hill. Had it only been a few months since I’d seen her? She looked less like a girl, more like a woman. I got out of the car and she hugged me tight.

  “I missed you all, so much,” she said, and reached into the backseat for Arlee.

  Bud had Travis out of his seat by then. When Maureen had Arlee in her arms, she noticed Travis. Her eyes grew wide and she said, “Oh my god!” She put her hand over her mouth, in case her mother may have heard her use the lord’s name outside of a prayer. She said, “He’s so big!”

  “He’s a baby giant,” I said. Travis snuggled his head into his father’s neck. Maureen walked over to her brother and pecked his cheek. “Missed you, Bud,” she said.

  “My god, you’re the same height,” I said.

  “I know,” Maureen said. “When he used to tease me, I said he’d better watch out because someday I’d be as tall as him.”

  “You made it,” Bud said. “You’re going to pass me.”

  “Okay if I take her down to the house?” Maureen asked, shifting Arlee on her hip.

  Before I said anything, Bud said to Maureen, “I’ll go with you,” and off they went.

  “Well then,” I said to myself, unlocking the front door, “Don’t help. See if I care.” I stood in the hall, listening to the cold and the quiet. The furnace was on just enough to keep the pipes from freezing. I turned the thermostat up and looked around. It was too clean for Dottie to have done it, so it had probably been Ida, who had also put some basics into the fridge. A pile of mail sat on the kitchen table. I went through it.

  Among the recent bills and toss-outs were two cream-colored envelopes addressed to me in block printing, both with a Lewiston postmark. “Crap,” I said. I didn’t want to deal with this now, and I didn’t want to call Parker on the day before Thanksgiving. I put the envelopes back on the table. The car needed to be unpacked and beds needed making. I rinsed out the teakettle, filled it, and clicked on the stove. Bud came into the kitchen. His eyes flickered, a sure sign he was mad at me.

  “What is wrong with you?” I said.

  “The thing is,” he said, “you could have asked me to go somewhere with you.”

  “What?”

  “I’m the one supports this family. You didn’t even ask me, for chrissake.”

  “Well, of course we can go somewhere alone, sometime. I didn’t think I had to make that clear. But what would be wrong with doing something with the girls sometime?”

  “It would have been nice for you to think of me first. Jesus, do you think of anyone else besides yourself?”

  My jaw dropped. “Of course I do. I think of you all the time.”

  “Hell you do. Everything is all about you.”

  “Bud!” I said. I’d never seen him so mad. “No, it isn’t. You’re being crazy. Of course I want to go somewhere with you. I’m sorry.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “What did you say?”

  “Bullshit!”

  “Why don’t you come back when you’re not so mean,” I yelled.

  “I might come back,” he said. “Whether I do or not, stop being so friggin’ selfish.”

  He walked down the hall and out the door, slamming it behind him. The kettle sang and I poured myself a cup of tea.

  I sank into a kitchen chair, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Then I remembered there were things to be done.

  Maybe he’s right, I thought as I unpacked the car. I was friggin’ selfish. I wondered if he had gotten such a good deal with me. Maybe he would have been better off with Susan, who had been a girl with goals. She would have had a plan for them. She would have had a job so he wouldn’t have had to be the only breadwinner. They wouldn’t have had kids so soon. Maybe he was thinking that too. Maybe he was done with me.

  A door slammed and Madeline called up to me from her house, “Hey there. Happy Thanksgiving!” I
wiped my eyes and smiled as she walked up the hill to me. She wrapped me in a warm Madeline hug.

  “Happy Thanksgiving to you,” I said.

  “Dottie tell you I’m going to be a grandma?”

  “Yes,” I said. “How’s Evie?”

  “Happy as ever. Big.”

  “I have to unpack us,” I said. “I’ll be over soon. Dottie home?”

  “She’s gone uptown. Be down in a couple hours or so.”

  I lugged in the last bags and sat down on the sofa, twisted with worry. Bud walked in.

  “You going to leave me?” I burst out.

  He blinked. “Where the hell did that come from?”

  “You said you might not come back.”

  He shrugged. “That was stupid.”

  “You were more pissed off than I’ve ever seen you.”

  “Well, sometimes the latest thing I’m mad at gets attached to something I was mad at before but didn’t tell you, and it winds up sticking together.”

  “Well, how about you tell me what’s going on before anything gets stuck to anything? And don’t ever do that to the kids or you’ll see how frigging selfish I can be.”

  “Got it,” he said, and walked into the kitchen.

  “I’m going for a walk,” I called. “I’ll be back in a while.”

  I took off for the state park. I intended to sit on the bench by the ledges and have a talk with the ocean. But someone was already there. As soon as I saw that, I turned, thinking to head for the clearing, but before I got far, a man’s voice called, “Florine!”

  I turned around. The man walking toward me had a little limp.

  It was Andy Barrington.

  25

  The girl I had once been expected to greet an eager, restless boy with an electric smile and soft, beautiful eyes that had never been afraid to hold my gaze. But time had transformed both of us. I now stood in front of him as a mother and a wife. The boy I had known had changed too, leaving a thin, hesitant man in his place. Andy’s dark eyes darted here and there, looking at me and then shifting away. A nervous smile quickened on his ragged face as the November wind tousled his dirty-blond hair, which was two or three inches shorter than it had been a few years back. The tips of his ears were red.