“You did trespass.”
“I know, Mike, but we couldn’t really go anywhere else. Not the way he was bleeding.”
He patted his pockets absently, then clasped his hands. “You’re lucky he didn’t call the sheriff. Boy, that would have been great—two of my kids in jail on the same night!” He lowered his head and shook it slowly. “Margaret,” he whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m trying, I’m trying my best.”
“There is a little good news. About Elaine. But maybe it’s not so good. Didn’t she tell you?”
“I only saw Rob. What?”
“She’s pregnant.”
The announcement had a calming effect on Mike. Cory watched as he relaxed. He smiled and nodded slightly several times. “Good,” he finally said. “She would have been so happy about that.”
“Yes.”
“Look.” He pointed to a nearby cluster of fresh green that was pushing through the brown mat of winter ground cover. “Crocus shoots.” He hugged her, and Cory closed her eyes to enjoy the strong, steady rock in his arms. “Let’s hope the worst has passed, Cory. A baby’s coming, and things always get better in spring.”
13
“Who needs a fresh one?” Rob shouted through the kitchen window to where Cory and Elaine were sitting on the deck. “I guessed wrong on the coals and we have time for another round.” He appeared at the door, balancing bottles on a small tray. “Where did the others go?”
“Down front,” said Elaine as she reached for a soda. “Dad had to show Mike where the new azalea bed will go in.” Elaine’s parents owned a nursery and garden store. Their front yard, which stretched nearly a quarter mile to the greenhouses along the highway, was an ever-changing showcase for the family business. Cory had always preferred the back yard with its simple cedar deck and small square of ordinary grass.
“I think it’s time for you to stop,” Cory said to her brother. “I’ve never seen you go over two beers.”
“There’s lots you haven’t seen me do, Sis.”
“Like cook for company. This is a first, and a grilled pork roast, even. I’m impressed, Robbie.”
“A pork roast isn’t that difficult,” he said. “You just rub it down with garlic and toss it on the grill.”
“And wait,” said Elaine, “and wait and wait and wait. Meanwhile, I will deliver these cold beers down front.”
Rob scratched at the label on his beer bottle. Cory knew how much energy was being directed into that single action, as if it were a release valve that kept him from exploding. She reached out to rub his arm and he jumped.
“Cool down, Robbie.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s good news about the baby.”
“You think so?”
“Yes I do. Elaine will be a great mom. C’mon, Robbie, a month ago you wanted a baby.”
“A month ago I had a job and money coming in.”
“You’ll be working soon.”
He set the bottle on a table. “Fred Strickler came by this afternoon. He said they’d made a decision that they couldn’t give me the job until my legal troubles had cleared up. He said they can’t hire someone who might be serving time.”
“Too bad, Rob.”
“I gave up a good job to work at the plant. They promised.”
“You hated the road job. And you got yourself in trouble. You didn’t have to go to the landing last night.”
He turned and his eyes burned into her. “They’re giving my job to the next guy on the list, Peter Rosebear’s nephew. He doesn’t even live in Summer. That was my job and they gave it to someone else. Three years I waited for my name to come up. They gave it to a goddamn Indian.” He pounded on the deck rail. “My job, Cory. My job!”
“Stop it, Rob. I don’t want to hear it.”
“I bet you don’t.” He blew across the neck of the beer bottle. “Fred’s cousin came to town for the protest, and according to Fred he was one of the guys with Brad last night when they found you. What a cheap deal, Cory. My sister caught by my friends stealing into a motel room with her goddamn Indian boyfriend.”
“Stop it.”
“Bad enough I lose my job to one of them, but to have you sleeping—”
“Is that what’s killing you? Not remorse for your stupid actions last night, not concern about maybe going to jail with a baby on the way? But it’s the thought of me in bed with Mac!”
Rob rose. Cory stood and faced him. “Are you going to hate me forever just because I did it with an Indian?”
“You fool.”
“I did it, Rob. I did it with an Indian!”
Words lashed as his hand swiped. “You slut!”
The force of the strike came in its surprise. Cory toppled backward. The full weight of her falling body landed on her right arm just as it hit the edge of the cedar rail. The rail bent but held. Her forearm cracked. Cory crumpled and cradled her arm. Blood trickled where his ring had cut across her face.
Rob crouched by her. “Oh God, Cory. Oh, Sis, I’m sorry. I don’t know why—”
“Go away,” she screamed. She lifted her leg to kick him.
That’s how the others found them: Rob kneeling in wide-eyed terror and Cory collapsed and bleeding, one leg thrust out. The dinner party was over.
*
“I hate hospitals,” Mike said as he escorted Cory into the emergency room.
“Don’t tell them what happened. I don’t want anyone knowing anything about Rob hitting me. We’ve already given people enough to talk about.”
Cory went alone to the exam room. She sat with her eyes closed and cradled her arm as the nurse chatted. When the questions began, she answered in muted monosyllables. “I fell,” she mumbled. That was true enough, and all anyone needed to know. If she went any further she’d have to tell the whole story or make it up, and she had already told one big, fat lie tonight, one she had aimed as a direct hit at her brother’s weakest spot.
I did it with an Indian.
It wasn’t the first lie of her life. She’d told them as a child when she hoped to avoid punishment for minor rule-breaking. Lies to her suspicious mother when she faked sickness to gain an extra day for unfinished homework. Lies to friends about their occasional terrible haircuts.
But never before had she lied with the intent of hurting someone.
“I didn’t hear you,” the nurse said. “How did it happen?”
“I fell,” Cory said firmly.
An hour later she walked out of the hospital with several pounds of fiberglass on her right arm. Mike tucked her good arm under his own. “At least it was a simple fracture. You were lucky.”
“I don’t feel very lucky.”
When Mike laughed, Cory marched ahead to the truck. He went after her and attempted a hug, but was rebuffed.
She turned on him as soon as they were together in the truck cab. “I’m seventeen, motherless, the joke of Summer, I was just punched out by my brother, and you think it’s all funny! I’m not laughing, Mike. Look at me—I’m not laughing.”
Neither was he. “If anyone had told me a few months ago when your mother was dying that things could get worse, I would never have believed it. This is worse, Cory, and I was laughing because it’s the only thing I can do.” He gripped the steering wheel with both hands and stared ahead. “Somebody, please wake me up.”
“I’ve been wishing the same thing.”
For the first few miles, Mike fiddled with the radio, then turned it off in exasperation. No baseball. He hummed a few soft notes and Cory smiled. The Best Song Ever.
“Mom would be so mad, don’t you think?”
“Damn right she’d be mad. And I am too. Cory, if I thought Robbie had ever hit anyone before or was likely to do it again, I’d call the sheriff. It’s basic: you don’t slug women.”
“I don’t want him arrested. I don’t ever want to see him again, but I don’t want him arrested.”
“I’m sure you feel that way. With time—”
“Ever. Ever.
Keep him away. You want to know why? I can’t promise I won’t hit him.”
Mike had a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, holding on as if he believed only the sheer force of his will would get them safely home. She could tell he was drawn inside, traveling on another personal, anguished journey. Cory wanted to know, but didn’t dare ask, what he was thinking. Wanted to know how it felt to be left with his dead wife’s warring children. And whether he wished they’d go away. She wondered if he regretted adopting her. She wanted to know why she had never once called him “Dad.”
The scene with Rob replayed over and over in her mind. She heard again her taunting lie, his spat reply. You slut. She closed her eyes and saw his hand slashing across her face. Saw the trees spin as she fell. Saw herself kicking and screaming, saw Mike’s anguished terror. She squeezed her eyes tighter and brought up other pictures. Cory saw her mother’s pale face—dead or asleep, she didn’t know. She saw Mac’s bloody forehead, saw his injured eyes, saw the laughing strangers in the hotel room. Again and again she saw her brother’s enraged face, saw his hand slashing down. Cory opened her eyes and looked out on the dark and featureless forest speeding by. She saw a simple truth: the deepest wounds are bloodless.
14
“Did you break your arm falling out of a motel bed?” Nick said.
Cory dropped her jacket into the locker. “Get lost.”
“You didn’t happen to make copies of the keys, did you?” asked Karin. “I’d like to borrow them sometime.”
Cory slammed the gray steel door closed. “Why? Tired of doing it in a car parked at the dump?” Mac’s arrival halted Karin’s retort. She turned to him. “You look like a happy boy. Have you been getting more exercise lately?”
Cory stepped in front of Karin and jabbed at Karin’s chest with her forefinger. “That’s it. That’s the last crack, Karin. You’ve had fun with it. Now just shut up.” Karin turned on her heels, grabbed Nick by the arm, and walked away.
“And we’re not friends anymore,” Cory called after her. The corridor was filled with students hurrying to first-hour classes. Cory’s shout slowed traffic for a moment. “Hey, people,” she called out, “did you hear everything?” The rush resumed.
Mac tapped her cast. “What happened here?”
“I fell. I fell, I fell, I fell. End of story.”
Sasha slipped out of the crowd and dropped her bag and jacket on the floor. “I slept late. I didn’t sleep at all Saturday and so I crashed for twelve hours last night. I didn’t hear my alarm go off and my stupid stepmother couldn’t take her eyes off Donahue long enough to wake me up. Hi, you guys. Have you seen Tony? This lock never works. Finally.” She exchanged books, stashed her jacket, and slammed the locker closed. “What an incredible weekend. My God, Cory, what did you do to your arm?”
“She fell,” said Mac. “End of story. And Tony’s already in class. He had to talk to Senor Burger about a test.” He kissed Cory on the top of her head. “It hasn’t been too bad. Only three or four people have said anything. Don’t let them get to you, okay? Catch you later, Sash.” Mac stepped into the flow and was swept toward his classroom.
“What’s he talking about?” Sasha asked.
Cory leaned against the lockers. “You haven’t heard?”
The warning bell rang. “I haven’t heard anything. I spent all day yesterday with some people from Milwaukee who came up to be witnesses. What should I have heard?”
Cory told her about why and how they had been discovered in the motel room, and even before she was finished Sasha let out a gleeful howl. “No! Bartleby? I bet he hasn’t climbed steps in ten years. That is hilarious.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is. You’ll laugh someday. It’s great. Does Mike know?”
“I told him. He was a little upset because I trespassed. He feels like he failed my mother, what with both kids screwing things up.”
The final bell rang and they were alone in the halls. “I saw Rob get arrested,” Sasha said.
“I don’t want to hear about it. I am so mad at him. If we hurry we won’t need a tardy slip.” They jogged down the hall, book bags bouncing against their hips. “How did you hurt your arm?”
“I fell.”
“Fell how? Climbing mountains? Washing windows? Getting out of the tub?” When they reached their class, Sasha looked in and noted the absence of a teacher and the student mayhem. “We have a minute. How did you fall?”
Cory spotted their teacher at the far end of the hall. “Don’t tell. You have to promise not to tell.”
“You’ve got it. How?”
“My brother hit me and I fell.”
“On purpose?”
“No, I didn’t fall on purpose. Here comes Steadman. Let’s go.”
“Wait. He hit you on purpose?”
“Shush. Yes. We were arguing and…hi, Mr. Steadman. We’ll be right in.”
“Class starts now, girls.” He waited for them to enter, then followed and closed the door.
Cory and Sasha took their seats. Sasha leaned over as she fished a pencil out of her bag. “Want me to kill him for you?”
“Not anymore,” Cory whispered. “But if you had offered last night—”
“Cory and Sasha, you may finish your conversation later.” Mr. Steadman turned his back and began listing dates on the board. “A short quiz, students. Please put away your textbooks and take out pencil and paper.”
Sasha spoke under the cover of the noise of ripping paper and murmured complaints. “What did Mac say?”
“I didn’t tell him.”
“I think you should—”
“Sasha and Cory, if you must talk you may do it in the principal’s office. For those who are paying attention, here are your quiz instructions.”
Cory was trying to remember the historical significance of 1619 when Sasha slid a note onto her desk. Keeping an eye on the teacher, she unfolded it slowly: “What will you do about your brother? Press charges?”
She smoothed the paper and scribbled a reply: “Nothing. But I will never—repeat, never—talk to him again.”
*
Cory was surprised by how easy it was to avoid her brother. Even in a town only big enough for two grocery stores it was possible not to cross paths. Rob went his way, she went hers. They nearly met one Friday night at the video section in Zanker’s service station. She and Mac were looking through Mystery and Rob was one aisle over in Comedy. She recognized the top of his head. “Pick anything,” she whispered to Mac. “I’ll wait in the car.”
She watched, then couldn’t watch, as Mac and Rob met at the register. Instead, she closed her eyes and counted.
“Did he say anything?” she asked as soon as Mac got into the car.
“Who?”
“Rob. What did he say?”
“Not much. He did look at my movie and said you wouldn’t like it.”
Cory took the plastic box from his lap and opened it. “Mac, I hate subtitles.”
“That’s what he said. This is supposed to be good, though. You said I could pick anything. Why didn’t you want to talk to him?”
“I told you we had a fight.”
“My brother and I fought all the time, but we still talked.”
“Well, you’re perfect.”
It was the wrong response and it chilled the evening. After that they didn’t speak much, couldn’t agree on pizza toppings, and back at Cory’s house they were quiet and didn’t respond to Mike’s jokes. He appraised their moods and retreated to his own room and television with his share of the pizza.
Neither of them enjoyed the movie. When the main character, an unhappy boy, began barking like a dog, Cory punched the off button on the remote control. The VCR whirred and halted. The screen darkened. “Sorry, Mac. I just wasn’t into it.”
“Neither was I. I didn’t know it was about a kid whose mom died.”
Cory sat erect on the sofa, knocking off the pillows she had collected on her lap during the movie
. “I liked the title, though. My Life as a Dog. It would be a good title for my life.”
Mac swore softly, then picked up a pillow and banged it against Cory’s knees. “Knock it off, Cory. You’re not the only one who’s got problems. It really burns me that you’re having this fight with your brother and you act like it’s the worst thing that has ever happened to anyone. It must have been one hell of a fight.”
She yanked the pillow from him. “He hit me. I said something that made him mad and he slapped me. That’s when I fell and broke my arm.”
She had expected Mac would be angry. That he’d fill up with memories of his mother’s battles and wounds and lash out.
Mac nodded and smiled. “That explains a lot.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “The expression on his face when he asked me to tell you to call him. It explains your anger.”
“I thought you’d be mad. I thought you’d…”
He scratched at a spot of dried pizza sauce on his jeans. “Remember my mother and get mad at Roger again?”
Exactly. “Something like that.”
Mac stretched out and stacked his feet. “Don’t be mad forever, Cory. It eats away inside and sometimes makes you crazy. Take my word for it.” He reclaimed the pillow, laid it on his lap, and drummed on it with his fingertips. “I’ve learned two new songs from Jeff. He’s so good.”
“Why are you changing the subject?”
“I want to tell you something. Could we possibly talk about my life?”
“Go ahead.”
“Barb and Jeff are sending me to Canada this summer. I have to come up with part of the money, but they’re paying most of it.”
“Canada?”
“I’ll visit the reserves where my parents were born. I’ll get to meet relatives and maybe go to a program to learn Cree.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Eight or nine weeks.”
“Nine weeks? That’s most of the summer. How long have you been planning this?”
“That sounds like an accusation. Barb just mentioned it the other day. And it depends a lot on if I can save money and come up with my share. Jeff is hiring me to work with his crew putting in docks and getting summer cabins ready before the season. That will help.”
Revolutions of the Heart Page 11