Kimberly Stuart (18 page)

Cutting Loose

The first of May announced the final stretch of classes and May Day, a curious holiday that served no purpose other than to encourage unwarranted theatrical cheeriness. When I walked by the drama building that afternoon, a group of students stood perusing a cloudy sky, debating the merits of erecting an elaborately decorated May pole if the weatherman was correct about a thunderstorm about to whip through in a few hours.

“Of
course
we should put it up,” one particularly sunny coed chirped. She wore all yellow, from the floppy cotton hat on her head to striped knee socks on her feet. “Did a few clouds stop the Celtic or Germanic tribes in pre-Christian Europe? Is this not the long-awaited dawn of spring?”

I walked on, not wishing to subject myself to Yellow's monologue. Drama majors, apparently, weren't worried about their final exam schedules, but my students certainly were. James had shown up to his lesson that morning looking like a very tall piece of oatmeal. He'd been up until four in the morning working on a physics project, he'd said.

“I had a little mishap,” he said, his face showing sheepish beneath all the exhaustion. “With my boomerang.”

“Your boomerang?” I leaned against the piano, arms crossed.

James nodded. “I made a boomerang and it was
perfect
. Except that I was giving it a trial run in Carmichael Hall where I have to do my presentation, right? And,
um
, it got lost somewhere in the ceiling.”

I bit my lower lip. “Your boomerang got lost.”

James shook his head, befuddlement all over his young face. “I can't figure it out. One minute it was in my hand and the next …” He trailed off, looking miserable.

I burst out in the joyful laughter of a person who no longer has to submit to the whims of a syllabus and then turned him to Puccini with a vengeance.

At four-thirty, I sat staring out my office window, trying to conjure up a reason to call Mac and tell him I didn't need a ride home. Since our porch talk, I'd felt myself pulling away from spending time alone with him. One look at the calendar screamed of my need to cut my tie with that man, however new and tenuous it might be. I was four weeks from heading back to New York, away from Maplewood and full throttle into resuscitating my languishing career. The semester in Nowhere, while less painful than I'd initially feared, was nothing I was looking to lengthen, certainly not for some doomed-to-fail romance with a horse vet. True, he was achingly handsome. Of course he was witty. Smart, kind, even good with children, though I couldn't see how that was important in my case. The list of perfect attributes was weighty, but when I tried picturing how Mac would fit into my life or survive even one week in New York, my spirits fell and I knew I had to make a break for it.

The view out my window had morphed into something entirely different from the first time I'd entered that cozy room. Ivy was taking cautious steps out of its buds and was busy creating an intricate green lace around the heavy glass panes. Daffodils lined the pathways of the quad below, bursts of impatient yellow and green vying for attention after so many months underground. I thought of Central Park and the way New Yorkers flocked to the largest green space in the city as soon as the weather was manageable. Oh, for a double espresso with a shot of chocolate, no cream, to sip while watching the crazy roller skaters in their spandex and sunglasses. My sighs seemed loud in the silence of the office until the shrill ring of my cell phone trumped even my theatrics. UNKNOWN blinked across the screen, explaining why the Bach fugue hadn't sounded.

“Sadie Maddox,” I answered.

“Sadie, it's Judith Magnuson.”

“Judith, how are you?” I said, hating myself for how eager I sounded.

“Fine. Did you sign off with Avi Feldman?”

“Yes. I received the papers in the mail and—”

“I'll send you my documents and we'll talk.”

“That sounds wonderful. Judith, I'm so pleased to be working with you. I can't tell you how excited I am about this next stage, the
Pasione
tour—”

“Yes, yes, we'll discuss all that. I think you and I have the potential to do very well together.” She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. I heard a man's voice in the background, then some mumblings from Judith. She returned to me, voice clear. “Sadie? I need to go. Sign the papers and call me next week.”

“Okay,” I said, sounding much like the yellow-clad thespian by her Maypole. “You take care now!”

There was a brief pause and then a click.

You take care now?
I thought.
Who
am
I? Donny Osmond? Since when did I tell people to take care?

I let my head fall into my hands, the sound of my breathing magnified in the little cocoon. When a girl starts telling her brand-new, bulldog agent to take care with an exclamation point, I thought, it was time for the girl to get the heck out of Iowa.

Rain sprayed underneath the tires of Mac's truck. He flipped his wipers up to the highest speed and leaned forward slightly in his seat. This was the height of bodily tension I had yet to witness in Mac's unwaveringly laid-back frame. The truck's headlights swept around a curve in the road, illuminating a wash of reflected raindrops in the falling darkness.

Mac cleared his throat. He glanced at me quickly then turned his eyes back to the road. “You're awfully quiet these days.”

A semitruck roared by and gave me a moment to think of a response. I decided to try for levity. “Work has been nuts. Nothing like corralling the emotions of twenty-some stressed vocal performance majors.” My laugh sounded tinny in the enclosed space. “You'd be quiet, too, if you had to mull that group over in your head.”

Mac nodded slowly.

I bit the inside of my cheek and turned to look out the window.

“How's that Mallory? Still giving you trouble?”

“Not really,” I said, relieved to have hooked him into the subject of work. “Her recital is just a week away. She's too preoccupied with that to bother with tormenting me.”

We rode on in the sounds of heavy rain and intermittent thunder. A stripe of lightning blinded the sky above an old farmhouse.

Mac slowed the truck to a stop and turned. “Let's go to the Roadhouse tonight.” I could hear the smile in his voice without turning to face him. “Sneak you out about ten?”

I shuffled a stack of papers sitting on my lap and smoothed them with my hands. “Thanks, but I don't think so. I think I'll go to bed early tonight, try to catch up on some rest.” I coaxed my body into a wide yawn.

“All right, what's going on?” He shifted in his seat and clamped both hands harder onto the steering wheel. “I may be a little rusty in the dating game, but I do remember how it feels to be given the cold shoulder.”

We slowed at the end of the Hartleys' drive and turned toward the house.

“Mac,” I said carefully. “It's been really fun flirting with you. I haven't felt this … girly … in years. And I like you. I do.”

“Flirting,” he said, almost to himself as he pulled the car to a stop in front of the house. He shifted into park but returned both hands to the wheel, eyes straight ahead.

I swallowed. “But this won't work. It
can't
work.”

He let his right hand drop to the key and shut off the ignition. He pulled off his ball cap and ran one hand through his hair. He fixed his eyes on my face. “Is this about Richard?”

I stopped short and then burst into laughter. “Richard?” I shook my head, still laughing. “Definitely not.”

Mac looked offended. “I don't think it's unreasonable to ask. You talk to him more than I talk to any of my former flames, let's just say that.”

I bristled. “Listen, while it may seem ridiculous to the average Maplewood resident, in less provincial parts of the country, it is not uncommon for people to (a) get divorced instead of suffering through decades of unhappiness and (b) even maintain friendships with their exes.”

Mac shook his head and bit his lower lip. “That line is tired, all right? The whole victim complex about being among the savages for a semester? You should never have come if you couldn't muster up more respect for us than that.”

A sharp rap at my window made me jump. We turned to see Jayne with Emmy on her hip. Drew and Joel hopped up and down in tandem, not very interested in keeping dry under Jayne's umbrella.

I opened the door. “Hi, everybody.” I tried sounding relaxed and casual, though no one else seemed interested that Mac and I were having a heart-to-heart in the semidarkness of a rainstorm.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jayne said hurriedly. “Mac, can you come out to the barn? Cal's having some trouble with a sow.”

Mac bounded out of the truck and was halfway to the barn in a matter of seconds. The boys raced after him, jumping in puddles as they went.

“You want to come?” Jayne said. She looked uncertain. “I'm pretty sure this is something you won't see in Manhattan.”

“Of course,” I said, suddenly flush with courage and free of the difficult conversation she'd interrupted. “I'm here for the whole experience, right?” I jumped down from the cab like a cross between Ginger Rogers and Annie Oakley. I put my arm around Jayne's waist and held onto Emmy's little leg to knit our threesome together under the dripping umbrella. “Girls,” I said, “show me to the barn.”

Birthing Pains

If the odor outside the house had accosted me to the point of trembling those first days at the Hartley farm, it was a darn good thing I'd never stepped inside the barn. I knew from Jayne and Cal's conversations that Cal spent a fair amount of time clearing out manure (pronounced
mih' nurrrrr
) from wherever hogs saw fit for bowel emptying. I stood in the shelter of the hulking building, listening to the roar of rain on the metal roof. I made it a point to take shallow breaths and wondered if Jayne would loan me her umbrella to go retrieve my air purifier out of the house. The sad truth, however, was that the place would need a purification system appropriate, say, for a fleet of Boeing jets, to even make a dent in the problem.

The building stretched long and low, stall upon stall filled with plump and snorting pigs. The sheer size of the place dizzied me. These animals were living in an edifice that, in terms of square footage, would make Donald Trump's skin tingle. We were talking at least one city block, all devoted to ham and bacon in the making.

Jayne hung her umbrella on a hook by the door and motioned for me to follow her. I'd decided against my Jimmy Choos that morning, what with the afternoon forecast, and had opted for a cute but flimsy espadrille. The soles were made of cork and I feared they were no match for the walk to the barn. I tiptoed behind Jayne toward where the men and children stood.

“… So we'll have to help pull,” Mac was saying. He stood over a huge and heaving animal that lay on her side between him and his brother. Mac cleared his throat when he saw me reach the edge of the group.

Cal looked past Jayne to me. His eyebrows shot upward. “Miss Sadie, this might not be the best time for a barn tour.”

Mac ran a hand across his mouth in an effort to hide a smile.

I stood as tall as I could, pulling my chin up as I straightened. Unfortunately, the fence or whatever that surrounded the men and squealing pig was unusually high and my good posture merely positioned my nose above the top rung. “Don't worry about me, boys,” I said, sure I was evoking the bravado of Laurey in
Oklahoma
. “I'll be fine watching from over here.”

Cal glanced at his wife. She turned to me and put an arm around my waist. “Are you sure about this?” she said into my ear. “This kind of thing can get a little hairy.”

“Ha, ha!” I said like a magician at the end of his trick. “Even
I
know a baby pig's not hairy. Get it?” I scrunched my nose, gay and lighthearted as any farm-bred, good old Iowa girl. “I am certainly not afraid to witness one of life's miracles.”

Cal shook his head slightly. “Suit yourself. Kids, go stand by your mother.”

Joel and Drew scampered over to Jayne and climbed the fence to have a better view. Emmy had a toy in each hand and hit herself hard on the head with a plastic reproduction of the Cookie Monster. She began to wail and Jayne looked at me, exhaustion registering on her face.

“I think I'd better put her to bed,” she said. “Are you okay here without me?” Jayne swayed and bounced back and forth as Emmy's cries got louder.

“Absolutely,” I said, trying hard not to roll my eyes. What did these people think I was, anyway? An incurable prima donna? I'd made it through Met auditions three times without one tear shed. They did not know the depths of my strength.

“Okay.” She looked entirely unconvinced. “Boys, stay back here by Miss Sadie, all right?”

Joel bounced up and down on his perch. Drew nodded without taking his eyes off the sow.

“I'll be right back,” Jayne said and hustled toward her umbrella and the door. Emmy's cries became absorbed in the cacophony of rain.

Mac turned from a small table in the corner of the stall. He wore long gloves and was spreading a goopy substance onto them, all the way up to his shoulders. He caught me watching and said, “Good, old-fashioned dish soap.” He didn't smile, just returned to the task at hand. I felt my heart drop, so accustomed was I to his warmth. I turned my gaze deliberately from Mac and looked down at the pig.

Her sides heaved and though I was no expert in interpreting the intricacies of pig body language and facial expressions, I was willing to bet she was miserable. Beyond miserable, pushing straight on into desperate, maniacal, perhaps even suicidal. I certainly would have been, considering what she was enduring.

“How many babies are in there?” I asked Cal, watching her mammoth belly rise and fall. The longer I watched that animal breathe, the more adrenaline coursed through my system. Her girth struck me as something not fit for drawings of Noah's ark. Hapless children in Sunday school would never get over the image and would swear off church and Bible stories forever.

Cal pulled off his hat and tossed it to Drew, who proudly donned it and smiled at Joel. Joel's lip started to tremble but Mac saw the exchange and tossed his own cap to the younger brother. Mac winked at the boy, looked at me and turned away.

Cal stood with his arms crossed, still pondering the glories of hog reproduction. “Sows can have anywhere from seven to fifteen. I'd guess this one will have ten or eleven in her litter.”

I nodded and gulped. I wasn't very good at sharing my bathroom much less sharing my uterus with ten squirming beings. I shuddered and tried to think of what
Oklahoma
Laurey would do if Curly shared a pig birthing with her, sometime after “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin'” and before “The Surrey With the Fringe On Top.”

Mac kneeled at the pig's head and talked quietly to her. What, now he's the Pig Whisperer?

“What's he doing?” I asked Cal softly.

“She's a gilt, which means this is her first birth. The first of the litter is sitting breech and she can't get it out. Mac's trying to calm her because she's a bit riled up.”

I nodded, feeling a tad guilty for thinking Mac was trying to be Robert Redford. I supposed I would need a good talking-to (and preferably a record-breaking epidural) were I about to birth ten or eleven children and the first one sideways.

Cal went to hold the pig at her shoulders, though I didn't see her trying to run anywhere. Mac stooped down at her less attractive end, where we had box seat views. “Ready?” he asked Cal.

I looked nervously at the boys, standing beside me. Joel was hanging backwards by his legs and then flipping over onto the floor before starting the acrobatics all over again. Drew was watching his dad and uncle, chomping on a wad of gum and looking only mildly interested.

“Should they be here?” I asked Cal.

He looked up, distracted, and nodded quickly. “Seen it plenty of times before. Go ahead,” he said, eyes on his brother.

Mac took one lubed-up arm and stuck it right up into that pig, whose yelping was only a fraction of what I would have done. I caught my breath and clutched one hand to my chest. Mac moved his arm around in there for what seemed like an eternity, though we should really ask Ms. Gilt if we want to start supposing. After he'd exhausted his real estate, Mac grunted and said, “I think I've turned him around. Here's the pull.”

With a gush of liquid I'd prefer not to describe, out came a miniature version of the poor mother, likely confused and disgusted with this first experience of the rest of his life. Then out came another. And another, all goopy-ed up and shining with blood. I saw a few pigs start to spin around each other, and then one of them started to sing a tune from the Beatles' White Album. Sometime around the first chorus, I felt Jayne's arm around my waist and heard her say, “Sadie, are you all right?”

I nodded and smiled before my knees buckled and the room went black.

“Moo shu bibbity bobbity boo,” said a deep voice above me. “Partridge in a pear tree.”

With great effort, I opened my eyelids and saw his face hovering over mine. I closed my eyes again. “Are you ordering
moo shu
?” My head was throbbing. “There's no good
moo shu
in Maplewood.”

Mac laughed softly. “There she is,” he said.

I opened my eyes again and trained them on Mac's. “Your house reeks.”

He shook his head, a broad smile on his lips. Such nice lips. “We're in Cal's barn. You were watching me pull a pig and—”

I groaned and raised one hand. “I remember, I remember. Please.” I shuddered. “Am I going to be all right?”

Jayne popped into my line of sight. Her eyes shone with tears. “You'll be fine.” She patted my arm and helped Mac raise me slowly to a sitting position. Apparently Mac had washed up a bit. “I just feel horrible, that's all. I never should have invited you to come with me into the barn.” She brushed a tear off her cheek.

“Nonsense,” I said. I put one hand up to my head and held it there. “I came willingly. Apparently, I'm more delicate than I'd thought.”

“There are plenty of people around here who wouldn't be up for dish soap arms, even if they've been on a farm their whole lives.” Mac brushed a strand of hair off my forehead. I swooned, but it might have been the aftereffects of passing out onto a concrete barn floor.

Jayne sat very still, her eyes big and watchful as Mac brushed the hair off my forehead with one gentle hand. She threw a glance to Cal. He watched his brother as if encountering a rare animal in the zoo. Jayne cleared her throat. “Cal, boys, why don't we head into the house and give Miss Sadie a moment to herself. I mean, with Uncle Mac. Together. Just the two of them.” The color in Jayne's cheeks had returned and was blossoming to full glory. She stood and brushed off her jeans. Cal helped her shepherd the boys out of the barn amid Drew's protests that they be able to stay and “watch Miss Sadie fall down again.”

Mac sat quietly beside me. We faced the yawning barn door, open to the rain falling in sheets outside. A flood of cool, clean air swept through the barn. I felt exhaustion seep through me.

“Here's the thing,” Mac said. His voice was low and calm, bringing to mind Barry White and a hot toddy. “First of all, I'm glad you're okay.” He leaned toward me and brushed my cheek with a kiss. I tucked my face down into his neck and felt it warm me. He pulled away gently. “And as for what we were discussing earlier.”

I gulped. For being such an extrovert in my profession, I was turning into quite the ninny when it came to addressing conflict with cowboys.

He smiled so sweetly I thought he might kiss me again. “I don't like getting dumped.” His smile fell.

I winced.

“But I've waited a long time to meet you, and we're not done.”

I started to protest. “Mac—”

“That's all right,” he said, shaking his head. “You've said your piece and I respect that. Don't worry, I won't start hanging around the attic or sending suspicious packages or anything.” He drew up his knees and rested his hands on them. “But the Bible says that God has a plan for us, that it's a plan to prosper and not to harm us, a plan to give us hope and a future.” He rose to his feet, brushing dirt off his rear. “And whether you feel good about it or not, Sadie Maddox”—he helped me up and let me lean on him as we walked slowly to the door—“you're a part of the plan.” He smiled at me sideways.

I sighed deeply. Where
was
I, a tent meeting? Church of the pig pullers? This man was just not
getting
it. “Mac, I don't even know what to say.”

“Now, there's a first,” he said. He held me tight as we walked carefully through the rain toward the light on the porch.