Heart of the Country (8 page)

16

I
SAW A GLIMPSE
of yellow and realized suddenly how much I loved color. I noticed it more than other people, I think.

I was kind of shy as a kid. Not bursts-of-red-up-my-neck shy, but reserved, way more than the rest of my family. So to get attention, I wore a lot of bright colors. When neon was all the rage, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.

When I was eleven, I finally caught the attention of my family when they heard me singing one time in my bedroom. I didn’t realize it, but they were all in the hallway with their ears to the door. Suddenly I was like a superstar or something.

“I didn’t know you could sing!” Ma said.

“Don’t know where that comes from,” Pa had exclaimed.
“Nobody in this family, that’s for sure. Ever heard your mother sing at church?”

And that’s exactly where I ended up, too, the very next Sunday, singing a solo of “A Mighty Fortress.” Pretty soon I was a regular at church, in the choir, at the county fair, and certainly at any picnic or party I attended.

I relished the attention. I hadn’t had much of it until that point, and so I soaked it in and took every opportunity that was afforded to me. But what I didn’t realize at the time was that somewhere along the way, I started defining myself by my talent. Easy to do when your family has nearly their whole identity wrapped up in you. I made a name not only for myself, but for them too.

They never took advantage of it or used it wrongly, but I’d stand up on that stage, belt out a song, and watch tears come to Ma’s eyes. I’d walk past Pa and he’d be talking music with his buddies. I knew I had something special and didn’t want to waste it.

But then I met Calvin, and as much as he loved my singing, he seemed to see music in my soul instead. He saw me. Really saw me. If I couldn’t carry a tune, he wouldn’t have cared. He always said we made our own music. And he said that whatever I sang first started in my beautiful soul. Looking back, he was kind of a deep guy for being so young. But he’d worked the fields, just like generations before him, and I think it does something to you when you’re out there in the quiet, with time to think. Calvin told me he watched
lots of sunsets by himself, and I always imagined his soul saturated with light.

“Ma’am? Ma’am? Wake up!”

“Catherine . . .”

He leaned over me again, and I swore either he was deaf or I was imagining that I was being heard.

“Catherine . . . ,” I repeated. Were my lips even moving? I couldn’t tell.

“Glad you’re back with me. I need you to stay with me . . .”

Okay. Stay with you.
Boy, he had pretty eyes. My Faith would like those eyes. She was drawn in by old souls. I knew that when she came home and announced Rupert Stewart was her boyfriend. In the third grade.

“Rupert?” I asked. The kid was nice but had thick glasses, a bowl cut, and nearly always mismatched clothes.

“He’s read all the Judy Blume books.”

It lasted about a week, but I knew my girl looked for substance, and in those blue eyes that kept my gaze, I saw substance.

I was drawn to my metal reflection again, and this time I told myself that I had to look. Not just glance. But look.

“Blood pressure is rising again,” he said.

I stared at it for a long time. The pain was coming back. It made me want to scream, but I couldn’t move. His hands were still over my belly.

Blood on his gloves.

Yellow here and there.

A moment of clarity interrupted the pain and the terror that I felt, and I saw it clearly. I saw
me
clearly. And I knew I’d made a mistake. The metal wasn’t distorting me. It was perfectly capturing me.

“Her heart rate is . . .” His voice trailed off. I don’t know why. But I couldn’t look at myself any longer. Maybe I trailed off.

I had to ask myself, was I better off dead? And maybe at that moment I was because I felt nothing at all. No hope. No love. No peace. No memories. Complete emptiness, except for the flickering of my soul against a harsh, dreadful wind.

17

“Y
OU’RE FAR AWAY . 
. .”

I gasped, turned. Dad had crept up on me while I was lost in my thoughts of Luke and our life before. “Hi. Sorry. Was just . . .” I didn’t have to say it. He knew. I hung the saddle up and grabbed the brush.

“Good day for a ride. Nice weather.”

“It was perfect.”

“How was he for you?” he asked, nodding toward Silver.

“The best. A real gentleman.” I nudged Dad. “Mom used to say the same thing about you.”

He stared off into the horizon. Then he turned back toward the house. “Well, your sister has fixed dinner.”

“What?”

“It’s a special day.”

“She didn’t have to go to that trouble.”

A wry smile crossed his face. “That’s what your sister does. She goes to the trouble. It’ll be better than anything I come up with, that’s for sure. I’ll meet you back up at the house.”

He ambled toward it, taking his time, and I took mine. What had I done, coming back here? I was already a huge inconvenience. And I could tell Olivia didn’t approve. How could I explain the last few . . . ten . . . years? How could anyone possibly know how I got here? Why I came here. Why I left, for that matter.

My mother’s face rippled in my mind as if it were laid against water. She told me that no matter what, I’d always have home.

But I don’t think she could’ve predicted what a mess all of us would become.

I spent a little while with Silver, brushing his coat. Used to be that the shine came back when I did that, but no matter how much I brushed, the sheen didn’t return. It was okay, though. We understood each other.

I walked back to the house in my bare feet, feeling the grass between my toes. I loved being in my bare feet. Luke and I used to go to Central Park and I’d always kick off my shoes, which inevitably led to a much-loved foot rub from the man of my dreams.

At the back door I slipped on my shoes and walked in. Dad was in the recliner. Just the top of his head peeked
over the worn leather. A football game droned into what was otherwise a silent house. Off the kitchen was their bedroom. I slipped in there quietly. I didn’t know why, but it just felt like I needed permission to wander this home I’d grown up in.

The familiarity of the room greeted me, but the warmth was gone. I’d spent hours in here talking with Mom about boys, horses, singing. The arrangement hadn’t changed. A soft layer of dust was at first the only indication a woman wasn’t keeping the room. The pictures were still around. But it had been stripped down to simplicities, serving a man with simple needs. I stepped quietly, carefully, my hands clasped behind my back as I wandered from picture to picture.

I noticed Dad’s Bible on his nightstand. Well worn. A bump in the middle. I wondered what it was and walked over, carefully lifting the cover. Between the pages
 
—Leviticus chapter 9 to be exact
 
—was Momma’s wedding ring. Silver. Thick but a little hard to get a grip on. I picked it up carefully and held it close to my face. I knew by heart the tiny inscription on it but read it anyway.
C & C. May the music never stop.

I studied it for a moment, then looked at mine. Massive by comparison. Platinum. The diamond stretched from the bottom of one knuckle to the top of the next. It had taken a whole week to get used to the weight of it.

“Hey.”

I turned, embarrassed by the private moment he’d stumbled upon. I quickly slid the ring back into his Bible.

“Hi there.”

“Sorry ’bout that. Must’ve fell asleep in the recliner.”

“No problem.”

He looked at his watch. “Your sister’s not exactly the type to keep waiting, so we better go.”

“Sure. . . . Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“When did the music stop?” I looked at him, catching his startled expression. But I had to know. “Was it before or after she died?”

Dad took a long look at me. An uncomfortably long look. “It never stopped. I still hear it. Every day.” He walked out and I trailed behind him as if I were a little girl again.

We got into Dad’s pickup truck, the same one he had when I left, and got on the main road. I realized I didn’t even know where Olivia lived.

18

“I
THOUGHT
we were having grilled cheese,” Nell said, hanging on the counter like it was some sort of jungle gym.

I shooed her off it. “We were. Now we’re not.”

“’Cause Aunt Faith is coming over?”

I glanced at her. “You don’t have to call her Aunt.”

“But you said she’s my aunt.”

“Technically, but you kind of have to earn the right to be called that.”

Victoria, coloring at the table nearby, pointed to the pumpkin. “What about Grandpa’s pumpkin?”

“He’s got everything he needs over there. Nell, hand me the eggs, please.”

Nell hurried to the far end of the counter and carried them to me. But the next thing I knew, she’d dropped them. Bright-yellow egg yolk oozed out from the container, spreading quickly across the floor.

“Nell!”

“I’m sorry, Mommy! I’m sorry!”

“Go to your room!” I screamed, dropping to my knees to see if even one egg survived. I carefully opened the carton, but there was not a single one left.

Victoria stood over me, crayons in each hand. “Momma?”

“Victoria, please, just go away. Just go.”

I knelt there over the eggs with my dish towel. I heard Nell crying in her room.

Then the back door opened. Hardy. His heavy boots, which I always asked him to take off, tromped down the hallway to the kitchen. Was I crying? I didn’t even realize it. I tried to dry my tears quickly, but it was no use. I knew my face was blotchy. I was not a pretty crier. Faith could cry her eyes out and they wouldn’t even get red.

“Olivia? What the heck are you doing down there on the floor?”

“Nell dropped all these eggs. Now I can’t make a cake.”

“Why don’t I just run down to Kevin’s, see if they have any.”

“It’s too late. I won’t have time to make it before they get here.”

“Are you crying?”

“No . . .”
I glanced up at him. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Hardy bent down next to me with a rag, started cleaning it up.

“I’ll get it.”

“Now, there. I’m the kind of man that can get down on his knees and clean up an egg or twelve.”

I laughed a little. “I just wasn’t expecting company tonight and I have a lot to do.”

“Well, you didn’t have to invite them over, you know.”

“Daddy eats TV dinners except when he comes over here. He would’ve had nothing for her to eat.”

“I bet they could’ve managed.”

“It’s family. It’s what we do.”

“I know. You keep telling me that.” He winked, and before I knew it, the eggs were cleaned up.

“You want me to go talk to Nell?” he asked.

“I’ll do it. Can you get the plates out?”

“Sure.”

I walked down the hallway, batting at my eyes to keep them from watering again. Nell was lying on her bed, her knees pulled to her chest, blubbering with the best of ’em. I sat down next to her.

“I’m sorry . . .” Her face dripped with tears and I held her head against me. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Of course you didn’t mean to. Why would you drop a bunch of eggs on purpose?”

She wiped her eyes and smiled at me. I grinned back at her, patted her little head, and sat her up. “I’m sorry I got so upset.”

“You were going to make a cake with them, weren’t you?”

“Yep.”

“Is that why you were so upset?”

“Well, I like cake an awful lot.”

She smiled. “Me too.”

“But there’s always another day.” I tried to remain calm, but how could I serve a big dinner with no dessert?

“Mommy?”

“Yes?”

“Can I call her Aunt Faith if I want to?”

I stroked her hair. Avoided her eyes. “Yep.”

“I’ve never had an aunt before.”

“She’s been gone for a long time.”

“Where does she live?”

“New York, I think. Last I heard.”

“New York? Wow.”

“Don’t be too impressed with that hoity-toity city. We here in Columbus County are the heart of the country.”

“Did you see her shoes?”

“Fancy, huh?”

“Yeah. She’s pretty.”

“Always has been.”

“Now you’re like me.”

“How’s that?”

“We both have our sisters.”

I rose from the bed. “I have to finish dinner. Will you help Victoria pick up her crayons? You two get washed up, comb your hair, and wash the bottoms of your feet. Hear me?”

“Yes ma’am.”

I returned to the kitchen. Through the back door I could see Hardy grilling the meat. It smelled good. I turned my entire focus to the meal. Everything had to be just right. Even if we had to live without dessert.

They’d be here in twenty minutes.

19

I
N THE EVENING
I took a walk. The leaves were starting to fall, brilliantly colored if life was good. If not, just brown and dying. Faith and I loved this time of year. We’d sit for hours in Central Park on the weekends, on a blanket, eating goat cheese on brown rice crackers and sipping wine. We had the whole picnic basket and everything. She’d wear amazing dresses that flowed around her legs, showed off her shoulders in a way that always caught my attention.

I stared at the spot under our favorite tree. I could practically see her, in her favorite white dress with a sweater around her shoulders when it got colder, leaning against me as we talked about everything under the sun.

A girl skipped by and I lost the image like a leaf blown away. I had so many memories, but they were fleeting. I couldn’t hold on to them for long.

I could call her. I knew I should. But what would I say? What was there to say? I doubted she’d take my call anyway. She’d hear details soon enough, I guessed, through the media maybe.

Dread filled me from head to toe as I thought about what my future held. A certain regret danced around that dread, that I’d left my family’s business to pursue what I saw as a more exciting endeavor. I wasn’t surprised by the regret. Long before I was in trouble, I had the same regret. I just kept trying to ignore it.

The day I told my dad I was leaving, it was like a weight had lifted off me. I felt unchained from something I was literally born into. For years I didn’t even realize there was an option. Nobody ever gave me a choice. And I didn’t realize until I was older what “second child” really meant. It seemed like a curse.

Not always. I still had memories of chasing the wind through the Atlantic waves. Building sand castles. Climbing the rocks on the small cliffs. I couldn’t have known then how prophetic my words would be. I was eight, and the ocean’s waves were being stirred by a coming hurricane. Jake and I were building forts out of sand, trying to beat the storm that was coming. I hollered over the wind, “I’m going to build mine bigger and better than yours!” He just smiled, like he was happy for my effort but knew it wasn’t possible.

Those words echoed in my mind as if I’d said them moments ago. I sat down on a lonely bench in the park, feeling the hatred of recent days still burning deep in my bones. I remembered the day Jake chased me down after I told Dad I was leaving.

I was young. Too young to articulate what I wanted. What it meant to me. I’d told him to watch his clients, but it’s not what I meant. I’d drawn a line in the sand when I should’ve just walked away and proven myself with my actions.

But Jake always did have a mouth on him, especially when it came to defending his family. You’d rather cross paths with the devil than Jake Carraday.

I pulled the phone out of my pocket. I wanted to hear her voice. But I knew she wanted nothing less, so I slid it back into my pocket and sat.