Written on My Heart

by Morgan Callan Rogers

  “Bud, what are you doing?” I yelled. “Don’t wreck those. Arlee will be heartbroken.”

  “‘Don’t wreck those,’” Bud whined in a singsong voice, imitating me.

  “I mean it, Bud,” I said. “Those are her friends. She thinks they’re real.”

  Bud looked down at the ground and kicked at the snow. Then, he bent down, balled up a snowball, and heaved it at me. He hit me in the shoulder.

  “Hey,” Glen said. “Hey, Bud, now . . .”

  The snowball contained ice and it hurt when it struck me. But I was damned if I was going to let him know that. I bent down and made my own snowball, and I threw it as hard as I could at him. It got him in the arm.

  He scooped up a large amount of snow. I stood my ground as he packed it. “I don’t care if you hit me with that thing,” I said. “But don’t you dare wreck Arlee’s snow people.” He threw the ball with such force I didn’t have time to duck. It hit me in the face and I tasted warm blood in my mouth. As I stood holding my hand to my mouth, he bent down and made several snowballs. He gathered them up and heaved them, one by one, at me. My eyes stung with tears at the anger in his face. “Stop,” I said, trying not to cry. “Bud. Stop.”

  “STOP!” Glen shouted.

  We all stood as frozen as the snow people in the front yard. When I heard Arlee crying, I turned and walked back into the trailer. As I passed the picture window, I saw Glen standing in front of Bud, yelling something into his face. Whatever it was made Bud mad. He turned away and kicked down a little snow boy. I didn’t look to see what happened next.

  I went into the bathroom, took a cold washcloth, wiped my face, and held it to my puffed-up lip.

  “Mama,” Arlee called, and I went to her.

  “Pee,” she whimpered. Sure enough, her panties were damp and the bedsheet was soaked and stuck to the rubber lining that protected the mattress.

  “Well, let’s take care of all that,” I said. I took her into the bathroom and cleaned her up. Travis woke up with a series of grunts.

  I changed him and took them both into the living room. I tried to distract Arlee from looking outside, but I had to stop and stare, myself. Bud had kicked down at least ten of the snow people. Their food-colored carcasses lay scattered over the yard. Bud and Glen were standing by Glen’s truck, beers in hands, scuffing at the ice on the driveway. Neither one was talking.

  “Mama!” Arlee shouted. “The people are gone!”

  “I know,” I said. “Some of them fell over.”

  She stood at the window, her hands pressed against the glass. Bud looked up and saw the expression on his daughter’s face and he hung his head. But not before he saw the look on my face.

  He stared at me until I broke eye contact with him. “Let’s go for a ride,” I said to Arlee.

  “Can we go to the toy store?” Arlee asked.

  “We’ll see,” I said.

  I was dressing Travis when Bud and Glen came into the trailer. Arlee ran out to meet them. A chair scraped back as someone sat down at the dining-room table. When I turned to take Travis out of his room, I found the doorway blocked by Bud. He wove a little bit as he stood there.

  “Let me by,” I said. He looked at my lip. He reached out to touch it, but I pulled away.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Let me by now,” I said, and he moved. I wrestled the kids into their winter gear. “Move your fucking truck,” I said to Glen, and he hurried out to do just that.

  “Florine . . .” Bud said behind me. He touched my shoulder and I whirled around.

  “Don’t,” I said, and I went out the door with the two kids in tow.

  37

  I didn’t really have a plan. Arlee’s plea to head for the toy store, which meant Elephant Mart, was as good a destination as any. It was close by, which suited me, because soon it would be suppertime and we would have to head back.

  I pulled into the parking lot and found a space near the store. “Toys,” Arlee crowed from the backseat. Travis cooed.

  I got out and grabbed a deserted shopping cart a couple of spaces away from the car. I plunked Arlee’s pudgy brother into the basket, put Arlee in the front, and we headed inside to bright lights and aisles of dirty, wet boot tracks. My ears picked up the tinny music being piped from the ceiling.

  “Toys,” Arlee said, and pointed.

  “Let me pick up a few things first,” I said.

  “No,” Arlee said, but then she leaned against the front of the cart and spread her arms like a bird. “Fying,” she said.

  “Hold on before you fall out,” I said.

  A slender, petite blond woman passed us, saw my children, and smiled. “So cute,” she said.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I had no particular destination; I just wanted to avoid the toy aisle for a few minutes. I found myself pushing my cart down an aisle containing paper goods. I grabbed towels, toilet paper, and tissues, although I had enough at the trailer. I also picked up floor cleaner, furniture polish, and dish detergent.

  “Toys, Mama,” Arlee said. “Toys.”

  Travis grabbed the front of my jacket with his little fist.

  “Toys,” Arlee said.

  “Know any more words?” I asked her as I loosed myself from Travis’s grip.

  “Now,” she said.

  “Not quite yet,” I said, starting up an aisle stocked with auto supplies. That reminded me of Bud. My lip throbbed as I wondered what Glen and he were doing at that very moment.

  Then Arlee grabbed onto the front of the cart, stamped up and down, and shouted out into the store, “I want toys!” as loud as could be. She switched on the tears. “Toys,” she sobbed.

  “Not going to work,” I said, as I turned that way. “You need to stop crying.” But she kept on and my temper rose. We passed by steel trash cans for sale and I thought about stuffing her into one of them. But too many witnesses were rolling by us, probably thinking, My child would never behave like that.

  The blond woman who had passed us earlier came up the aisle toward us. Arlee held out her arms and shouted, “Want to go.” The blond woman stopped and stared at her, then at me. Before she could say anything, I said, “Ignore her. The devil shit on a rock and the sun hatched her,” and we moved on.

  Arlee dropped to the bottom of the cart, trying to cry herself to death to make her point. Travis turned around to check her out. “It’s okay, sweet man,” I said. “She’s just mad.”

  I stopped the cart. “Stand up,” I said to Arlee.

  “No.”

  “We will go to the toy aisle,” I said, “but I want to talk to you, first. Stand up.”

  I fished a barely used tissue out of my jacket pocket, picked her up, and put her onto the floor. I wiped her eyes and nose.

  “Look at Travis,” I said.

  “Why?” she sniffled.

  Travis grinned at the both of us. “Whoo, whoo, whoo,” he said.

  “Is he a baby?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he crying?”

  “No.”

  “Are you a baby?”

  “No.”

  “Then why are you crying?”

  “Want a toy,” she said.

  “We all want something,” I said, and thought, A sober husband would be nice. Out loud, I said to Arlee, “You don’t see me crying every time I want something, do you?”

  “No,” she said. “Toy.”

  “We’ll pick out one toy. How many is one?”

  She held up her little pointer finger.

  “If you cry and scream again, we’re leaving the store with no toy.”

  “One toy,” she said. I put her back into the front of the cart.

  “When we get to the toy aisle, you get a toy. How many toys?”

  “One.”

  In the end
, she didn’t try any funny business. She stuck to our bargain: a little ragdoll she hugged to her chest. I bought Travis the doll’s twin. We checked out and drove back toward the trailer in the quickening dark, me thinking about how I didn’t want to face my asshole husband and our troubled friend. I didn’t want to deal with what Bud had done or why he had done it, or how I felt about it. I was tired of worrying about when he would drink next, and what that would mean. I wanted to go home. My real home.

  Glen’s truck was gone when I pulled into the driveway. He and Bud were nowhere to be found. I made the kids supper and sat with them while they ate it. We spent what was left of the day together on the sofa. Arlee held on to her doll. Travis just wanted to snuggle. I read books to them and both of them went down early.

  I stood in my bedroom, thinking about what it would take to get us to The Point in the morning. I began to pack, slipping into and out of the kids’ rooms, listening to their even breathing as I gathered their things. I put the packed suitcases into the laundry room. We would leave early in the morning, I decided, while Bud slept it off. I went to bed at eleven p.m. and toppled over a steep cliff into sleep. Travis woke me up at six a.m. Bud and Glen hadn’t returned.

  “Damn them,” I said. Worry kicked in. I called the State Police at about nine a.m. No, ma’am, no accidents, whoever answered the phone said. No one hurt or killed. No reports from hospitals. If they don’t show up soon, give us another call.

  Glen called about an hour later. “Morning, Florine,” he said. “Hope we didn’t get you all worried. We got to drinking at Snoozy’s Bar down to the waterfront in Portland. That closed up and we sat outside in the truck, talking. Must have fallen asleep.”

  “Where’s Bud?” I said.

  “Not feeling too good. We’re going to find coffee, and then head back to the trailer. I’m sorry, Florine. I really am. We was assholes yesterday.”

  “Put Bud on the phone.”

  “He’s not so—”

  “On the phone. Now,” I said.

  Mutterings for about ten seconds, and then, “What?” Bud said in a cracked voice.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Who the hell are you?” I said. I didn’t wait for an answer. “The kids and I are heading to The Point.” Tears rolled down my cheeks. “Get some help,” I said. “You talk about Sam. You’re just like him. I don’t want our kids to go through that.” And then I hung up, wiped my eyes, blew my nose, packed the kids in the car, and headed out.

  “Where’s Daddy?” Arlee asked.

  “Daddy’s staying here,” I said. “He has work to do.”

  38

  Halfway down to The Point, it started to sleet and I slowed way down. Twice, I got out of the car and scraped ice off the windshield. The kids sat through it all, quiet as mice, peering at the scenery with large, puzzled eyes.

  What have I done? I thought as I crept along. My heart beat fast, in time to the overworked windshield wipers. I’ve just left my husband, I thought. Me. For once, I’m doing the leaving. Bud, who told me he would never leave me, didn’t leave me. I left. I just did something I told myself I’d never do.

  We slipped and slid down the hill to Grand’s house, but I managed to stop the car just outside the door. “Home?” Arlee asked.

  “Home,” I said. My hands hurt from squeezing the steering wheel. My whole body, which I had kept ramrod straight during the ride, turned to a quaking pudding when I got out of the car. It was late morning. The sun pushed aside a curtain of ashen clouds and shot bright beams into the thick water in the harbor. I wanted nothing more than to settle into a good cry, but Arlee called, “Mama,” and I turned and tended to the kids.

  I opened the front door. A stale trace of Glen lingered in the air, but the living-room furniture was back in place. Arlee ran into the kitchen. “Food, Mama. Time to eat.” I turned on the heat and followed her into a clean kitchen. It was clear that Ida had been there, even though I had told her not to worry. I put Travis down in the hall as I dashed outside, opened the trunk, and tossed suitcases, boxes, and bags onto the floor. He amused himself by climbing over my growing pile of stuff. I unloaded the box with food into the refrigerator and cupboards and then fed the kids. Arlee smiled at me over a peanut butter sandwich. “Home,” she said again.

  “Yes,” I agreed. I took a deep breath.

  “Gammy and MoMo?” she asked.

  “Let me call them first,” I said. I didn’t know if Billy was still resting there. I dialed Ida and she picked up on the first ring.

  “You down for a visit?” she said, instead of hello.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I have a little girl who would love to come down. Is Billy still here?”

  “No,” Ida said. “He’s better and stronger. He left a couple of days ago.”

  “So Arlee can walk down?”

  “I don’t think she’ll have to,” Ida said, and laughed. “Maureen is on her way up.” The sound of feet thudding on the hard ground was the next thing I heard, then Maureen busted through the front door.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” I said to Ida.

  Maureen bolted toward me and squeezed me in a long-armed hug. “I’m so glad you’re here!” she said, and then she twirled Arlee in a circle over her head while Travis stared at them, his eyes round as full moons. Maureen lowered Arlee to the floor and went over to him. “He’s wondering who this crazy person is,” she said. But the kindness and joy in her face made him smile. He ducked his head, looked at her out of the corners of his eyes, and smiled.

  “Oh my god, he’s flirting,” I said. “His first crush!” Maureen held out her hands and he reached for her. She picked him up. “Holy heck,” she said. “He’s heavier than ever!”

  “He’s a truck,” I said. “How are you doing? Hear you’ve been preaching.”

  “Oh, my, yes,” Maureen said. Her face lit up. “Well, Billy’s been telling me what I should say, and other people are helping out. It’s been great because Billy doesn’t have to worry. I’ve even gotten a few ‘amens’ from the congregation.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Good for you. I don’t think anyone’s ever given me an amen. Maybe Grand, but she wasn’t praising the lord. She was praying for my sinner’s soul.”

  “Well, amen is amen,” Maureen said. She put Travis back into his chair and fluffed up his curls. Arlee grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door. “You coming down later?” Maureen called as they rounded the corner.

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “More than likely.” The door shut behind the girls and I watched them walk down the hill together, Maureen making sure they skipped the icy spots.

  The phone rang and I knew who it was before I picked it up.

  “You got there safe?” Bud said.

  “We’re here. Arlee just went down to Ida’s house.”

  Pause on both ends.

  “I’m coming down. We got to talk.”

  “We’ve talked,” I said. “You got to decide what you want.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Bud said.

  “You don’t even know what you’re doing when you’re drinking,” I said, “and you can’t remember it afterwards.”

  “For chrissake, Florine.”

  “No, you for chrissake, Florine.” My temper shot up. “You wrecked something your daughter made and loved. I loved it too. We had so much fun doing that together. You took out whatever the hell is wrong with you on me and more importantly, on her, and I won’t have that.”

  I stopped to let the heartbeat throbbing in my ears slow down. I looked out at the harbor to calm myself. Thick swells rolled like wheels toward the ocean. How I wanted to be that cold and clueless.

  Bud broke the silence. “Yeah, well, I have to go.”

  “That’s all you got to say?” I said.

  “I don’t even know what to say, Florine. I’m tired. Kiss the kids for me and t
ell them I love them.” He hung up.

  I squeezed my eyelids shut, willing the tears behind them to go away, but when I opened my eyes, down they came. I smeared them off my cheeks.

  Travis whimpered in his chair. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” I said. I turned to pick him up and jumped back about six feet. Ida was standing in the kitchen doorway. She held up her hand. “Sorry I scared you,” she said. “I knocked, but you were on the phone, so I let myself in. I came to say hello and to see Travis.”

  I tried to smile. Travis held up his chubby arms to her. She grunted as she hauled him from the chair. “You’ve been eating well,” she said, bouncing him in her arms. She looked at me. “That was Bud on the phone?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “You had a fight and you left him and came here?”

  “Wasn’t just a fight,” I said. “He’s been drinking and he destroyed something Arlee had made. I don’t want the kids around him when he’s like that. So, I came home.”

  Ida frowned and kissed Travis’s curls. She walked over to his bouncy chair and set him down. He stood on his toes, crowed, and pushed his feet and the chair forward.

  “Is this how you’re going to handle disagreements between you?” Ida said.

  “This isn’t just a disagreement,” I said.

  “Well, you’ve left your husband because something he’s doing doesn’t suit you. Is this what you’re planning to do every time something comes up?”

  “No,” I said. “But I’m not raising my kids around a drunk. He was raised that way and it sounds like it was awful.”

  After a little pause, Ida said, “Sam had drinking problems. But he was a good man who loved us. He had flaws, but I have flaws too. So do you. So does Bud. It doesn’t mean you pack up and run away, leave him when he needs you most.”

  “I’m not leaving him,” I said. “He needs more help than I can give him.”