The Calico Heart

by Patricia Kiyono

  He smiled at his mother’s happiness, could almost feel her love pouring from the pages. He’d forgotten how much he had loved being around her, playing at her feet with his toy cars while she sewed or curling up beside her for a bedtime story. He turned the page, eager to remember more.

  The children are growing so fast. I want to show them so much. I think they love to travel nearly as much as their parents do. I love showing them new things, taking them to the places I'd always wanted to visit. There's so much to see in our wonderful state! Liam and I do it without spending a lot of money. We camp on the beaches of Lake Michigan, stroll through the tulips at the Holland Tulip Festival, and dance our way through the Highland Festival up north. When the children are a little older, we’ll take them to the capitol in Lansing and to watch cars being made in Detroit. Father was so wrong. It's never a waste of money to visit new places and experience new cultures. It is so important for my children to understand that. There is so much to see in this wonderful world of ours.

  Dave stilled at the last sentence. He could almost hear his mother’s quiet, musical voice talking to him. "Davey, there's so much to see in this wonderful world of ours. I want to show you everything. Look! See how beautiful the sand is here? And feel how silky it is on your little bare feet? Scoop up a handful of it, honey. Do you see how it’s made of millions of little stones in so many different colors? And look at all the little animals in the water."

  He remembered how she’d taken him by the hand and led him into the water, pointing out all the creatures there, while cautioning him not to go any deeper than his knees without someone older to watch him.

  With that memory came a flood of wonderful recollections of his father as well. He remembered riding on his dad’s shoulders on Memorial Day and the Fourth of July, so he could see the parade over the heads of the crowd. His father would bounce him up and down in time with the music, making him laugh with pleasure. Afterward, they picnicked in the park with Mom’s delicious potato salad and fried chicken. At night, they’d watch the colorful fireworks show. His father had loved the ones that whistled as they climbed into the heavens; his mother preferred the ones that exploded in the sky like giant orange chrysanthemums.

  The family had had such fun making day trips in their big old Chevy. Muriel and Billy would read the Burma Shave signs posted along the highway. They’d all sing silly songs and play License Plate Bingo or I Spy. They’d made hundreds of happy memories together. Memories he’d forgotten or suppressed once he moved into his grandfather’s gloomy house.

  Eager to learn more about life with his parents, Dave continued reading. He was grateful his mother had taken the time to write down her thoughts to preserve these precious glimpses of his past. Thanks to her journal, Dave saw his parents as they really were, not colored by his Grandfather’s festering bitterness.

  His mother seldom mentioned her parents in the journal. When she did, it was with a tolerance that again reminded Dave of Sylvia. Instead of dwelling on sad things, his mother had filled the pages of her journal with love and happiness. She wrote about his father’s success as an educator and his promotion to principal. She was very proud of him but expressed a bit of concern when he wanted to take flying lessons. Still, she’d been there to wave and cheer when he’d made his first solo flight, and had even begun to get on board with the idea of flying the family to other states for vacations.

  Before he knew it, Dave reached the last diary entry. His mother’s handwriting was a little different now from the flowing schoolgirl loops and flourishes that had started the journal. Now, her letters were neat and compact with only an occasional flourish when she was particularly happy or excited.

  Liam and I leave tomorrow for his conference in California. I wasn’t too keen on leaving the children, but he says it will be a romantic getaway for the two of us, a chance to "reconnect" as a couple. Mrs. McHenry, our housekeeper, will stay at the house with the kids while we’re gone. Liam has borrowed a plane from one of his pals at the airport, so it won’t cost us much more than if he’d gone alone.

  Dave set down the book and frowned at the page. His father had borrowed a plane? Where was the extravagant purchase Grandpa Beaumont had brought up every time Dave had wanted to spend a few dollars of the money he’d earned on his newspaper route? You’re just like your father, throwing away money on foolishness. I suppose the next thing you’ll want is a blasted airplane. Dave shook his head. Obviously, the plane was another of his grandfather’s fabrications. He picked up the book again and continued to read.

  I’ll miss the kids and would love to bring them along. But neither of us wants them to miss school. Still, we’re a family, and I hate to leave them behind. They’d learn so much about our country, seeing it from the air. They're only children for such a short time. I can’t believe Muriel is already starting her second year in college, and Billy will be graduating high school in June. The way the years fly by, it won’t be long before they’ll be married themselves. Of course, then I’ll have grandbabies to cuddle and spoil. Won’t that be something?

  Even our little Davy has grown so much over the past summer. He’s so much like his father: intelligent, prudent, kind, and devilishly handsome. He’s inherited Liam’s artistic eye, too. They spend hours together, carving all sorts of whimsical animals from scraps of wood or plotting out designs for the flower gardens. I think I’ll miss him the most.

  Dave leaned back and closed his eyes.

  Oh, Mom, I miss you, too.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Etienne sat at the hotel bar, barely listening to the man, Jerry something or another, who the tour director had assigned as a roommate. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shared a room with anyone other than his wife, Elise, or some other female companion. Certainly not since boarding school, he decided. He hadn’t shared any more willingly back then than he did now. Unfortunately, tonight, he had no choice. Etienne tried to make other arrangements, even offered a bribe to the desk clerk, but the blizzard had stranded too many people, busloads of concert-goers as well as diners in the restaurant. Every room was filled. Etienne didn’t mind spending the night, but he certainly would have picked a different roommate.

  Perhaps one with glossy black hair and mischievous blue eyes, he thought as he nursed a glass of very poor quality Piesporter.

  "Is this seat taken?"

  He turned at the sultry female voice, hoping Sylvia had decided to accept his offer of nightcaps after all. Instead, her roommate Deanna stood by his elbow, batting long, mascara-caked eyelashes in his direction. Her long hair tumbled over her shoulders in a riot of dark curls, almost hiding the Traveling Solo logo on the too-tight, hot pink polo she wore.

  Before Etienne could answer, Jerry leaped up and motioned to his barstool. "Here, take my seat. I’ll move down one so you can be between us."

  "I don’t want to interrupt or anything," she said, but her body language, as she leaned in and accidentally brushed her chest against Etienne’s arm, said something far different.

  He smiled but turned on his chair to look back at the bar entrance, effectively easing away from the woman. "Sylvia, she is coming down to join you, non?"

  "Nope. Said bars and casinos aren’t her thing. So I’m here all by my lonely self," she said, leaning toward him again.

  "Well, we can’t have that, can we?" Jerry said with a laugh that reminded Etienne of the guy selling automobiles on the television. And, just like the man on the television, his roommate was trying a bit too hard. "What can I get you to drink?"

  But Deanna didn’t seem to mind. She shifted her seat to face his direction. Pointing to his glass, she playfully asked, "What are you having? I’ll have the same."

  Etienne listened as the pair continued to chat, smiling at their clumsy flirtation and trying to figure out how he could turn things to his advantage. His opportunity came when Jerry excused himself to use the men’s room.

  "You strike me as a very smart lady, cherie," Etienne said,
giving the curvy brunette his biggest, toothpaste ad smile. "One who would appreciate a good opportunity when eet came along."

  "I do?"

  "You do, indeed, cherie," he replied then took a sip of his wine. "One who might like to make an easy thousand dollars, non?"

  "A thousand dollars?" she echoed. She gave him a lazy smile and draped her arm over his shoulder. "And just what would I have to do to earn so much money tonight?"

  Etienne reached up and patted the hand resting on his shoulder. "Nothing illegal, ma petite. I give you my word on that."

  ****

  Sylvia still couldn’t believe Dave had disconnected on her. He’d disconnected without even telling her goodbye. She wanted to call him back and ask what was up with that, but she already knew. She’d tried to be supportive of Dave’s decision to continue working. She’d even had a nice family party to celebrate his promotion, but their marriage was mired in trouble, and she had no idea how to fix it. Over the last few weeks, the tension gnawed at them both.

  "I love you, David Miller," she whispered to the empty room and blinked back the tears that threatened to overflow. "And I miss you. I miss us."

  She’d been glad when her man-crazy roommate had decided to go down to the bar to see what might be going on down there. Deanna’s chatter had scraped on Sylvia’s raw nerves, but now, the room felt too quiet. She considered going downstairs, too, but quickly dismissed the idea. Bars and such weren’t really her thing. Besides, in her mood, she’d feel just as alone in a roomful of people. Maybe there was something on TV. A sitcom would suit her nicely. She’d take a quick shower then climb into bed and see what was playing.

  It’ll be just my luck that all the channels will be running tear-jerker romances tonight, she thought as she grabbed one of the complimentary robes from the hotel and headed for the bathroom.

  A half hour later, Sylvia was propped up in bed, flipping through a quilting magazine from her tote bag and half watching some mindless, primetime game show on the television. The hot shower had eased some of the tension from her travel-weary muscles but had done little to relax her mind. She really missed Dave. The old Dave. The one with the corny jokes and the gentle ways. When had he changed? Or had she been the one who’d changed?

  She retrieved her purse from the dresser and hunted through it. In the bottom of the purse, half hidden by discarded tissues and a cosmetic bag that held pens and aspirins as well as make-up these days, she found the small, suede pouch she wanted. She untied the drawstrings then shook out the contents.

  The wooden heart, carved to resemble the design on the Calico Heart quilt, nestled in her palm. Some of the carving had faded, but the piece was still gorgeous in her eyes. Dave had carved it for her and for more than twenty-six years, she’d either worn or carried it. A symbol of Dave’s love. Now, she fingered the broken bale and wondered if it, too, was symbolic of their marriage. Broken.

  A sound at the door startled her from her reverie. She’d thrown the night latch when Deanna had gone downstairs, and now her roommate wouldn’t be able to open the door. Sylvia hurried to release the lock then threw open the door, an apology ready on her lips.

  An apology that died when she saw the man standing in the hallway, holding a key to her room in his hand.

  "Etienne!" she gasped, clutching the neckline of her robe more firmly closed. "What on earth are you doing here?"

  "Bonsoir," he greeted then held up a wine bottle and two glasses. "Since you did not want to go down to the bar with me for a nightcap, I bring the nightcap to you."

  "That’s very thoughtful of you, Etienne," Sylvia replied, standing so the door was between them. "I’m sure it’s a very nice wine. But I’m afraid I can’t let you come into my room."

  "And why is that, cherie?"

  "It wouldn’t be proper, Etienne. I’m a married woman."

  "So you have said. But why would such a thing matter? You have — how do you say eet? — an open marriage, non?"

  "An open — No! Of course I don’t. What would make you think such a thing?"

  "Do not be embarrassed, cherie. Eet is quite acceptable in my country! Since you travel alone, and you rarely speak of your husband, I assumed eet was also acceptable in your country. Such an arrangement does not mean you are not fond of your spouse. I am quite fond of Elise."

  Her anger at his audacity nearly overtook the shock she’d felt when she’d found him at her door. "I travel without Dave because he doesn't like to travel. I'm not fond of him; I love him. And I certainly don’t have an open marriage."

  "Sylvia, cherie, please forgive me. I was wrong to assume you no longer had feelings for your husband. I will not make that mistake again," he apologized. He took a step forward, giving her a charming smile. "Let me come inside, and we will have a few drinks and you—"

  "No! Capital N, capital O!" Sylvia declared. "How dare you come to my room and proposition me like some common tramp?"

  "Cherie, eet is not like that, I assure you," he said raising his hands. "I respect and admire you, I enjoy your company and—"

  "Wait a minute!" she interrupted. "Who on earth is Elise?"

  "What?"

  "A minute ago, you said you were ‘quite fond of Elise.’ Who—" She paused as the realization hit her. "Good grief, Etienne! You’re not a widower, are you?"

  "Please, you misunderstand things—" he said, raising his hands that still held the wine and glasses.

  "Oh, no, I understand things quite well, mister," she shot back. She pointed to the key card he held in the same hand as the wine bottle. "When I came to undo the latch, you already had my door unlocked! Where did you get a key to my room?"

  He shrugged. "That is not important, cherie—"

  "Maybe not to you, but it’s rather important to me." She held out her hand, palm up. "Give it here."

  "But where will I sleep?"

  If she’d thought she’d been angry at his audacity before, now she was livid. "That is no concern of mine. However…"

  She paused and held out her hand again. "If you don’t give me that key by the time I count to three, I’m going to scream bloody murder. Then I’m sure the local police will find a very nice jail cell for you to sleep in. They don’t appreciate men breaking into women’s hotel rooms in my country."

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  "Hey, boss, how about lunch?"

  "What?" Dave looked up from the spreadsheet he’d been studying to find his secretary, Shelly, bundled in her winter coat and standing in the office doorway.

  "Lunch. It’s the meal between breakfast and supper. Not that you’d notice since you always have your nose buried in work when we go down to the cafeteria."

  He patted his stomach. "This spare tire tells me I couldn’t have missed very many lunches..."

  "Too many," she scolded with the familiarity that came after years of working together. "Besides, they’re featuring Reubens today in the sub shop, and I know you like those. Grab your coat and join us. Unless Mr. Vice-President thinks he’s too good to hang out with us lowly worker bees."

  "You’re right." He gestured around his crowded, temporary office. Cardboard file boxes of client records covered nearly the entire floor. More were stacked on the side chairs. January was always a crazy month as clients closed their books and tax time approached. "I need to escape before this luxurious office goes to my head. Besides, a Reuben sounds delicious."

  The downtown sub shop was only a block away from the Davis Andrews building, but frigid January wind whipped down the sidewalk, making the distance seem longer. The scent of freshly baked bread welcomed them when they opened the restaurant door, and Dave was glad he’d decided to come along. They joined a table of their coworkers just as a busy waitress approached to take their orders. It was an easy one, Reubens and coffee for everyone.

  "Can you believe Valentine’s Day is just around the corner?" Shelly asked. "What are you guys getting your wives?"

  One of the men groaned. "I don’t know. Marcie tells me I never
think about her when I buy her gifts. I don't know what she means. I think about her all the time. Especially the way she's been acting since Christmas."

  "Uh-oh, Ken, what did you do to upset her?" Shelly asked.

  He shrugged. "We remodeled the kitchen before Thanksgiving, and she got all upset because I told her the new appliances were her Christmas present. They cost a lot of money, but we got exactly the ones she wanted. Was I supposed to buy her a present on top of that?"

  Dave winced. He knew what Sylvia would say if he had tried to count an appliance as a gift.

  "Maybe she figured the remodeling was as much for you as for her," a younger guy by the name of Brandon suggested.

  "Sure it was," Ken agreed. "Just like the fishing rod she bought me for my last birthday benefitted her as well as me. I bring home plenty of nice fish for our dinners all summer."

  "I don’t know, my girlfriend has a rule about not giving her anything with a cord as a gift. I think household appliances fall into the same category."

  Dave had to agree, but he decided not to argue and upset Ken further. Besides, all this conversation made him wonder what to do for Sylvia this Valentine’s Day. Things had been pretty strained between them since she came back from her trip. He wanted to tell her about his mother’s journal, maybe read parts of it together with her. With Muriel’s permission, Dave had scanned the journal, making copies for himself and his brother before returning the original to his sister. Most of all, Dave wanted to apologize to Sylvia for putting his grandfather’s warped values before his wife’s dreams and wishes. He had so much to share, but fear held him back.

  What if Sylvie no longer wanted to do things with him? What if she wanted to leave him because she no longer loved him and was attracted to the Frenchman or someone else? Dave didn’t know what he’d do then. Sylvia meant everything to him.

  He remembered when they were first married and did everything together. Somehow, he needed to reconnect with her in the same way. He remembered their first Valentine’s Day together. Sylvia had used scrap fabric and made quilted Valentine gifts for everyone. An eyeglass case for him and a lap blanket for his grandfather. Grandpa Beaumont had actually smiled at the gift and said, "You chose a smart girl, David. She doesn't waste money on things we can’t use."