Cora's Heart: A Cypress Hollow Yarn

by Rachael Herron

  Fuck it. He couldn’t just stand out here, considering the lines of her house, the peak of her roof, without seeing her body in his mind’s eye. The way her house fit against the stand of eucalyptus behind it echoed the way her body had fit his.

  So what if she hadn’t answered his phone calls? Maybe her cell phone was dead. That would explain why she hadn’t picked up, right?

  Clementine tromped ahead of him, appearing glad they were moving toward the house. Could the dog sense her there? Smell her? Barreling up the steps of her house, Clementine skidded across the porch, stopping just short of the door. She gave one sharp bark, as if announcing herself.

  “Clementine!” Mac bounded up the stairs. “We knock. We don’t sit in the car and honk, dog.” He took a deep breath to steady himself. Even now he wasn’t sure what he actually wanted to say to her.

  What if he just put one hand behind her neck and pulled her to him? If he kissed her, what would she do? Would she melt against him? Would she press those perfect breasts – which would probably be encased in overalls, sexier than they should be on anyone – against him?

  No, she’d tell him what for, probably. She’d never, ever had any trouble telling him exactly where she stood on an issue, which was why the other day was so confusing to him. There was something big – huge – that she was hiding.

  Kissing her probably wasn’t the best way to go. Dammit.

  He raised his hand to knock, but instead, the door swung inward.

  “I saw you come up the driveway.”

  It was Olivia, the girl from the beach. She looked frankly curious as she pushed open the screen. “I bet she doesn’t know you’re coming, huh?”

  “Nope.”

  “Uh-oh. I’ll go get her.”

  “No need,” said Cora from behind her. “I’m right here.”

  She was, in fact, not wearing overalls – she wore a green dress decorated with small yellow flowers. She held a teacup delicately balanced on a saucer. Her feet were bare, and her cheeks were pink. There wasn’t anything or anyone prettier in the whole world. Mac knew this for an absolute damn fact.

  “I came to give you a dog,” he said, cursing the slight hesitation in his speech. “But it looks like it’s not a good time. I’ll come back.”

  “It won’t be a good time then, either.” Her voice was cool.

  “Oh, damn. I’m fuckin’ outta here,” said Olivia. “Thanks for the tea thing.”

  Cora held out her hand and Olivia slipped past Mac and down the front steps. “Don’t go. Not without the yarn you made, at least.”

  “I’ll come back for it. You two have fun,” said Olivia, picking up a bike Mac hadn’t noticed lying on the front lawn. She rode away with a crunch of gravel, Clementine following her to the fence line before doubling back.

  Cora carefully placed the teacup on the small metal table that stood next to the porch swing.

  “Did I interrupt a tea party?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.” He’d been kidding.

  Sighing, Cora crossed her arms and sank into the swing. It creaked as she rocked her legs. She didn’t invite him to join her. Clementine didn’t wait to be asked – she jumped up and leaned against Cora.

  A half-smile crossed her face as she looked down at the dog. Slowly, she said, “Eliza Carpenter used to have tea parties with me.”

  He remembered that, now that she said it. Tea and knitting. He’d teased Cora back then about it. “Right,” he said. “We teased you for being such a grandma.”

  “I loved it.”

  “I know. So what, you’re trying to be Olivia’s Eliza?”

  The sadness in her eyes made him wish he could take back the words. When would he get this right?

  “I guess. Yeah.”

  “You could pull that off.”

  Her mouth twisted, and Mac wanted nothing more than to sit next to her and take her hand. But he steeled himself to stand still. And wait.

  “I thought so,” said Cora. “But it’s not like it was then. I swear, Cypress Hollow when we were growing up was like some throwback to Mayberry. Sure, kids were probably having sex in the backs of cars, but I couldn’t think about anything but knitting. And riding horses with you two. I was naive, young. Heck, I loved Eliza’s tea set so much that she gave it to me when I married Logan.” She touched the gold rim of the cup. “She made me feel normal. Like everything was going to be all right. And I needed that so much back then…”

  She needed it now. Mac could see that, and he ached, unable to help. “It’s not like that with Olivia?”

  Cora laughed. “No. It’s not.”

  “But you said she made yarn?”

  Inclining her head, she said, “True. We did spin a little. She mocked it like crazy and swore every time it hit the floor. And man, I thought I could swear but a drunk Irish bartender couldn’t keep up with that girl’s mouth.”

  “Spinning? That’s Mayberry, right?”

  “She didn’t like the tea, and she wouldn’t finish her scone, citing too many carbs. She told me I should keep my glycemic index lower by eating more protein with my sugar.”

  “So… she’s concerned about you?”

  Cora shook her head. “They were Trixie’s words, coming out of her mouth. Then she said –” She broke off and jammed her fingers into her hair.

  “What?”

  “Why are you here again? I was going to ignore you till you left.”

  “You can’t. You won’t,” he said, hoping against hope he was right. “What were you going to say? About Olivia?”

  Cora seemed to be making a decision. She sighed, deeply. Then she said, “She asked if we were… fucking.”

  The word was startling. And at the same time, it was decidedly sexy. Goddamn, she was so hot. He blinked to try to clear his mind of the image of Cora – naked and arching, reaching for him – that raced through it. “She did?”

  Cora frowned. “How did she even know to ask that? She’s not even quite sixteen.”

  “You ever seen any of those CW TV shows? Vampire Gossip Girls, whatever. She’s not six. They know this stuff now. They have computers in their pockets, porn on demand in grammar school. Like you said, this isn’t Mayberry. Nowhere is. Not anymore.”

  “She was around us for what, an hour? Is it that obvious?” Cora rubbed Clementine’s forehead with her fingers and the swing creaked harder.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” If he’d given off one hundredth of what he felt, yeah, it would be obvious from the moon.

  “Why can’t you see the truth, then?” she asked.

  His heart sped up. Whatever it was, they could fix it. Together. “What truth?”

  To his surprise, tears filled her eyes.

  “Cora –”

  “I’m not crying – oh, crap. It’s only because I’m so mad at you.” Cora stood abruptly, the back of the swing hitting the wall, and spun around. Then with one motion, she threw her teacup at the end of the porch where it smashed into a porcelain cloud.

  “Oh!” Her hands flew to her mouth. Now they were real tears. “Jesus!”

  “What is going on?”

  She crumpled to her knees and started picking up the biggest pieces. Seemingly to herself, she said, “I’ve never thrown anything. In my life. And look, this is why. You throw something, you just have to clean it up. Oh, Eliza.” Her chin dropped toward her chest, and her eyes screwed shut. Despair radiated from her, from the slope of her shoulders to the way her hands cradled the shards as tears dripped down her cheeks.

  “Let me help.”

  She met his eyes then. “I can’t believe I broke this. Eliza gave me this, entrusted me with the set, her favorite set – and then I… Oh, I knew I shouldn’t use it – I should have kept saving it for best –”

  “Would Eliza have thrown the teacup?”

  It was the right question. She hiccupped as her eyes searched his face. “Yes. She believed in using things she loved. Only she might have thrown it at your head. Once, she thre
w a whole cooked ham at Joshua because he teased her about making yet another garter stitch sweater.”

  “You’re going to have to talk to me.” Mac took the pieces of porcelain from her and laid them carefully on the small table next to the swing, then he sat. “Sit next to me and Clementine. Come on.”

  She did, and then groaned, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, her face hidden in her hands. A low-flying airplane droned over the breakers, a sleepy afternoon sound.

  Disentangling her left hand, he threaded his fingers with hers. “Is it about the sale? I was going to talk to Mom and Valentine some more about it later…”

  “No,” she said, pulling her hand away sharply. “Of course it’s not about that.”

  “Then what is it, Cora?”

  She closed her eyes and opened them slowly, keeping her gaze focused far out on the dunes. “About her.”

  He gave it his best guess. “Aunt Valentine?”

  “Olivia.”

  He couldn’t have been more surprised. “What about her?”

  “She’s your daughter, Mac.”

  “No.” Nothing Cora could have said would have shocked him more. “No, she’s not.”

  “I know you think that, but…”

  “She’s not. Trust me.” Mac head felt fuzzy.

  “No, you trust me. You couldn’t see her yesterday, racing next to you. No one moves like you two. You were exactly the same up there. You matched. She holds her body, even tilts her head the same way you do. I know you and Trixie were broken up by the time she got pregnant, and she told people in town that it was some circuit rider’s baby. Everyone believed her. Because they knew if the baby was yours, you’d have taken care of her, of them, and you never came back, so I think people forgot to wonder after a while. But in that moment when you were racing toward Royal and me, your faces were almost identical in their expression and focus.”

  “You’re saying you think she’s… my daughter?”

  “Yes.” Cora lifted a hand and touched the back of his wrist so lightly it felt like a hummingbird landing.

  He stood. Speed was what he needed. No time to waste. “I have to go. I mean, I have to do something…”

  “That’s fine. I have to go to the bank, anyway.” Cora stood, also, coming up to his shoulder. “But she’s yours, Mac. You can still find her. You can still make it up to her.”

  Mac heard the longing in her voice, the echo of her own grief that no one had found her.

  He had. Mac had found Cora, even if she’d never been able to believe it.

  But he had to take care of this first. “I’ll be back.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her mouth. She gasped, but didn’t pull away. For one brief, electric second, they were together – he felt it. When he broke the contact, she swayed, her eyes closed.

  “Dammit,” she whispered. “That’s not fair. Oh! What about your dog?”

  Mac put everything he had into the words. “Will you please keep her?”

  “And that’s really unfair.” But Cora’s hand fell to the top of Clementine’s head. “Shit.”

  “I’ll be back,” he said again. It was a promise.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  You already know what to do. The answer is closer than you think. – E.C.

  Cora tied Clementine up in front of the bank with no idea how the little dog would do. It was possible she had separation anxiety and would bark the whole time. Or she might, God forbid, bite some passing dog, or worse, person.

  And whose fault would that be? Mac’s. Fairly, squarely his. She crouched and pulled on Clementine’s orange ears. “Be good. Can you do that?” A tongue swipe on the cheek was her answer. “Good enough for me.”

  In line inside, Cora held her envelope tightly against her chest. She should be thinking about her balance. She should be making plans. That’s what she was good at. She loved making plans, and if there were ever time for a planned Hail Mary pass, it might be now. But instead of her fingers itching for a pencil to scratch out a new What If list, they drifted up to her lips, the lips that Mac had just kissed.

  Jesus. She rolled her eyes at herself. Mac had a daughter with the one woman in town Cora didn’t get along with. He’d somehow saddled her with a dog – oh! Cora gasped, startling Zonker, the town pharmacist who stood in front of her wearing his perennial Grateful Dead tie-dyed T-shirt. “I’m okay,” she said, waving her hands.

  “Cool,” said Zonker.

  Was it actually possible that she had let Mac leave her with a female to take care of?

  Was that just what he did? Cora felt sick.

  But it was time to think of herself, of her little farm. Not time to think about McGibboney Cross Wildwood. So she whistled quietly along with the Muzak version of ‘Paperback Writer’ playing on the speakers overhead. The Bank of Cypress Hollow was small and never had more than two tellers on shift. Today it was just one. Mary Platte was known for gossiping with every customer she came into contact with. It had always made Cora nervous, and she needed absolutely no extra nerves of any kind. And of all people, Valentine and Louisa were ahead of her by four customers. That means that Mary would get to gossip with both sisters. Cora was in for a long wait. Valentine caught sight of her and beamed, leaning around Zonker.

  “Sugar! Hi!”

  Cora waved. Valentine blew her a kiss and Louisa smiled thinly.

  Fiddling with the slim envelope, Cora shuffled forward slowly with the line as Valentine and Louisa stormed Mary’s window. She kept her eyes on the windows above the side desks. Nothing but blue out there today, not a cloud in the sky, not a whisper of fog. It was as clear out there as she was stormy inside.

  Ahead of her Valentine tittered at something Mary said. Louisa’s back was ramrod stiff. What were they doing? Valentine had been selling pies pretty steadily, both through Cora’s booth and on a side table at the church. But what if she needed money? What if she was borrowing from Louisa? It was something that she hadn’t thought of – that Valentine might be as hard up as she herself was.

  A heavy ball of sadness sunk inside her stomach. It was one thing if Cora herself was poor. It was worse, somehow, if Valentine was so broke she was borrowing from her sister. How bad off was she? Did Valentine really need to sell her land? By refusing to talk about it with Mac, was Cora hurting Valentine?

  A peal of laughter rang, and Mary waggled her fingers at Valentine and Louisa, her signature goodbye. The sisters passed Cora, Valentine pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Darling, pop over tomorrow. Apple pies coming out my ears.”

  Cora nodded. “All right,” she managed.

  Louisa walked past without saying a word.

  “Is she okay?” Cora asked. “She usually takes the time to diss me at least a little bit.”

  “Oh, her,” Valentine flapped her hand. “She’s fine. A bit angry, maybe, but that would be at me, not you. Sugar, we need to talk about that thing Mac was asking us about.”

  “I know. We… are you…” Cora didn’t know how to ask, and Mrs. Luby was leaning forward behind her, trying to listen in. Good thing she was so hard of hearing. “Are you okay? You know…” She cut her eyes to Mary and back and then glanced at the envelope Valentine was holding.

  “Oh, this? Honey, I’m fine. Don’t you worry. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  She and her sister left. The line moved faster then, and within minutes, Cora was presenting her few checks to Mary.

  “Nine dollars and forty cents,” said Mary, her fingers flying over the ten-key calculator. “Four dollars thirty-two, and twelve seventy-one. Oh, you folded this one up a coupla times, huh?” She uncrinkled the check from Abigail for three pots of jam that Cora had carried in her back pocket for a day or two. “Twenty-one even.”

  Did Mary have to read the amounts out loud? Cora was dying. Mrs. Luby was still too close. Wasn’t she supposed to stand behind that white line? Just because she used a walker didn’t mean she got special eavesdropping privileges.

  While Mary flipped throu
gh the checks, hitting them with stamps, Cora wondered about Mac.

  He hadn’t known. That was obvious. For a second on the porch, she’d felt a wave of sympathy for him. It hurt to learn the truth too late to do anything about it. Was he at Trixie’s now, confronting her? Was he somewhere panicking? Freaking out?

  For a moment, Cora felt a hot, ugly twinge – Mac had a daughter. If she’d managed to keep her own baby, if her body had done what it was supposed to do instead of rejecting the life inside her, what would her daughter have been like? Would she have had Logan’s ears? Would she be drawn to gambling, or was that a male familial trait? Would she have been a knitter? Or would she reject what Cora loved in order to make a point? Would she refuse to garden in favor of learning computer programming? Would she wear clothes like Olivia’s or would she be a girly girl and beg Cora to buy her fingernail polish and lip gloss?

  The revelation of his daughter’s existence couldn’t fail to change Mac.

  Would it make him stay? Jesus, what if it did?

  “Any more, hon?”

  Cora wished. “That’s all of them.”

  “Okay.” Mary peered over the top of her glasses at the screen. “That brings you almost out of the hole, sugar. Now you’re just negative twenty-two dollars and thirteen cents.”

  “What?” Cora’s hands jerked involuntarily.

  “Didn’t you know you’d bounced a couple –” Mary squinted at the screen again “– no, four checks?”

  “No!”

  “Don’t you get the email notifications? Or the postcards?”

  “No.” Cora hadn’t ever set all the email stuff up, and she usually threw her bills into a pile and paid them all once a month, the same time she balanced her checkbook – that was what she’d always done. It was her system, and it worked for her. Until now.

  “Oh,” said Mary, sounding disappointed.

  Cora leaned on the counter and glanced over her shoulder. Mrs. Luby looked like she was practically taking notes. Turning back, she whispered, “Doesn’t it pull against my savings account?”

  “Your savings?”