Cora's Heart: A Cypress Hollow Yarn

by Rachael Herron

  Cora had loved Logan’s slow dropped eyelid, the assuredness of it. “Yeah.”

  “I hated that wink. All the girls fell for it.”

  “Including me,” said Cora.

  “Yep.” Mac rolled to his side again to face her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go right there. To him.”

  “Most of the time I’m fine about it, but sometimes I miss him so much it feels like a toothache that’ll never get fixed,” she said. “Sometimes it makes me feel like I’m five again. That was a bad year…”

  Her voice trailed off.

  Mac didn’t say anything, but she could feel him listening to her as if every word mattered.

  And it did matter. This mattered, deeply. She knew it did, and it made her feel like she was staring out the door of an airplane, the parachute attached to her back but she wasn’t confident she knew where the ripcord was located.

  She jumped anyway. “When I was five, I had a real family.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Fixing knitting is like mending a broken heart. It takes time, and belief, and love, and in the end, the fix will be lost in the beauty of the whole. – E.C.

  Mac’s gaze was open as if he was really listening to her. “Your first family?”

  Cora nodded. She’d jumped and maybe it was going to be okay. “The first one that counted. I know nothing about my original family, and I’ve made peace with that. I was just two months old when my mother left me on the steps of a fire station in Tehachapi. She left a note saying she was sixteen, and that she was scared of what both her boyfriend and her mother would do to me if I was ever left alone with either of them, and she didn’t sign it. That’s not the part I remember, though. That’s the easy part. Being left by a mother is an easy thing, if you get another mother afterward. And I did.”

  “Uh-huh.” A quiet sound. Encouraging.

  Cora sat up, wrapping the top sheet around her body. Sitting cross-legged, carefully draping the cotton over her skin, she laced her fingers in her lap and kept talking. “I got the best mom. In my head, when I think of the word mother, I still see her. She had dark black hair with poofy bangs, and she loved bright red lipstick and the smell of baby powder. She would get all the way under my covers to read me books at night, and she told me I was her little girl, that she was my mother. Her husband was nice enough, but looking back, he looks like a paper doll in my imagination. She put suits on him, placed the briefcase in his hand, and shoved him out the door. I sometimes think I remember him wearing a bowler hat, but then I think maybe it was Darrin on Bewitched that I’m confusing him with.’

  Knitting. That’s what she wanted in her hands – her fingers ached from lacing them together so tightly. “Hang on,” she said, wrapping the sheet tighter around her body. “I’ll be right back.” She scooted out of the room and grabbed the lace-paneled sweater on its needles. Mac is in my bedroom. This was crazy. Insane. Exactly what she’d wanted to never happen. Her bare feet stalled on the hardwood floor and she took a moment to think very hard about whether she should take that next step into the bedroom.

  This was her choice. Hers alone. Just like this was her home, and no one could take it from her, especially not Royal, no matter how much money he threw at her. The last thought bolstered her, and she chose, again, Mac. In this moment, at least – even if it was small, even if it didn’t last long – she chose him.

  She could choose something else later if she wanted to.

  He was still waiting there for her, sitting up, resting against the headboard as if it were what he always did. Cora released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.

  “Seems like you’re better at multi-tasking than you think you are.”

  “Knitting soothes me.” Tucking her legs under herself again, she looked carefully at the needles even though she knew exactly where she was in the pattern.

  “That’s good. I like watching you knit.”

  It was astonishing, really, how well he was reading her. He could have reached out and tried to touch her, or take her into his arms. Mac could have tried to tug the sheet off her and lure her back with kisses, but for this very moment, Cora only wanted to sit in place with him and knit and say the words that were stopped behind her teeth, waiting to finally be released.

  She knitted her way halfway through a row, the Addi-Turbos snicking softly against each other. Mac watched with his arms uncrossed, resting easily at his sides.

  Then Cora said, “I thought she was the most magical person ever. She was everything to me. I mean, I was only five, so of course she was everything. But to me, she was better than Christmas. She was my present, every single day. Then she got pregnant.”

  “Mmmm.”

  Cora worked a double decrease. “She’d always thought she couldn’t. They’d tried for years, and then they’d gotten me out of the system when I was two. They worked to adopt me for two-and-a-half years, but there was always another hoop to jump through, they said, more paperwork. I’d been chosen, so I didn’t care.”

  “Did you remember the time before they chose you?”

  She shook her head. “Sometimes it feels as if I remember, but I don’t have anything concrete. Just a feeling of motion. I’ve learned the California system was so difficult back then that kids went in and out of homes by the week. There was always something new, someone else coming to pick the children up and take them someplace. I remember a stuffed blue furry lobster, having it and losing it and crying.”

  Mac didn’t speak but his eyes warmed her.

  “So she got pregnant – and I remember this clearly – she started to lose focus on me. Totally natural, I’m sure. A pregnant woman has to think of herself, and what more exciting time is there in your life?” Cora kept her voice light. “But even at five, I felt her drawing back, so I did everything I could to clamp on to her. I turned into a tiny, desperate limpet. I remember reaching for her constantly, and crying when she was too big to pick me up anymore. I threw tantrums when I couldn’t sleep in their bed. And then when the baby came, I hated it. I hated how it had taken my mother away from me, and I think I hated myself right out their door. They put me back in the system before the baby was three months old.”

  Mac tilted his head. “You make it sound like you think it’s your fault they couldn’t keep you.”

  “It was.” Obviously.

  “Cora, you were a child.”

  “I’m aware that I didn’t know any better, but that doesn’t change the fact that they…” Didn’t want me. Cora dropped the knitting and shook out her hands. “This is ridiculous.”

  “You can’t control everything.”

  “Oh, I can.” She looked around the room and spotted her What If book on the nightstand. Scrambling for it, she said, “I mean, obviously not the weather, or the climate, but there are so many things I can control. Anyone can. You should… um, you should look at this.” Cora opened the book to a random page, her heart racing. Was she really showing him this? She’d never shown anyone but Eliza. Not even Logan had known what she was scribbling. He would have teased her, and she couldn’t have borne that.

  “‘What if America runs out of water?’ What do you mean?” Mac’s voice was curious. His body language remained relaxed.

  “I mean just that. Someday, as a nation, we’re going to start running dry. Us, we’re lucky.” She pointed at the page. “There’s a de-sal plant five miles up the road. Right now they’re only using it for non-potable water for the strawberry industry, but look, here’s the owner’s name. I sell his wife wool every winter. She’s a huge knitter –”

  “Of course.”

  “– and Ricky knows that if and when that time comes, that I’m a good person to have on his side. I can make clothes. Warmth. From scratch. We have an agreement. I can take water if needed, and I’ll continue to supply his wife with spun fiber.”

  Mac raised his eyebrows.

  “I know, I know. Five miles is a lot to walk for water. But look, here on the next page, I’v
e drawn a rudimentary sketch for a wagon I could make just for containers. I’d only have to make the trip twice a week, I think, and that includes the animals’ water. If I had a horse I could carry more, but then of course, I’d need water for him, too…” She trailed off as she realized that Mac’s face was incredulous, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly open.

  “McGibboney Cross Wildwood. Are you about to laugh at me?”

  “I’m not. I’m completely impressed.”

  “You’re not.”

  He leaned forward and said clearly, “I’m not laughing. I’m surprised. Kind of out of my gourd impressed. You’ve just blown my mind.”

  “In a bad way,” she said.

  “In an amazing way. You’re tremendous, Cora.”

  Naked. She felt more naked than she’d ever been before in her life even though the sheet was still wrapped tightly around her. Slamming the book shut, she threw it in the nightstand drawer. She looked around. “All of this is ridiculous. I can’t believe…” She stood, taking the sheet with her, not caring that the sweater hit the floor, the metal needles clattering on the wood. Gathering her clothes into her arms, she said, “Look, I think you should just –”

  “Cora, it’s okay.”

  Oh, but suddenly it wasn’t, not at all. She had a sudden image of Logan in this room, when they thought they might make it into a nursery. He’d been going to paint it yellow but there hadn’t been enough time.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. Can you clear out?” Her words were an embarrassing tumble of too-fast syllables. “That’s rude, isn’t it? Oh, God. I know. But if you could just… Oh Mac, can you leave?”

  Cora ran into the bathroom, cheeks ablaze. She felt better once she was clothed, as if the flannel ducks riding skateboards would protect her in some way. She tied the robe around her waist tightly and brushed her teeth, hoping the peppermint flavor would chase the taste of him away. She brushed her tongue twice, even though if she were honest with herself, she’d admit she wished she could keep the taste a little longer. A lot longer.

  No. She placed her toothpaste carefully back exactly where it went on the top of the low white bookcase that held the extra towels. The guest towels. When was the last time she’d had a guest?

  Cora stood her toothbrush up in its wooden rack inside the medicine cabinet. One of her favorite things she’d ever carved, she’d made it of walnut from the tree that had fallen in a storm three years ago.

  Everything here was hers. Everything had a place. A function.

  And Mac was in her bed.

  Pressing her ear against the door of the bathroom, she listened hard. Was he gone? Had she given him long enough?

  She flossed, and then brushed her teeth one more time, just for good measure. Her tongue felt sore.

  Since she hadn’t heard anything when she’d listened the first time, she held her rinse glass against the door like they did in old movies. It did seem as if she could hear more, and she still heard nothing. No motion. No breathing.

  Maybe the coast was clear. She opened the bathroom door and peeked her head around.

  Mac was still on the bed, in the same position, his eyes fixed on hers.

  Without thinking, Cora pulled her head back in and slammed the door.

  “Shit.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Accept your mistakes – all of them – and keep knitting. The feeling of the sweater around your shoulders grants a wonderful absolution to those miscrossed cables. – E.C.

  A moment after Cora surprised Mac by slamming the door, she calmly opened it again and made her way toward him, holding her spine straight. She’d put the robe back over her PJs, and for that he was truly sorry. In so many ways, she was reminding him of a sorrel Royal had owned years ago, a horse Mac had loved. Rosie had been known for making last-minute decisions on the field and then backtracking, trying to fix them. Not a good quality in a racer, but it had endeared Mac to her.

  “Sorry about that,” she said.

  “Nothing to be sorry for, Cora.” He sat up slowly, not wanting to scare her.

  “You’re still here.”

  “I wanted to make sure that you really wanted me to leave. Because I don’t have to.”

  “But…” She sat and scooted backward so that she was leaning against the headboard.

  “And the truth is, I don’t want to.”

  She blinked rapidly, and looked so much like that sorrel after she’d cut across the wrong part of the track that Mac said, “Okay, I’ll go. That’s not the big deal here. It’s totally okay if you want me to leave. What I’m worried about, though, is what you were just saying about your foster mother.”

  “Oh, crap,” Cora said on a sigh. “I’m sorry I said anything at all.”

  “Before you got placed at Windward, did you have any other families that you thought wanted you?”

  “No.” The word was clipped.

  “Were there any placements where you wanted them to want you?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Was it as awful as it is in movies?” Mac pictured a drunk father wearing greasy clothes, smacking small children as they ran by. He imagined a tired mother, screaming abuse in the din and rubble of a dirty kitchen.

  Cora smiled, though there was no humor in her eyes. “That’s the funny thing. It’s not like on TV. For the most part, foster parents are okay. At worst, they’re just looking for money, but in California, the cash doesn’t cover what the kids cost anyway, so that’s not usually the reason they do it. At best, they’re good people trying to do right in a system that makes rewards difficult. And I can’t even blame them. How many kids floating through your house like goldfish in a tank can you really care about? The first four or five? After that, is it too many? Maybe they protect their hearts, too, just like the kids do.” She folded her arms over her chest, and the next words were spoken low, as if she were reluctant to say them, but they came anyway. “There’s only so much heartbreak for everyone. Once you use up your share, you’re done. And here, in my home, I’m safe from that.” She closed her eyes. “Mostly. That’s why I won’t sell.”

  Mac kept his eyes on her face, willing her to look at him. He ignored the last part of her speech and zeroed in on the part that was the most important. “So you’re done with heartbreak?”

  She gave a bark of laughter. “Are you kidding? I’ve been done. For years. I lost Eliza. I lost Logan. I lost my baby when I was only six and a half months along. A girl.”

  Mac knew that. It had been one of the only things he’d said to her and Logan when he came home for his grandfather’s funeral. I’m sorry for your loss. What stupid, lightweight words. But because they were all he had, he said them again now. “I’m so sorry, Corazón.”

  Her voice broke. “I lost everything.”

  Including me. You didn’t have to lose me. It was a stupid, selfish thing to think, and Mac was furious that the words had run through his head. “I know.”

  Rubbing her temples, she said, “I think it’s best you go.”

  Standing slowly, Mac reached for his jeans and pulled them on. Then his shirt. He slipped on his socks and his boots and buckled his belt. Her eyes stayed closed.

  “Cora.”

  Rocking her head back and forth against the headboard, she said, “No.”

  “We both loved him.”

  Her eyes flew open. “Not in the right way. Neither of us loved him the right way.”

  “What was the right way?”

  Instead of answering, she said, “Tell me why you only came home twice in fifteen years. Tell me why you didn’t come home when Logan died.”

  Shit. He had to tell her. How had he even hoped he might get away with not telling her the complete truth? He should have known better, and he should have told her earlier. Slipping his shirt on, he sat on the edge of the bed. “You know how I told you I foreclosed on that house?”

  Cora nodded.

  “It wasn’t just that house. I’d bought into the whole housing market hype. I took
on a second house, thinking I could rent the first one out. The bubble burst, and I spent two years trying to bail myself out, putting everything on my credit cards as I lost one house to a failed short sale, and then the other one.”

  “So you foreclosed on a couple of stupid houses. And?”

  “You’re not getting it. I lost everything I’d worked toward for years. That first house was going to be how I retired someday. I was so damn proud that I’d made something of myself, that I hadn’t turned out like my father, gambling away every dime. I didn’t see it coming. I couldn’t see that I’d done the exact same thing. I ended up sixty-one thousand dollars in debt, and that was just in credit cards, not including how much I defaulted on. I was behind and upside-down in everything. Creditors calling me constantly, just like they had at my house growing up. I had to get away. I ran.” Mac dug his fingers into the edge of the mattress. “I hid. I was still working at the track then, but I took a leave of absence, rented a hunting cabin up near Bishop. I was there for four months.”

  Mac paused. He could hear Cora’s, soft, shallow breathing as she stared at him. “By the time I came off the mountain and checked my voicemail, the funeral was already over. I’d known he was sick, but I thought he’d have a year. Years, maybe. If I’d ever –” He cleared his throat. “If I’d ever imagined I wouldn’t get to say goodbye to him, I would have come sooner. Instantly. But I missed my only chance. If you think you can’t forgive me for that, believe me, I know the feeling.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me that? Why didn’t you just call when you found out?” Cora’s cheeks were pale.

  Mac raised his shoulders. “I wish to hell I knew. I’d been running from myself for months by then. Took me a long time to figure anything out. Royal hired me, and I worked my ass off getting out of debt. I got my life back. But Logan lost his, and I… I guess I just didn’t know the right words to say, to you or anyone.”

  She made a miserable sound low in her throat. “I guess you still don’t.”