Written on My Heart

by Morgan Callan Rogers

  Glen stopped talking and hung his head.

  I was out of words.

  He said, “So, I’m sitting here, trying to figure out what I should do, Florine, because I don’t belong in this world. I could go back to hell, I suppose. I don’t know. I feel so fucking stupid. I feel so lost.”

  I grabbed at a feeble straw. “What about Evie?” I asked. “Maybe you and Evie . . .”

  Glen snorted. “Evie’s hard as nails. If I was to get together with someone, it’d be someone soft. All I can say is it’s a good thing there’s good people in that baby’s life.”

  “Well, maybe someone else will come along . . .”

  He shook his head. “Not counting on anyone showing up for me. I wouldn’t know what to do. I don’t deserve someone else anyways. Something always goes wrong. I might bring it on myself. I don’t know. I get scared I ain’t good enough. Or they come on too strong and that pisses me off. So, no, I ain’t finding anyone soon. I’m too fucked-up to even think about that. I feel bad enough as it is.”

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “I’ll stick around for now,” he said. He jerked his thumb toward Arlee. “Got these babies to love. It’s good being out on the water again. Nothing or nobody out there to spit on me, piss or shit on me, or shoot at me, or stare at me like I have some god-awful disease. Just the gulls to rag at me.”

  Arlee crawled out of the tent and handed me a drawing. Most of the paper was covered in orange, pink, and yellow lines. But one black line met itself in a crooked circle in the middle of the other lines.

  “What’s that?” I asked her.

  “Boo-boo,” she said.

  She handed her drawing to Glen and gave him a hug and a kiss and made him kiss her arm again. I got up from the stool, leaned down, and kissed him on his forehead.

  “Why don’t you stay in Grand’s house for the winter,” I said. “It’ll get cold out here.”

  Glen nodded. “I’ll think about it,” he said. “Thank you.”

  Arlee and I left him there and hurried back to our warm house.

  28

  Robin’s instinct about Bud had been right. He wasn’t partial to her. When she called me, he shook his head and made faces.

  “Why do you do that?” I asked. “It’s rude. It’s also not your conversation, so it’s none of your business.”

  “You should hear yourself. Your voice gets all high and goofy. You don’t sound like yourself,” he said.

  “I feel more like myself when I talk to her than I do with anyone but Dottie or you,” I snapped. “She’s my family. What’s your problem?”

  He shrugged. “No problem. It’s just that she takes up time.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “We got no time as it is, what with the kids. When she calls, she’s taking time we didn’t have in the first place.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I know what I mean,” he said. “That’s enough for me.” And then, silence, Bud-style.

  I hated it when we argued in the trailer, especially during the cold weather, when there was nowhere else to go. Hurt feelings ricocheted off the back of the kitchen wall, hit the rear wall near the bedrooms, glanced off the roof, and bounced back.

  I could only hope, with time, he would warm up to Robin. I began to call her when he wasn’t home. If she didn’t have classes, or wasn’t working at the hospital, I invited her over for coffee or tea to visit with the kids and me for an hour or two.

  “What are you doing for Christmas?” she asked me during one visit.

  “Bud wants to stay here,” I said. “He wants it to be small, just us, this year.”

  “Well,” Robin said, “if I had little kids, I’d like to have that time together too.”

  “Not that I wouldn’t like you to spend the day with us . . .”

  “No, I have plans anyway,” Robin said, but I could read her face pretty well, and I didn’t think that she did. I hated leaving her out.

  Dottie called me one day and asked if she could stay overnight on the sofa at the trailer. “I got to drive to Falmouth. The junior high needs a gym teacher. I might have the job if they like me.” Falmouth was just up the road from Stoughton Falls.

  Bud lit up when I told him Dottie was coming.

  “Okay, why are you excited about Dottie and not Robin?” I asked.

  “Dottie’s Dottie,” Bud said.

  “Robin’s Robin,” I replied.

  “Yeah, but we already know Dottie.”

  “So, you’re not going to like people we don’t already know?”

  “’Course not.”

  “Sounds that way.”

  “You can read it any ways you want to.”

  I threw up my hands. He laughed but didn’t clear up anything.

  Dottie and I talked it over the night she came by. “He don’t want someone new taking you away from him,” she said. We were sitting on my bed after putting the kids to sleep. Dottie said, “Sees her, watches you and sees how happy you are when you’re with her, like she’s a new toy or something, and he gets jealous.”

  “I never figured he’d get jealous that easy,” I said.

  “You didn’t see him when you was dating Andy,” Dottie said.

  “He didn’t have the right,” I said. “He had Susan. What the hell?”

  “Well, he doesn’t have her now, does he?” Dottie said.

  “And I sure as hell don’t have Andy.” I debated telling Dottie about my encounter with him, but I changed the subject. “How’s Archer?” I asked.

  Every time his name came up, Dottie’s face flowered. “I’ll see him plenty, even if I get this job,” she said. “I’ll be down there weekends and vacations, and whenever I get the chance,” she said. “I ain’t going to leave him alone for too long.”

  “How’s Evie doing with him?”

  Dottie frowned. “She’s Evie. She’s who she was before she had him. Sticks him on her boob, then gets rid of him as fast as it takes her to get to the mirror to check out her makeup and see if she’s lost more weight. Madeline’s been trying to make her eat so her milk will be better. Evie doesn’t want to eat. Says she’s fat.”

  “Who cares?” I said. “Doesn’t she have bigger things to worry about?”

  “Mmmm. She’s going back to Long Reach High School after Christmas vacation,” Dottie said. “She passed in all the homework they sent to her and got A’s on the tests. For someone so smart, she’s wicked stupid. Madeline will watch Archer during the day. I’ll watch him anytime I can.”

  “Maybe you’ll have your own little Archer someday,” I said.

  “I might,” Dottie said. “I’ll figure that out if it ever comes up.”

  Toward Christmas, Robin called and offered to babysit the kids for a Saturday so Bud and I could shop.

  “Really?” Bud said, after I’d hung up the phone. “She’d do that?”

  “Of course she would,” I said. “She’s a great person.”

  “Well,” Bud muttered, “it’s nice of her.”

  The Saturday before Christmas, Robin came over midmorning, and Bud and I took off for Portland.

  “When was the last time we had a date?” I asked as he drove the Fairlane around Baxter Boulevard.

  “Never, I think,” Bud said. We’d gone to movies during our first year together, but then Arlee had showed up, and Travis after that.

  He parked the car in a lot that charged us too much money for his liking, and he grumbled a little. We huddled into our coats and scarves and held hands on the busy city streets. We went into a few stores to pick out things for Arlee and a couple of small gifts for Travis. He would be more interested in paper and boxes anyway.

  When we’d had enough of the crowds, Bud and I ducked into a little place on Congress Street for lunch. We sat in
a booth that looked out onto the street, so we could watch people walk by.

  Bud chowed down on a cheeseburger. I bit little chunks out of my cheese and tomato sandwich.

  My Carlie radar kicked in when my eyes locked with a little redheaded woman bouncing on the balls of her feet as she moved down the sidewalk. This woman was not Carlie, but I liked the cheerful way she walked, head up, arms filled with packages. She caught me looking at her through the window, and before I could look away, she smiled. I smiled back, even as something inside me tinkled and broke, like a Christmas-tree ornament.

  I put down my sandwich.

  “You not eating that?” Bud asked.

  “I can take it home.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Take your time,” I said. But after a few minutes, I said, “I’m tired. Not having the kids makes me want to take a nap. You’d think I’d have some energy, but no. I want to sleep. Crazy, right?”

  Before Bud could answer, our waitress came over. She took my sandwich, wrapped it up, and gave it to me in a brown paper bag. Bud finished his cheeseburger. We paid, left, and walked up the street toward the parking lot. Little bits of sleet pinged against our faces. Wind traveling up a city canyon stung my eyes. We paid the man in the parking lot and Bud drove us back through Portland.

  “I want more,” Bud said when the city limits were behind us.

  “What?” I said. “More what? Did you want dessert?”

  Bud shook his head. “No. I want you to listen to me and not go wacky. I mean that I want to do more than we’re doing. I don’t want to just live in a trailer in Stoughton Falls. I want to travel places, work in different places. I want to see things.”

  “Okay. What things?”

  “Famous things. The Golden Gate Bridge. See the Grand Canyon sometime. Go to Florida. Be nice to live somewhere warm for the winter.”

  “We can take vacations. Let’s wait a couple of years, till the kids are bigger, so they can remember what they see.”

  We were quiet for a minute or two. Then Bud said, “And sometimes I might want to go places by myself.”

  “Didn’t we have a big fight for me wanting to go somewhere by myself with my girlfriends? Are you saying this because of that?”

  “No, but it got me to thinking. I might like to take a trip alone sometime. I make the money. I can put a little bit away each week for myself.”

  It hurt me that he had pointed out that he was the breadwinner, but something else bothered me even more. “You couldn’t stand us being away from you a couple of months ago,” I said. “I wanted to stay at The Point, but I packed up and moved back with you. And now you want some time alone. I don’t get you.”

  “I don’t mean, right away,” Bud said. “But I’ve always dreamed of seeing other places, by myself. Like an explorer. Not because I don’t love you. It’s like you said, you and me will go places together. But sometimes, I’ll want to go alone.”

  I stared out the windshield at the light snow. After a minute, I remembered to breathe.

  “You okay with all this?” Bud said.

  “Let’s not talk for a while,” I said.

  “Jesus,” Bud muttered, and goosed the gas. The car skidded on the snow.

  “Don’t do that,” I cried. “Don’t fucking do that.”

  We made it home without any more swerving. Or talking.

  Robin was sitting on the floor with Arlee and Travis when we walked through the door. “Hey,” she said with a smile. I bent to pick up Travis.

  Bud nodded at Robin, took off his coat, and headed for the bathroom.

  “Did you have a good time?” Robin asked me. I forced myself to smile.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Santa will be coming to the Warner house this year for sure.”

  “That’s good,” she said.

  I headed for the kitchen, son in arms, daughter clutching at my coat. “You hungry?” I asked Robin.

  “No,” she said. “We ate peanut butter sandwiches just a little while ago. And Oreos.”

  “I see that,” I said, wiping dark goo from Travis’s mouth with a washcloth.

  Bud came out of the bathroom and walked into our bedroom.

  Robin reached for Travis as I shucked myself out of my coat. I tossed it over my daughter’s head, making her giggle.

  “Oh,” Robin said. “Someone called here. Parker?”

  “Parker Clemmons?” I asked. “What did he want?”

  “Said to call him as soon as you could.” At my look, Robin said, “What?”

  “Could be something. Could be nothing,” I said. “Want to stay on the sofa? It’s starting to storm out there.”

  “Thanks. No. If I leave now, I’ll be able to get a parking spot near my apartment.”

  She passed Travis to me and we gave each other a clumsy hug with him giggling between us. “Thank you, Robin,” I whispered. “Merry Christmas.”

  She was about to go out the door when I remembered her present, a dark-brown fisherman’s sweater that I had knitted for her. The yarn matched the color of her eyes.

  “Here,” I said to Robin. “Merry Christmas.”

  “You didn’t have to do that!” she exclaimed. “You’re my present this year.”

  “Can’t wear me,” I said. “Or wrap me. Don’t open until Christmas.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “When you get a minute, look in the pan cupboard.”

  After she left, I sat down on the sofa, gathered my kids in my arms, and hugged them for as long as they would let me, trying to live this moment before whatever Parker had to say changed who we were, yet again. We stayed there until Arlee took her blanket and slid under the dining-room table for her nap. I set Travis in his crib and stroked his hair until his eyes closed. I shut his door and tried to quiet my heart. I crossed the hall and went into our bedroom. Bud’s hands were folded over his chest. He looked dead.

  “Parker called while we were out,” I said. He sat up. Not dead, after all.

  “What did he want?” he asked.

  “Not sure,” I said. “Will you come sit with me while I call him?”

  He followed me into the kitchen. I lifted the phone off its base and dialed the number Robin had copied down in her neat handwriting.

  “Hi. This is Florine,” I said, when Parker picked up.

  “Remember them letters you got?” he said.

  “Of course I do. We got a couple more, actually,” I said. “I was going to . . .”

  “Someone brought in a bundle of their own.”

  “What?” I said. “Who?”

  The blood pumping through my ears was so loud I almost didn’t catch the name.

  29

  I had never met Andy Barrington’s mother, Barbara. I had never even seen a picture of the woman. When Glen, Bud, Dottie, and I had accidentally set the Barringtons’ porch on fire during the firecracker raid, we had destroyed a beautiful rosebush she had planted, but she hadn’t shown up for our Big Apology. A few years later, when Andy and I got together and we talked about our parents, I gathered that, while Edward was the type to fetch his son home and call the sheriff, his mother, Barbara, let him do what he wanted. At one point, Andy told me that his mother, whom he described as airy and timid, had left Edward because of Edward’s drinking. But who knew how much of it was true. Andy twisted things.

  Dottie’s encounter with her had been the first I’d heard of her in years. Now she had stumbled into Parker’s office to deliver a bundle of letters to him, high on something else other than life, according to Parker, makeup running down her face, winter hat cockeyed on her head. “Take these,” she had said to him. “I found them. I finally found them. I knew he couldn’t keep it in his pants, even here. Despicable. A bounder.”

  “What’s a bounder?” I asked as Bud and I sat in front of Parker’s desk in his office. The kid
s were with Ida and Maureen. It looked as if we would be spending Christmas at The Point with family after all, which was fine with me.

  “Them people know words we don’t even know exist,” Parker said.

  I had identified my mother’s handwriting on the opened envelopes. About thirty letters, most of them going back years before I had been born to her and to Daddy. All of them addressed to Edward Barrington. I held them to my nose and breathed in musty dust. I was dying to know what was inside, but at the same time, I wanted nothing to do with them.

  “I guess you was right,” Parker said.

  “Oh, really? About what?” I said.

  “Barrington. Well, at least about me talking to him.”

  “You contact him yet?” Bud asked.

  “He’s coming in after Christmas with his lawyer,” he said. “Told him he’d better. The good police officers in Boston know he’s a person of interest. He’s being watched.”

  “Why aren’t you arresting him now?” I said. “He killed Carlie.”

  “We don’t know that at all,” Parker said. “Don’t jump the fence, Florine. We still don’t know much about who wrote them letters you got. They didn’t have no signature, remember. We don’t know if Barrington is involved with them or not.”

  Bud shook his head. “What if he don’t show up?”

  “He will,” Parker said.

  “What day? What time?” I said.

  “December twenty-seventh,” Parker said. “Morning, sometime.”

  “What if he admits it? What then?”

  “That’s a step down the road,” Parker said.

  “He’ll just deny everything,” I said. Bud helped me to my feet.

  Parker reached for the letters. “Got to keep those for now. You can have ’em later to read. You might want to know what they said.”

  My hands shook as I handed the letters to Parker. “I don’t want to fucking look at them ever again,” I said. I turned to Bud. “It’s Christmas,” I said, “let’s go see the kids.”