The Calico Heart

by Patricia Kiyono

  He crossed the road then stopped. Going to the park at this hour probably wouldn't be a smart thing to do. Grandville was a nice enough suburb, but it would be foolish to take a chance. Instead, he headed downtown, where a couple of all night businesses would still be open. Maybe, he could waste a little time in the convenience store and buy a cup of coffee to warm up.

  Rats! Dave patted his pants and realized he didn't have his wallet with him. Worse yet, he wasn't even dressed. If he’d walked into the store dressed in pajamas and a winter jacket, he'd cause quite the commotion. Dave detested being the center of attention. Especially when he was the butt of a joke.

  The damp snow soaked the hem of his cotton pajama bottoms, and his legs were getting cold. Sadly, he turned around and headed back home. If he was lucky, maybe Sylvia had gone to bed, and he could spend the rest of the night in front of the television. He’d certainly done that enough the last few months, but it was a miserable way to start the New Year. Suddenly, he recalled the festive midnight meals his parents had always served in front of the TV on New Year’s Eve. Sparkling punch, cookies, and platters of delicious meats and cheeses. They’d laugh and feast, and his mother would remind them “How you begin the New Year is also how you will end it.”

  A shuddering chill suddenly ran through him, clutching at his heart. The chill had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with his wife.

  Is more fighting and anger the best we can expect his year? Instead of a bright New Year, is this the end for us?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  On the morning of the concert, Sylvia awoke a few minutes before her alarm went off. She quickly reached over and turned off the buzzer so it wouldn’t disturb Dave’s sleep. Since his promotion, he’d worked late most nights and would spend a couple more hours in his home office after a hurried and mostly silent dinner. That had become the norm for them since their argument on New Year’s Eve, but last night, he’d come to bed long after she’d settled in for the night. Since Saturday was the one day a week when he could actually sleep in, she carefully slid out from beneath the covers.

  It was dark in the bedroom, but after so many years in this house, she didn’t need a light to navigate through any of the rooms. She tiptoed to the chair where she’d laid out her clothes the previous night, gathered up everything she needed, and slipped out the bedroom door. After carefully closing the door, she set her things on the vanity in the second bathroom then headed to the kitchen for a much-needed cup of coffee.

  Before starting the brewer, Sylvia walked over to the sliding door and peered through the glass. The TV8 weatherman had predicted snow during the night, but she was relieved to see only a dusting on the lawn and trees. As she’d told Etienne, Michigan’s winters were unpredictable, and she worried about taking a trip to the northern part of the state in January. Despite his coaxing, she’d refused to commit to go. However, the chance to see the Londoners live had been too tempting to miss, so she’d finally called Deanna and made the arrangements just a few days ago. Luckily, Traveling Solo had still had a ticket available.

  The heavenly smell of coffee drew her away from the slider. Grateful the snow wasn’t as bad as had been predicted, she picked up her mug and blew on the hot beverage. Mmm, she thought as she savored the first sip. Forget about wine, coffee is the true nectar of the gods. She took a couple more swallows then reluctantly put down the mug to go and get ready.

  A hot shower chased away the last remnants of sleepiness. Sylvia lingered under the spray for a few extra minutes, grateful her low-maintenance, chin-length hair wouldn’t need more than a couple shots of the blow dryer to be ready. After drying off, she dressed in a simple ivory sweater and her favorite pair of jeans. She’d chosen the outfit in order to be comfortable on the long bus trip but had to admit it looked pretty flattering, too. A touch of eye shadow and she was good to go. Lipstick could wait until after she had a second cup of coffee.

  She was surprised to find Dave in the kitchen, fully dressed, when she returned there.

  "I hope I didn’t wake you," she apologized. "I tried to be quiet — "

  "Why didn’t you wake me?" he asked in an accusing tone.

  "You were up late... I thought you’d want to sleep in."

  "How were you going to get to the high school?"

  Why did his words make her feel like she had to defend herself? She hadn’t done anything wrong. "I planned to drive my car. That way you won’t have to worry about picking me up tonight. We might—"

  "Or maybe you just don’t want me around. Were you in such a rush to see your boyfriend that you planned to leave without even telling me goodbye?

  "What? Of course not. I’d never leave without saying—" She stopped, suddenly realizing what he’d implied.

  "David, I keep telling you, Etienne is not my—"

  "That’s what you keep telling me," he interrupted in a weary voice, "but—"

  "But what?" she asked, sensing he had more to say. Then she noticed how pale and tired he appeared. Had his new job already taken such a big toll of him?

  He opened his mouth to answer then sighed and merely shook his head. "I’ll get the car," he said then strode from the room.

  What on earth is the matter with that man? Sylvia wondered as the outside door slammed behind him. A tightening across her temples announced the beginnings of a colossal headache. She reached into the cabinet for the bottle of aspirin she kept there.

  If Dave keeps this up, she thought as she swallowed down a couple of tablets with the dregs of her coffee, I’m going to need to buy an aspirin factory.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  She’d actually done it.

  Dave stood in the school parking lot and watched as the Traveling Solo bus pulled out of the drive and turned toward the highway. He couldn’t believe it. Sylvia had gone to the concert without him. After all these years, his wife preferred the company of a bunch of strangers to being with him. Or were they strangers? Dave saw the guy who’d quickly stood up when Sylvia got on the bus. Dark, wavy hair, lean build. He was sure it was the Frenchman. Emile or Eduard or whatever the Dickens his name was. The guy who’d been on the first trip with Sylvia and had given her the black eye. The same Lothario who had been calling her at least once a week since then. Sylvia said Etienne — that was his name — was just a friend. But was he?

  Dave recalled the numerous messages the man had left on the answering machine as well as the phone calls — including the one on New Year’s Eve — he had made to Sylvia. After that one, they hadn’t really spoken much to each other. Dave had found countless excuses to stay late at the office, and on the nights he was home, he’d usually head to his office to do paperwork. He wanted to talk to her, wanted to put things back on track with her, but had no idea how to go about it. Everything he did or said seemed to only make things worse.

  Frustrated, Dave kicked a clod of snow across the parking lot as he went back to his SUV. The weatherman had predicted snow that afternoon, and the dark clouds in the sky seemed to agree with the forecast. They looked as gloomy as he felt. He slipped into the driver’s seat then sat for a moment with his hands resting on the steering. What was he supposed to do on a winter afternoon while his wife was off frittering away money on a concert and shopping? He hated to think how much Sylvia had spent for a few hours of pleasure.

  Oh well. It was her money. She had earned it with her tutoring, so she could blow it however she wanted, but a prudent woman would have added it to her retirement fund. But maybe prudence wasn’t what Sylvia needed at the moment. He recalled their conversation about her mother’s illness and her father’s denial of it. That had to have been hard on a kid barely in her teens. Their deaths so close together and the guilt she’d felt about them would have flattened most people, but Syl had not only survived, she’d succeeded. He wished she had told him long ago about the feelings she’d kept bottled up inside herself.

  And what would you have done? his conscience asked. Syl told you all she’d
ever wanted was the chance to travel and see a bit of the state. And what did you do? You lectured her about squandering money foolishly. Even this morning, seeing her off, you were more worried about the money she was spending than the fact that another man had designs on her.

  Dave shook his head. Sylvia would never cheat on him. She had too much integrity to betray her marriage vows.

  So what’s to stop her from divorcing you?

  Dave puffed out a breath. How had it come to this?

  When they were newly married, they were so crazy in love. They hadn’t needed money or possessions to be happy. They did countless things together on weekends. Picnics in the park, arts and crafts shows, visits to the zoo. Sylvia discovered a love of quilting, and he found pleasure gardening.

  They’d shared passion and intimacy, raised a family, planned a future. Together. But would Sylvia be around to share that future now or would she leave him like his parents had?

  His parents? Where had that come from?

  Irritated at himself for opening that particular door, he started the car to head for home. However, when he reached the exit of the school parking lot, he knew he couldn’t face that big empty house right then. He checked the road for traffic then signaled a turn and headed in the opposite direction.

  ****

  "She’s leaving me."

  Muriel’s head popped up from beneath the counter where she’d been rummaging for a baking dish. She frowned at her youngest brother. "Good grief, David. You can’t possibly be serious."

  Dave pulled out the nearest chair and sank into it. His sister’s antique kitchen set wasn’t exactly made for comfort. You couldn’t really sink into it as much as perch on it. But he didn’t care; he slumped into the seat. "I wish I weren’t serious, Mure. But I am."

  She straightened up, leaned against the counter, then folded her arms across her slight chest. "Do you want to talk about it? Tell me what happened."

  He shook his head sadly. "That’s just it, I’m not sure if I can. I don’t know what happened. It’s like Sylvia is a different person. Ever since Lynne’s wedding, all she talks about is going on trips. She wants to travel here, there, everywhere. She already went on one bus trip last fall, and she’s on another today. She plans to go on more of them, too. She’s meeting new people, and she wants to socialize with them between trips. "

  "And what’s so wrong with that, David?"

  "Money." He shrugged as if the one word explained everything.

  "Oh dear, I’m so sorry. Is she spending money that’s supposed to pay your bills? Do you need a loan?"

  He frowned as if his sister was speaking a foreign language. "No, of course not."

  "Then how is Sylvia paying for these trips?" She pinned him with a piercing look that tolerated no half-truths.

  "Remember we told you she’s been coaching kids after school? She uses the money she earns from her tutoring."

  "Not her pension money or funds from your savings?"

  Dave shook his head.

  "So what exactly is the problem? Is Sylvia behaving inappropriately on the trips? Are the people she travels with disreputable?"

  "No, there are a lot of retirees, and a few young people, but most are middle-aged and older. Some are widows or widowers or folks whose spouses can’t get away to travel with them. They call their group Traveling Solo, which sounds like they’re a bunch of swinging singles, but they aren’t."

  He frowned. "Well, except for some Romeo who keeps calling Syl all the time."

  Muriel’s spine stiffened. "Are you telling me that Sylvia is having an affair?"

  "No!" He paused then scratched his head. "At least, I don’t think so. Not yet."

  "Yet?"

  Muriel’s stare made Dave squirm just as it always had. The former principal had spent her career dealing with moody teenagers. A single look could worm the truth out of even the most stubborn of them. Her glare had the power to make men quake.

  "I don’t know." Dave got up and paced. Or tried to. He could cross Muriel’s small kitchen in four-and-a-half steps.

  "Has she been coming on to this man?" his sister continued the interrogation.

  "No. At least not that I’ve seen. It’s just that—" Dave paused and threw up his hands in exasperation. "He makes her all cheerful, opening doors for her, helping her with her bags, standing up when she gets on the bus."

  "So he’s a gentleman," Muriel clarified. "Those are things you were taught to do for women, too, aren’t they?"

  "I suppose," Dave muttered and slumped back down on the chair. "But he’s — well — he’s with her. He’s making these trips with her and all."

  "So, why don’t you go, too?"

  "I already told you, Mure. They cost money. M-O-N-E-Y."

  "Exactly." His sister nodded as if he’d made her point. "Money that you have thanks to a good career. Two good careers, actually, since Sylvia has worked most of your marriage, too."

  "Spending money on travel is frivolous. It’s a flagrant waste!" he ranted. "What good is a trip going to be when we’re old? Postcards and souvenirs won’t buy us medicine or pay our doctor bills." He shook his head. "I refuse to end up like our mother and father."

  "And what exactly was wrong with our parents?"

  Dave didn’t think he’d ever seen his sister look sterner or colder. He could almost see ice crystals forming in the air around her. "Um," he back peddled. "Well, nothing really, but—"

  "But what?"

  "Well, they left us paupers. Dependent on handouts from our relatives. I remember Grandpa complained when they died that there wouldn’t even be enough money to bury them."

  Muriel gave him a long, thoughtful look then shook her head, sadly. "Oh, Davey. I forgot how very young you were when Mom and Dad died. All those years you spent alone with Grandfather, he must have really warped your thinking."

  "He took us in when no one else did," Dave insisted.

  "Oh, honey, is that what you thought?" She sighed. "I knew Grandfather was a bitter and lonely old man, but I never realized how much nonsense he fed you. I’m sure Grandfather preached to you about hoarding every cent you earned. Did he also warn you that spending money for leisure activities was foolishness and would leave you destitute and dependent on others?

  Dave nodded.

  "I am so sorry," Muriel apologized. "Bill and I were stupid not to realize what he’d done to you."

  "What do you mean?"

  She leaned against the kitchen counter again, studying him for a moment. When she spoke, it was to ask a question of her own. "David, didn’t you ever wonder how I was able to afford to finish college then go on to graduate school after our folks died? Or how Bill managed to do the same? And just where did you think the money for your own tuition came from?"

  "Grandfather said—"

  Muriel shook her head and held up a finger to silence him. "I need to show you something," she said. "Wait here."

  She left the kitchen and went into the other room. He heard the sound of a drawer sliding open then closing again. A few moments later, his sister returned to the kitchen, carrying a large, lace-trimmed book. A faded, pink satin ribbon encircled it to hold it shut. Muriel stroked the padded fabric cover, and, for a moment, a soft smile transformed her stern features. Then she crossed the floor and stood in front of him, holding out the book to him with both hands.

  "This is Mom’s journal. She kept it from when she was a young girl until she left with Dad on that last trip. I’ve treasured it all these years. It made me feel close to her, gave me insights into how she felt about life, the way she thought. I never realized you might need her words a lot more than I did.

  "Take it home with you, Davey," she said in a gentle voice. "You need to read it, honey."

  "I don’t see what—"

  "Take it." The brook-no-nonsense principal was back. She put the book in his hands and looked into his eyes. "Read it carefully. It will help you to know our parents. Maybe then you’ll understand how things really were
."

  ****

  Dave came out of Muriel’s house to see the snow had started in earnest. Fat flakes swirled and danced in the beams of his headlights, coming down harder as he neared home. The roads were going to be drifted over and icy if the snow kept coming down at the rate it now fell. He was glad to have good snow tires on his SUV as well as Sylvia’s car. Dave hoped the Traveling Solo bus was equipped for the bad weather, too. Snowfall was always much worse along the shore of Lake Michigan, and northern towns like Traverse City often received more than twice the amount of inland towns downstate.

  Their house was dark under the slate-covered sky, but the security lights turned on as soon as Dave pulled into the driveway. He briefly considered leaving the car in the driveway since he had to go out again in a few hours to pick up Sylvia when her bus returned. But putting the car in the garage would prevent him from having to brush it off — or maybe even scrape it off — later on, so he hit the remote for the garage and parked next to Sylvia’s little compact.

  As he unlocked the door between the garage and the kitchen, he remembered he’d left his mother’s journal on the back seat. He sighed. He had absolutely no interest in reading it, didn’t want to dredge up all those old emotions. But Mure would have his head if she found out he’d tossed it in the backseat and just left it there. With a sigh, he returned to the car and retrieved the frilly thing. He’d just put it in his office for a few days then return it to her. His sister didn’t need to know he hadn’t read it.

  The kitchen felt cold and empty to Dave without Sylvia bustling around in it. He hung his keys on the rack by the door then went through to his office, flipping on lamps as he went. The light didn’t make much improvement. The house still felt empty. Funny how the absence of one person can make all the difference in the world.