Cora's Heart: A Cypress Hollow Yarn

by Rachael Herron

  “The dead man’s skeleton is almost sixteen.”

  Abigail tilted her head to the side in the same way Clementine did.

  “What is it?” asked Cora.

  Abigail started braiding a new section of hay. “You realize that you’ve never told me a secret, and in the last few weeks you’ve confided in me twice?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “No, it’s just that… I always tell you secrets. I come blab when I’m pissed off at Cade, and I run to your farm when my own is about to make me crazy. Good grief, you’ve helped me unsnarl yarn that had me in fits, which is above and beyond the call of friendship, truly. But in the four years that I’ve known you, you’ve never once come to me for anything. Not one thing. Not even knitting questions! Everyone comes to me at one point or another, but you just keep knitting industrially away, getting your work done. You help me all the time, with the pattern testing and bringing me vegetables that you won’t let me pay for, but I never get to help you.”

  Cora didn’t know how to answer. Should she be proud of that fact? Embarrassed? Apologetic?

  Abigail went on, “It’s just nice, that’s all. I like it when you talk to me. And I’ll hug you all day if you need it. But I’m sorry you’re hurting, sweetheart. Do you want me to go kick his ass?”

  “Oh, God. No.”

  “Does he deserve it?”

  Cora thought. “He lied.”

  “We all lie.”

  It was a surprising thought. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s something I’ve learned with little kids. They lie just because it’s fun, to see what they can get away with. I lie at the store because women who look awful in green love it more than any other color and they would be sad if I told them the truth. I lie at home when Cade asks me if I’m okay, and I’m fighting a migraine and the kids have been screaming all day but what I really want is just to lie on the couch with him, so I say I’m fine. And soon, most of the time, I actually am fine.”

  “You don’t plan to lie to children about their parenthood.” Cora shoved her hands under her thighs, not minding the scratch of hay against her palms. “Or to the woman you say you love.”

  “Did you call him on it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he apologize?”

  “Yes. Badly.”

  Abigail shrugged. “You love him. So forgive him.”

  The ground seemed to sway under Cora, and she felt dizzy again. It couldn’t be that easy. Nothing was that easy. “I –” she started, but Abigail gasped.

  The earth wasn’t only seeming to sway anymore. It was bucking, rolling underneath them.

  “Earthquake,” Abigail said, a delighted thrill in her voice. “Here we go.”

  Cora’s dizziness intensified, made stronger by the sudden frisson of fear that chilled her heart. The swaying grew, and the land at her feet dropped and lurched. Abigail stood and tried to move toward the house, but Cora caught her by the hand. At the next violent jolt, both lost their balance, falling to their knees on the grass. “Safest – here – outside, no power lines. Stay. Here.”

  It was by far the biggest earthquake that Cora had ever felt. It grew, rocking in a sickening rhythm. By now, any other temblor would have played itself out, but this one went on and on, ripping, jolting, thudding underneath them.

  Sand. Liquefaction. First motion. Focal depth, and hypocenter. The words she’d studied scrolled through Cora’s mind as Clementine gave a short bark of alarm from where she’d been tied on the porch while Cora did the chores.

  “The Big One,” she breathed.

  “What?” Abigail dug her fingers into the dirt, holding on.

  “Nothing.” Cora’s only experience during earthquakes had been to run through the house, trying to get out. They were always so quick she’d never gotten outside before the rocking stopped – during this one, she could only sit still. Literally ride it out.

  The checklist of her What If the Big One Hits page opened in her mind’s eye. She knew what to do. This was it. This was when all her training would come in to play. She’d make sure the animals here were safe, that her outside gas main was turned off. If the house was safe to enter, she’d fill the bathtub and all the sinks with water if it still flowed, then she’d go into town to check who needed the most help, stopping at the fire house first to see if they needed her in a particular spot.

  Mac. Oh, God, where was Mac?

  The swaying was lessening, and the jolts slowed. She looked up at her house, waiting for it to slide to the ground. What would go first? The old mudroom on the north side of the house? Would it simply topple? Or would it crack and open like she’d seen in old earthquake footage?

  “Whew,” said Abigail, standing. “That was a good one.”

  “Wait, don’t get up yet.”

  “It’s over, Cora. It’s okay.”

  Cora looked back at the house and then at the barn. Both building stood, cheerily undaunted, nothing moving but the porch swing, which swayed as if a strong breeze were pushing it.

  “It’s okay,” said Abigail again, giving her a hand up. “Are you all right?”

  “That wasn’t the big one.”

  Abigail shrugged. “Depends. If it was centered here, nope. If that was an L.A. quake we just felt, then yeah, Los Angeles is floating out to Hawaii by now.”

  “Jesus.”

  “I’m kidding. It felt local. If it were far away, it would have rolled more gently instead of jerking like that. We’re all right. Hey, Cora, are you all right?”

  Cora folded her lips and nodded.

  “You sure?”

  Cora nodded more assertively. “Go home. Check the kids.”

  “Okay. Yeah. If you’re sure.”

  She forced a smile. “Go. Thank you.”

  “And Cora?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Forgive him.”

  Another hard hug and Abigail left, waving one hand out the truck’s window as she went.

  Checking the barn, Cora found no damage. In the bomb shelter, four jars of pickles had slid from the shelf and broken on the concrete floor, filling the space with the sharp scent of dill and vinegar. In the house, one mirror in the spare room had fallen.

  Seven years of bad luck? Seven more? That was all she got?

  Outside again, standing between the barn and the house, she paused. She toed off her blue boots and stripped off her hand-knit socks. Digging her toes into the grass, she… waited, deeply ashamed of the disappointed feeling that flowed through her.

  She knew how to deal with an earthquake, the Big One. Checklists. Plans. She was ready.

  This life? She had no freaking idea what to do next.

  Right here, below her feet, was the space she’d planned on putting in four more raised planting beds for more tomatoes, cucumbers, and late spinach. More to come? meant more money coming in. More chances to save herself. Glancing at the barn, she thought about the two Targhee lambs she’d thought about adding to the flock next spring. Spinners were crazy about the bounce and crimp of Targhee. She’d have paid for the sheep in two seasons.

  She could have saved all this. She could have turned it around. Again.

  And dear lord, she didn’t care.

  Didn’t care about any of it. She looked at the house – it could have fallen, crumbled into pieces, and it wouldn’t have mattered as long as Clementine was out of it. The barn could burn to the ground, and as long as she got her beloved animals – she loved them! – out of there first, she couldn’t care less.

  As long as Valentine and Louisa were okay. As long as Abigail and her family were safe.

  As long as Mac was safe.

  Mac.

  She dug her toes deeper into the grass and waited for the aftershock. For whatever it was that was coming that was worse.

  But nothing happened. The sky above stayed blue. In the field, the goats bleated, a familiar call.

  Maybe there was nothing worse than this – the realization that the things she’d be
en keeping safe didn’t matter. Just the heart mattered. Love. She had no idea what to do next, and she’d never felt so desperate for a bulleted list before in her life.

  “Cora!”

  She was never going to get out of here to find Mac. No, first she had to find Royal and make sure that this girl, the one skidding up to her on her bike, was taken care of.

  “Did you feel that?” Olivia was breathing hard, sweat dripping down the sides of her face.

  “Yeah. You okay?”

  “That was awesome!”

  “Well, we don’t know how much damage it’s done.” That was true, Cora realized. There might still be people in town who needed help. Pipes might have blown – a gas main break could be catastrophic. And Cora knew what to do about all that, how to help…

  “Nah, I was in the middle of Main Street when it rolled through. Tillie’s has a broken window, but Old Bill was on the sidewalk and he said it broke a while back when Phil Dougall hit it with his wheelchair one night when he was drunk.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “Three tiles fell from the gazebo and took out the new bougainvillea, and Toots Harrison is ticked about that. Oh, and one of Mrs. Luby’s little rat-dogs bit someone in the ankle, but I don’t think that was related.”

  “Oh.”

  Olivia dumped the bike on the grass and stood with her, looking down at Cora’s bare feet. “What are you doing?”

  Cora looked up at a robin that wheeled past. The bird probably didn’t have a clue that the earth had almost just swallowed them all. Didn’t have any idea how close death had come. “Being grateful.”

  “Yeah? Know what I am?”

  “What?”

  “Pissed as hell at my mom. And Mac. And your dead dang husband.” Olivia kicked the wheel of her bike and then dropped to the grass. “The only one I’m not mad at is you ’cause they said you didn’t know, either.”

  She knew about Logan.

  Cora had planned on Olivia knowing, learning the truth at some point. She had planned on giving her the money from the house sale. But she hadn’t taken any time thinking about what it would actually do to Olivia.

  “Crap.”

  Olivia nodded. “Yep.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Move in with you?”

  Cora looked at the girl sharply.

  “I guess I’m stuck with my mother. God.” Olivia pulled a clump of grass out by its roots and then realized what she held. “Oh. Sorry.”

  “It’s bermuda grass, anyway. Pull as much as you want.” Cora sat with her, cross-legged. She was spending a lot of time on the ground today.

  “So now what?” asked Olivia.

  Cora took a deep breath. The worst hadn’t happened. The world hadn’t fallen apart. The earth hadn’t swallowed the land, whole cities weren’t in flames.

  No one needed her. No one needed her checklists, her organization, her preparedness.

  And it hit her then. Cora lost her breath as the realization sunk in, deep behind her sternum.

  The worst had already happened. “Oh,” Cora said.

  “What?”

  The worst had already happened.

  When she was born and given away. Again at five, when she lost her second family. When Eliza died. When she lost the baby. When Logan died.

  When Mac left because Cora chose the wrong life.

  And this morning, when she sent Mac away the second, final time.

  The worst had happened, and she’d lived through it without even noticing. There was no page for What If The Thing That Matters Most Isn’t Noticed.

  But she’d lived through it. That was the amazing part. She’d made it through. What if… what if, in the future, she made different decisions? Better ones?

  Olivia’s voice was worried. “What, Cora? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Everything.”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “Oh, honey. I’m sorry.” Cora reached out to touch Olivia’s knee. “I think I screwed up.”

  “You? No, please don’t tell me that.”

  “I think maybe we all screwed up.”

  Olivia shook her head emphatically. “I didn’t.”

  “No. You didn’t. You’re probably the only exception. You want to come with me? I have to talk to Royal. And your mom.” And make sure Mac is okay. Safe.

  Olivia sighed and flopped backward on the grass. “Are you serious? Right now?”

  “Dead serious.”

  “Jeez.”

  “Coming?” Cora stood and held out her hand.

  “If I have to.” But Olivia allowed herself to be pulled up and held on to Cora’s hand a little longer than was necessary.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Sometimes we must knit a new sweater because we lost the one we loved best. This can feel like a terrible betrayal, but really, it’s paying the best kind of homage to our devotion. – E.C.

  By late afternoon, Mac had found what he was looking for. It had taken all day and he’d flipped more than a hundred miles on his truck’s odometer to find it, but it was the one thing he could think of to give Cora, the one thing that might show her how he felt.

  Even though she knew. Mac knew she felt the same way he did – he could see it in her eyes. Or he had seen it in her eyes. Maybe he’d never see it again. That was something he should start thinking about. How to live his life – now that he knew he’d always been right to dream of her – without her in it.

  Yeah. He’d get right on that.

  His old man used to get this certain look right when the last of his paycheck was almost gone. No matter what denomination bill was in his hand, be it a fifty or a five, he’d look down at Mac in the bleacher seat next to him and show him the line the horse was running. This one, Mackie. This is the one that takes us all the way.

  Mac had never asked where exactly all the way lived. He’d known, even then, that all the way meant all the way back to the house where Louisa would scold his father, not for gambling, but for picking the wrong horse. Again.

  But in that moment of hope, as his father led him by the hand to the betting window, the belief that sparkled in his father’s eyes was like the tiny diamond chip in his grandmother’s wedding ring, and when Mac accidentally caught sight of himself in the rearview mirror as he backed out of the parking lot in front of the store where he’d finally had success, he saw the same glint of light in his eyes.

  All hope.

  Only bet on a sure thing, son.

  That’s all Mac had ever done, which was why he rarely betted. He’d lost every time. But he’d never bet on anything he didn’t believe in with all his damn heart.

  As he turned up Cora’s driveway, Mac reached out to touch the small box on the passenger seat next to him. It all depended on this, whether she’d accept it. Whether it was right.

  Dammit, if it wasn’t right, he had no idea what he would do.

  Even though her car wasn’t there, hope still filled him like helium. A ridiculous emotion, he scolded himself, as he walked up her steps, but it didn’t make him stop feeling like he was floating a good foot off the ground. Maybe he was feeling aftershocks? He wondered how she’d done during the earthquake. Had she been terrified? It was a good 6.8, more than respectable. They were lucky it hadn’t done more damage than it did. She’d probably run right for her What If book afterward. He knew, to Cora, that book proved that no one needed to take care of her.

  No, Cora didn’t need him. But goddamn, he hoped she would want him again.

  There was no answer at the door.

  She wasn’t in the bomb shelter, which smelled like pickles and reminded him of the way she’d looked underneath him, her mouth wet, arms around his neck, eyes fixed on his as she came.

  Lord.

  She wasn’t in the barn, either. Okay, then, she’d probably gone to find Royal. Whatever they worked out, Mac would be fine with it. Back in the truck, bouncing down the rutted road toward town, Mac reminded himself that Royal had been
right. Mac couldn’t tell Cora what to do. He’d never been able to do that. Didn’t want to. If she wanted to sell her house, if that’s what she thought was the right thing, then by God, he’d back her to the fullest. Maybe, just maybe she’d need a place to stay, and she’d move her things into his grandfather’s old house…

  Idiot. Get a hold of yourself. One step at a damn time. But how was he supposed to slow his heart which was beating as loud as a freight train inside his ribcage?

  He drove slowly past Tillie’s. No sign of her car or the Rolls.

  What if she just left after this was all over? Got the hell out of Dodge? Started a new life, far, far away? What if she said the hell with him and moved to San Francisco and got a waitressing job? He could see her living in the Mission, a tiny apartment with an even smaller yard where she’d somehow raise chickens and make all the neighbors notice how sexy she looked in those overalls. She’d sell basil and fresh eggs to the restaurant where she worked and she’d date some tall writer-hipster named Yves.

  Mac clutched the steering wheel. That would not happen. God, please don’t let that happen.

  No one was home at Trixie’s, either.

  Shit. He was out of ideas. No one was answering when he called their cell phones. Where else would they all be? Somewhere out of range?

  The stables at the end of Mines Road.

  His tires kicked up dust as he threw the truck into gear. He held the box on his lap. It was too precious to risk letting it slide around anymore.

  Jackpot. In the stable parking he found all their cars – Cora’s, Royal’s, and Trixie’s.

  Stark saw him first. She was at the front paddock, combing the mane of a horse so old it might have been part of the Pony Express. She looked at what he was holding. “You sure about that?”

  Mac’s fingers tightened on the box. “Yep.”

  With a jerk of her head, Stark motioned to the smallest barn. “Everyone’s talking in there. I had to get out. Tell them to work it out, okay? The horses don’t like the drama and I’m worried about Olivia.”

  Mac nodded. Olivia was here. That upped the stakes even higher. Deep breath. Keep moving.