Broken for You (49 page)

"Please stay," she said, smiling. Then she closed her eyes again.

He got up and started making his way. He looked back, just once. A shaft of sunlight fell across Margaret's hands—palms up, fingers separated and lightly curled—giving them the appearance of luminous, cracked, empty bowls.

The carriage house stood about fifty yards from the main house; they were connected by a blue flagstone path, and—just as in the front yard— there were fragments scattered through the landscape, trodden into the cracks between the stones. As the sounds of the people behind him faded, he had a sense of moving into a different world. The path led to the back of the carriage house—where new windows showed that somebody had done some remodeling, and made a good job of it, too—and then curved around and led to the street side.

There was the massive original carriage house door, with a smaller entrance just next to it. Without quite knowing what to do, he knocked. There was no answer, so he went in.

What he saw took his breath away.

It was Gina's ass, attached to Gina herself—or rather, a sculpture of Gina, made of what had to be millions of pieces of smashed dishes and having the same mesmerizing, cobbled-together look as the objects he'd seen in Mrs. Hughes's bedroom. She was posed, he realized incredulously, exactly as she was in his photograph of her, balanced precariously on one leg, one arm stretched to the side, the other reaching strongly forward, palm up. Without the context of setting, he saw the gesture for what it was: a supplication, a plea. She was naked. Attached to her sinewy, narrow shoulders—so like a child's—were two impossibly enormous wings.

"Hello," he heard someone say. He became aware that he was not alone in time and space with this figment of Gina; looking around, he saw and felt the presence of other physical entities. Beneath his feet, a floor. He was standing on it. There were walls, too. A ceiling. Shelves, tables, sheets of plywood, boxes, buckets. It was really quite a cluttered place, he realized. "Over here."

His eyes tracked through the room, trying to find the source of the voice. On the way, he saw the unadorned form of a little girl, holding a cup. He saw a child's valise, a bowling ball, a shoe. He saw a man aiming a camera at Gina.

Eventually he found a young woman with dark, tousled hair. She was sitting on a stool next to a large worktable. In front of her was a bowling pin, half-covered with more fragments.

"Are you one of the new volunteers?" she asked.

M.J. came closer. Shards of crockery crunched under his feet."I'm Wanda Schultz," she said, taking off her eyewear, "but everybody here calls me Tink."

Her eyes filled out the shape he had seen a million times in his dreams: looking up from a plate of pancakes, peeking over a Styrofoam cup.
Sing the song, Da. What's wrong with Mother? Why aren't you staying with Aunt Maureen too?
No fortress of will could keep him from remembering, no vow of deprivation could turn off what he felt. When had he stopped searching for Gina? When had he started looking for her?

He said his name. It was all he could risk.

"Oh! You made it! I'm so glad."

She slid awkwardly off her stool and limped toward him. Her boots against the floor made a gritty noise, but there was another sound too, like something shattering: the sound of a town in the middle of a tornado, of car wrecks and buildings being shelled. Eventually he realized that the sound came from whatever she was carrying in her pockets.

"We should get back to the main house," she said. "Bruce will have a hissy fit if we're late. You are going to stay for Thanksgiving, aren't you?

Thirty-three

Margaret's Dream, Part Three

Why,
it's Babar's gorgeous yellow balloon!
Margaret thinks.
How delightful!

All of them are already on board, in the backyard, waiting. Although the balloon does not appear to be tethered in any way, it is still earthbound.

"Why aren't we moving?" Margaret hears people murmuring. "Why are we still here?

The passenger compartment is huge—so huge that it accommodates not only all of the household boarders and Thanksgiving guests, but hundreds of boxes of all sizes and shapes.
Oh, no,
Margaret thinks.
Not this again.

"All right, everyone!" she shouts with authority. "We need to lighten the load! Throw out the boxes!"

"But Margaret," Marita says, "they're all marked 'Fragile.'"

"Don't fret, Marita," Stephen answers.

Everyone starts heaving boxes overboard. The boxes land with a dramatic series of crashes. Sure enough, the balloon starts to rise, slowly but steadily.

"It's working!" Margaret shouts. "We're going up! Up to the stars!" She turns around. Everyone on board is shouting, cheering, applauding.

They rise straight up to the level of the roofline, and then the balloon stops, suspended over the patio.

The passengers begin to mutter with concern. "Is there something wrong?" "Why have we stopped?"

Margaret hears her mother shout, "Still not light enough! You need less weight!"

"Mother?" Margaret shouts back. "Where are you?"

"I'll go," someone says. Margaret turns and sees a child wearing a school uniform and a backpack.
Why, it's that little boy with the jelly doughnuts,
she thinks.

"Jack?" she asks. "Is that you?"

"We're BRITISH!" Jack replies, and promptly throws himself over the side.

Margaret screams, horrified. But he pulls at something on his backpack and—
Oh look!
Margaret thinks, immensely relieved.
He's wearing a parachute!

Jack's parachute explodes with a loud ruffling sound. It billows wildly until it forms a large circle.
It's decorated!
Margaret realizes, enchanted.
Like a plate! The majolica plate, Florence, 1640, but who cares about that. It's orange and yellow and blue and green and I have always loved the colors of Italian majolica.

"Your father considered it gaudy," Margaret hears her mother say.

"I know, Mother. So you've told me, and I don't care. It's beautiful and brave. Just the thing for little boys to eat jelly doughnuts off of.'

Margaret watches Jack's parachute settle safely on the ground. He peeks his head out and waves. "See, Mum?" he yells up to her. "I'm fine! No crashing!"

More people start jumping off—strangers at first, and then people Margaret gradually comes to recognize: School friends from when sh
e
was a girl. People she and Stephen knew, couples. The mothers of the children Daniel went to school with. Gay Paxton!

"Hello, Gay!" Margaret calls. "I'm sorry I broke your teapot!"

"It's all right, Margaret!" Gay calls back.

The girl with the nose ring who served my desserts. She's put on weight I'm so glad.
And Dr. Leising, too, and all the kind nurses and technologists. Even Marita. Everyone has a plate-parachute. All different, al beautiful.

Then come the volunteers who help with Wanda's mosaics. Th
e
adults. The schoolchildren. Babs. Sylvie. Then Bruce and Sue and—

Oh!
Margaret gasps, thrilled.
They've had their baby! It's a boy!

Gus goes next, followed by the Crooning Clansman in their kilts; they sing a barbershop arrangement of "I'm a Little Teapot" on their way down.

How I wish I could see them from below,
Margaret thinks giddily.

To Troy, she says, "She loves you, you know."

To Mr. Striker: "You simply must join us for dinner."

Finally, Tinker Bell stands before her.

"Are you still angry with me for dying?" Margaret asks.

Wanda holds out her hands, like she is waiting to be given something.

"What?" Margaret is afraid she'll go without saying anything. "What is it, Tink?"

Wanda smiles. "The flag," she says. "Don't you want to get rid of the skull and crossbones?"

Margaret looks down and sees that she is holding a pirate flag. "Oh! Of course!" She hands it over. Wanda casts it over the edge. They watch it billow earthward.

"Be happy," Margaret says, taking her hands. "We're worth more broken."

Wanda answers, "I love you, too."

She goes. Her parachute is pure white.

Margaret turns. The compartment is almost empty now, smaller, too, and oddly shadowed.
Has there been a weather change?
Margaret wonders, vaguely concerned. She squints upward and tries to see around the side of the balloon.
Are there clouds moving in? Is there a storm coming?

And then he steps forward, out of the shadows: the withered, haunted man who came to her father's shop. He wears his yarmulke and black coat; pinned to the lapel is the yellow cloth star with the word "Juif."

She is terrified. But as he draws near, she sees that his face is kind, soft. He takes off his yarmulke, reaches inside, and flings a handful of splintered glass into the air; it transforms into glitter as it descends. Bowing low, he takes Margaret's hand and kisses it. He backs away from her, grinning, until he reaches the low wall of the compartment. Then, with great dignity, he pushes himself up to sit on the edge.
"Mazel tov!"
he shouts happily, laughs, and leans backward.

Margaret gazes over the edge. She sees all the parachutes fluttering down. Most have already arrived. Everyone has landed safely. They ar
e
tugging their parachutes toward a focal point on the ground.

Why, it's me!
Margaret realizes.
They're dragging their parachutes toward me!

From above, the parachutes start to come together, their irregular patterned edges intersecting.

"Au revoir!"
Margaret shouts joyfully. She waves.

They all look up at her—except the down-below Margaret, wh
o
seems to be sleeping—and wave back. "Au revoir, Margaret! Bo
n
voyage!"

The balloon begins to rise above the level of the clouds. Margaret ca no longer see the earth or the Thanksgiving Day guests.
I'm so glad no one wore black and white,
she thinks.

When she turns around, the traveling compartment has changed si
ze
again; it is no bigger than a cozy, unfurnished parlor. At one end, the
re
is a red-haired woman and a little girl—the woman's daughter, Margaret assumes, since her hair too is the color of marigolds. They are sitting on the floor and having a tea party. When Margaret looks close she realizes that they are using Mrs. Kosminsky's tete-a-tete.
It's he
Margaret realizes.
It's Mrs. K.!

Daniel stands before her. He is dressed for bed, wearing his cowboy pajamas.

"Mom, come read to me." He hands her an opened book.

"What did you pick for bedtime?" Margaret says. "Oh! I love this one!" She sits down and puts an arm around him.

'"The festivities are over,'" Margaret reads, "'night has fallen, the stars have risen in the sky, King Babar and Queen Celeste are indeed very happy.'" Daniel yawns. He snuggles deeper into Margaret's am Mrs. Kosminsky's daughter comes to sit on Margaret's other side.

'"Now the world is asleep. The guests have gone home, happy though tired from too much dancing. And now King Babar and Queen Celeste sail away in their gorgeous yellow balloon, in search of other adventures.'"

Margaret looks down. Both of the children are sound asleep in
her
arms.

"Hello, Magpie."

"Hello, Mother."

She wears a simple cotton 1930s housedress with a Peter Pan collar. On her head is a tricorner pirate hat. "Would you like a nap too?"

"I do feel just a little sleepy."

"Why don't you rest then, sweetheart. I can pilot us from here."

"All right, Mother," Margaret says. "Wake me when we get there." She closes her eyes. "You know, you needn't wear that hat. We've unloaded all the booty."

"Oh, Margaret," Margaret's mother says, "now that you're dead, I'm really going to have to teach you how to have a little fun."

Cassandra takes the helm. Margaret sleeps with the children in her arms. The balloon arcs up forever, into the night sky, past millions of glittering stars.

When Wanda came out of the carriage house with Mr. Striker, she knew at once. She took up one of Margaret's cool hands, leaned close, and whispered the words she'd meant to say so many times and long before this. She tucked a comforter around Margaret's body, poured them each a glass of wine, and then settled on the patio floor at Margaret's feet.