Written on My Heart

by Morgan Callan Rogers

  “I don’t mind you having fun, but don’t come home and start on me,” I said. “And don’t talk to me that way in front of the kids.”

  “Been a long winter, Florine. Could be I was melting the ice inside of me. Your being sick wasn’t hard on just you.”

  “I didn’t think it was,” I said. “Do you think I planned it?” Travis squirmed as I tensed. I made myself relax and I studied Bud as he squinted against the brightness of the spring sun. His face sported a hangover along with what else? Regret? Resentment?

  I said, “I know we owe money to the hospital. I know insurance didn’t cover everything. But getting drunk on whiskey won’t take care of any of that.”

  One side of Bud’s mouth lifted. “Helped, for a while, yesterday.”

  “Not helping much, today, is it?”

  Bud shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “I should cut the lawn.”

  My nose touched Travis’s head and I sucked in the scent of new baby as Bud left the house.

  Maureen carried a sleepy Arlee back home at about noon. “We went to Ray’s and picked up the mail,” she said.

  “Thanks,” I said. “You want lunch?” Maureen said no and left. Arlee nodded off in her booster seat, leaving most of her sandwich for later. I covered her up on the sofa. Travis slept in the bassinet. Bud had finished the lawn and gone off somewhere. “Ain’t leaving with the intention of tying one on, just so’s you know,” he had told me. “Going up to see Fred. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  I brewed myself a cup of tea, sat down at the kitchen table, and reached for the pile of mail. I flipped through bills, flyers, and one letter that had no return address. The small cream-colored envelope matched the one upstairs in my bureau. Same block writing on the front. Lewiston postmark. I sheared it open with a bread knife and pulled out a folded, white, lined piece of paper. The elegant cursive, slanting forward like the sail of a schooner taking on good wind, read:

  C. I waited for you as long as I could. I asked you to meet me and you did not, although you had indicated that you would do so. Do not do that to me again.

  “What the hell?” I said out loud. I held the lined paper up to the kitchen window and looked through it, as if some hidden words might appear. The paper had been torn above the words and below them, making a mystery out of whatever other writing it contained.

  I crammed the piece of paper back into the envelope and tucked it into the junk drawer under the kitchen countertop. Who was “C”? Was this about Carlie? Had the first letter been for her? From who? Why was I getting them? Who was sending them? Why? What would Bud say?

  I decided to sit on it for a little while.

  My little girl woke up crying about a teeny scratch on her pinkie that had happened somewhere on her walk with Maureen. I fetched a Band-Aid, folded it around her finger, and gave it a big kiss. Bud got home on time and we carried on, two young parents and their two babies, supper, feedings, bath times, clean pajamas, a little picture book, and then bed.

  Bud and I were both so tired we went to bed about an hour after the kids.

  “Feels weird to lay here with the sun still up,” Bud said.

  “I know,” I said. “I feel like I’ve been bad.”

  “Speaking of . . . I’m sorry about how I acted yesterday. I was an asshole.”

  “You were,” I said, and then I changed the subject. “You sorry we’re married?”

  “Kind of dumb question is that? Why? You sorry?”

  “That’s a dumber question,” I said. “No. Who the hell else would put up with me?”

  “That’s true. You’re nothing but trouble,” he said. I ran my hand over his thighs and showed him how much trouble I could be until dark flooded the room.

  Sunday passed like a quiet prayer. I said nothing about the letter, barely even thought about it, in fact, my day and my arms were so filled with children.

  Monday morning, Bud left for Stoughton Falls. I worked in the side garden all that morning, with Arlee’s help, while Travis slept away the time in his carrier under the honeysuckle bushes. The breeze off the water begged us to come down to the shore, so after lunch, we wandered down that way. Ida took the baby, and Arlee and I continued on to the little beach. Arlee ran for the water as soon as I put her down, her sneakered feet slipping over the round stones, seaweed, and snails. I chased her and brought her back to the top of the beach, put her down, and let her run again before going after her. Finally, I slipped off my loafers, took off her sneakers, and we plopped our feet into the cold water.

  Her small face opened like a blooming daffodil. I held her hand as she splashed in the salt water until her toes turned red. She whined when I whisked her out and dried her feet, but laughed when I kissed them all over.

  We walked along, picking up deserted shells and little bits of seaweed she wanted to keep. Something red winked among the pebbles. I bent and picked up a jagged piece of red glass. Could this be a piece of Grand’s red ruby heart? Most likely not. The heart had been solid. Being tumbled all over the sea bottom would have rubbed it smooth. I lifted the glass and looked through it, into a memory.

  Carlie and I had once walked this beach, me picking up shells, wading in water that covered my feet. I saw me as Carlie might have seen me, a little girl wearing light-blue overalls. My curly hair was pulled back into a tiny knot. I saw Carlie’s bloodred toenails. She hummed a song as we walked and said, “Careful,” as I balanced on a crooked rock.

  “Careful,” I said to Arlee as she tried to balance on a crooked rock, possibly the same one I had balanced on. The connection of my mother and me, and me and my daughter, skewered time and confused me. I suddenly felt the need for a solid presence.

  “It’s time to go,” I said to Arlee. She whimpered as I picked her up and hurried us off the beach. I passed Ida’s house and headed toward the Buttses’. I was glad to see Madeline’s car was in the driveway. She was as close as I could get to Dottie at the moment. She flung open the door before I could knock.

  “Well, I hoped you’d come over,” she crowed. “Hi, sweet cheeks!” she said to Arlee. Arlee smiled and Madeline took her in her arms.

  “Come on in,” she called to me over her shoulder.

  Madeline swept paint tubes and a couple of canvases over to one side of her kitchen table, which, when I thought about it, had never been clear, and pulled out a chair for me. “Sit down,” she said. “Want a cookie? Of course you do,” she said to Arlee.

  “Me too,” I said as she pulled a homemade snickerdoodle out of the old beehive cookie jar.

  “I can do that,” Madeline said. “Where’s your baby boy?”

  “Ida has him for a couple of hours.”

  “Well, of course she does,” Madeline said. I saw flashes of Evie in her dark hair and blue eyes. “Have some milk, munchkin,” she said to Arlee, and she fetched it for her in a blue plastic cup. Madeline said to me, “How you making out over there? You glad to be back?”

  “I am, kind of. No, I am glad.”

  “Kind of? Something wrong?”

  “I missed it all winter. I’m glad to be in Grand’s house. It’s home.”

  “You like living in the trailer?”

  “I like being back with Bud. The trailer’s okay.”

  “So, how come you said you were only kind of glad to be here?”

  “I don’t think about Carlie so much when I’m there. Here, she pops up like a ghost.”

  “Oh, honey, I imagine she does! Wouldn’t she be glad to see you and these beautiful babies, though? She’d want you to be happy. I’m sure of that.”

  “Yeah. But I’m getting tired of being reminded of her not being here.”

  “Well, of course. But no matter where you are, you got two things of your own to keep you on track for at least the next eighteen or so years.”

  A car door slammed. Tires spewed rocks
and gravel as the car spun up the hill. Evie walked into the house, all swagger and smirks.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “That Justin?” Madeline said.

  “Was,” Evie said. “Better get used to hearing a new name.”

  “Broke up with him?”

  “Yup. Hi, sweetie pie!” Evie put her heart-shaped face up to Arlee’s and rubbed turned-up noses with her, which made Arlee giggle.

  “Can I have her? We can go play dolls,” Evie said, holding out her arms. I passed Arlee over and Evie stuck her on one luscious hip and sashayed out of the room.

  Madeline shook her head. “How could two kids be so friggin’ different?” she muttered. “That one’s going to be the death of me, for sure.”

  I didn’t have much to say about that. I hadn’t been such an angel.

  “I mean”—Madeline lowered her voice—“she’s a wild woman. Doesn’t listen to a thing I say. I grounded her last week for sneaking out in the middle of the night. She just looked at me and said, ‘I’m going out anyway.’ Even Bert can’t handle her. She’s going to get knocked up by somebody if she don’t watch out.”

  I clicked my tongue and shook my head. “I need to get Travis,” I said. “Mind if I leave Arlee?”

  “’Course,” Madeline said. “It’ll keep Evie out of trouble for five minutes or so.”

  But in the five minutes it took to pick up Travis, Evie fed Arlee half a bag of M&M’s.

  “She loved them,” Evie told me as she brought her to the Buttses’ front door.

  “I’ll bet,” I said.

  Evie widened her bluebird-colored eyes. “Did I do something bad?”

  “Might keep her up. I’ll let you know. Thanks for watching her.”

  Arlee ran across the road to the house and jumped up and down until I let her in. “Going to be a long night, Trav,” I said to her brother.

  And it was. Arlee tossed her spaghetti around and Travis fussed and didn’t drink much formula. Arlee bounced from ceiling to floor. Travis was happy to go down. Arlee fiddle-farted around downstairs with me until ten o’clock, when her crabby self ran smack into a wall of restless sleep. I put her to bed and called Bud in Stoughton Falls.

  “Don’t give our kids candy near to bedtime,” I said when he picked up the phone.

  “Okay,” he said. “Why?”

  I told him, and then I went on with the news of the day.

  He told me which cars were in the garage and what they needed done to them. “Car got towed in today. Old man drove up on a boulder in his driveway so he wouldn’t hit his cat. Did a hell of a job to the car. Later, a lady comes in, swears she put a quart of oil in the tank when it was down. Engine almost seized up. Sure she did.”

  I didn’t answer him.

  “Florine? You okay?” Bud said.

  “Bud, I got something on Saturday. One of those letters.”

  “What letters?” he said. “Wait. Another ‘I love you forever’ letter? What the hell?”

  Before he got too wound up, I said, “Now, wait, let me read this.” I opened the junk drawer and took out the letter. I read it to him.

  “Holy shit,” Bud said. “Who’s ‘C’? Where the hell did that come from?”

  “I don’t know. Carlie? It’s different writing too. I don’t know what to do with it.”

  “Give them both to Parker. This is bullshit.”

  “Why give them to Parker?”

  “Well, it’s weird. And maybe, just maybe now, it might have something to do with Carlie, and he would want to know. Or maybe someone’s just trying to drive you crazy.”

  “I know,” I said. “I know.”

  “Give ’em to Parker,” Bud said. “That’s all you can do.”

  We said our I-love-yous and talked about what we would do to each other if we were sharing the same bed and then we said our good-nights.

  I hung up the phone, clicked off the downstairs lights, went out to the porch, and rocked back and forth for a long time.

  16

  Sheriff Parker Clemmons had given me his word that he would never give up looking for my mother. As far as I knew, he never had. I called him about the letters and he came by. He wasn’t too pleased with me for handling the envelopes and notes.

  “Probably not going to be able to get any prints from these,” Parker growled, “what with you touching ’em.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Do you think someone might have sent these to Carlie?”

  “Can’t say. No names, no prints; postmarks, but no return addresses,” Parker said. “I’ll put them in the file. You let me know if something else like this happens again, right away.” He smiled down at Arlee, who had been staring at him with her thumb in her mouth ever since he’d knocked at the front door. She didn’t smile back.

  “It’s the uniform,” Parker said. “Gets ’em every time.” I walked him out.

  “Bye,” Arlee said as he drove away.

  “Oh, now you’re going to talk?” I said.

  The screen door on my father’s house slammed and I saw Stella walking toward us. Her black hair soaked up the sun, even as her white face pushed it away. She looked straight-line sober. “Hello,” she said. “Two redheads standing in the spring sun. What a nice sight to see on this beautiful day.” Arlee grabbed onto my leg.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I wondered, what with Parker stopping by.”

  “What can I do for you?” I asked.

  “Well, I haven’t seen the baby yet,” she said.

  “He’s sleeping,” I said.

  “Heard you had quite a time carrying him.”

  “Wasn’t a party, that’s for sure.”

  “You’re okay now?”

  “Doing okay.”

  “I’m doing okay too,” she said. “Better, now that Grace is gone.”

  “She said goodbye,” I said.

  “Surprised she did. She’s not much for talking.”

  Arlee left my side and wandered into the side garden.

  “Can’t get over how much she looks like . . .” Stella said.

  “I know,” I said.

  Travis began to cry. “Arlee, we need to go in,” I called to my daughter. I said to Stella, “Now would be as good a time as any to see Travis.” Lest she be carrying a weapon yet to be seen, I made her walk in front of me as we went through the door.

  She stood in the kitchen as I picked up my son from the bassinet on the porch.

  “Here he is,” I said.

  “Oh my god,” she said, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth.

  “I know,” I said. “He looks like Daddy.”

  “Spitting image.” Stella sniffed. She wiped tears from her eyes.

  “You can touch him, if you want to,” I said.

  “Really?” she said. She put one shaky hand on his head and stroked the curly fuzz there. Travis looked her over, his blue eyes steady. “Hi, baby,” she said, her smile young and naked. Travis’s pale eyebrows rose and the corners of his mouth turned up.

  “Oh!” Stella said. “What a sweetheart!”

  “That’s gas,” I said. “He farted on my arm. He’s too little to smile.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Stella said. “It was a real smile.”

  “Suit yourself. He needs a change and we need to get supper ready.”

  “I won’t keep you,” Stella said. “Thanks for letting me see him.” She let herself out.

  I looked down at Arlee. “Did I almost just have a nice talk with Stella?” I asked her.

  “Jeeza,” Arlee said.

  It was only Tuesday, so I was surprised when Bud drove down from Stoughton Falls.

  I hugged and kissed him and said, “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”<
br />
  “I missed the hell out of you,” he said. “Cecil gave me Wednesday morning off. I’m going to work late tomorrow and Thursday.”

  As I fed him a late supper, I updated him on Parker’s and Stella’s separate visits and anything else that had gone on since Monday morning.

  That night, we couldn’t seem to keep our body parts separate. Travis only interrupted us once. In the morning, we looked like love-wrecked survivors. Bud’s lips were puffy, and beard rash peppered my chin and cheeks.

  At breakfast, in between kid chores, we locked eyes and smiled. Then he set to his over-easy eggs as if it were the most important meal he had ever eaten.

  “Those eggs must be some good,” I said. “You okay?”

  He swallowed, put down his fork, looked at me, and said, “I don’t think this is working out.”

  “What isn’t working out?” I said.

  “This. You and me . . .”

  “What the hell do you mean?” I said, my voice razor thin.

  “Calm down,” Bud said. “Jesus, don’t go off—”

  “You can’t say something like that and expect—”

  “Settle down, for chrissake,” Bud said. He stared me down. “You calm? Good. What I’m trying to say is I ain’t happy not having you at home. I want you to come back to Stoughton Falls.”

  My heart tripped, then steadied. “Now?”

  “No. I figure you stay through the Fourth of July, and then we go back. Christ, Florine, I miss you. The other night, I talked to myself in the bathroom mirror.”

  “Was it a nice conversation?”

  “Compared to most of the people I talk to every day, yes, it was a damn good talk. But that ain’t the point.”

  “This is The Point,” I said. “My Point.”

  “Mine too,” Bud said. “I was brought up right down the hill. Don’t be a smartass.”

  That was like telling me not to breathe. I stared at Grand’s old, square, red plastic clock on the kitchen wall. “I should dust that clock,” I said.

  “That it? That what you got to say?”

  “That’s a lot to spring on me at breakfast,” I said. I got up, set Travis down in the bassinet, wet a clean washcloth, took it over to Arlee’s high chair, and wiped banana goo from her cheeks.