Revolutions of the Heart (6 page)

Tony touched Sasha’s neck and lightly massaged. “I’m sorry.”

“He’s such a wimp,” Cory said to Jessa and her sisters, who were watching the scene with wide-eyed rapture. “He should wait and make her work for the apology.”

“Let’s pretend all this never happened,” said Sasha.

“Good idea,” said Mac. “And I don’t believe anyone can care too much about doing wrong things. Or right things. Which would it be?”

“Depends where you are,” Sasha said. “In this sad town people need to worry about
why
they do the wrong things.”

“Don’t say that,” said Cory. “You’ve only lived here a year. And after what people have done for my mother, no one can criticize. There are plenty of good souls in Summer.”

“Maybe so, but they all live separately. Look around. This is the first integrated event I’ve seen since I moved here.”

“That’s just how things are,” said Tony. “We’ve talked about it a hundred times. It doesn’t make us bigots.”

“Everything’s segregated.”

“By choice. And it’s mutual.”

“Everything except the movie theater and the Dairy Queen. Even the bars are segregated, right?”

“Especially the bars,” said Mac. “I’ve seen that in every town I’ve lived in.”

Sasha turned to Cory. “But not this dinner. You should be proud about that.”

Cory twisted the last strands of pasta around her plastic fork. “I get what you’re saying, Sash, but I don’t really want to view my mother’s illness as a social victory for a racist town.”

“It’s a moral victory.”

“Watch out,” said Tony. “When she starts talking about morality it means she’s shifted into high gear. And then there’s no stopping her.” He looked at the little girls. “Maybe you should sing that song again. I bet Cory would climb up on the table and dance along.” The girls cheered and looked pleadingly at Cory.

“No,” she said. “Simply no.”

Before they could begin begging, their mother appeared at the table. “We’ve had some complaints about the noise level over here,” she said with false sternness. “What’s going on?”

“Sasha taught us a song,” said Jessa. “Do you want to hear it?”

“Save it for bedtime,” said her mother. “Which is coming up very soon.” Her daughters protested, but she silenced them with an upraised palm. “Tony and Sasha, it was nice to meet you, and thank you for sitting with the girls while I was in the kitchen. I hope you didn’t mind that Mac volunteered you.” She turned to him. “I just got a call from Jeff. He says Willy is feeling worse and wants me home.”

Willy was Barb and Jeff’s twelve-year-old son. Barb had dropped off Roxanne at Cory’s house earlier that evening before driving to Dumont’s Meat Locker in Millersburg to pick up the eighty pounds of donated meatballs. She had mentioned then that her son wasn’t well.

“Does he still have his fever?” Cory asked.

“Yes, and my husband says it’s higher. Mac, the girls and I will walk home. It’s only three blocks. If I leave you the keys, would you drive out and get Roxanne? I’d send Jeff, but he’s due at work in an hour.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Girls, thank Tony and Sasha and clear your plates.” They rose obediently, said their thank-yous and good-byes, and cleared their tableware into a large trash bin. They ran toward an exit and disappeared.

Barb drummed her fingers on Mac’s shoulder. “Maybe you can give Cory a ride home.”

“Maybe I can.”

“Good night, kids,” Barb said.

“Time for us to go, too,” said Sasha briskly. “Come along, Antonio. We have more making up to do.”

Tony rose and stacked the empty dishes. “I love this part,” he said. “It’s why I pick so many fights.”

Sasha hugged Cory. “Be good, you two.”

Left alone, Mac and Cory said nothing until she spilled her water. Mac wiped it up with a handful of used napkins, and said, “I’d like to drive you home. I’m going that way.”

“To get Roxanne. I heard. Mac, why am I so suspicious about all this?”

“About what?”

“Willy’s illness, Roxanne being stranded at our place, Barb asking you to go get her. Was it some sort of matchmaker’s plan?”

He dropped the sodden clump of napkins. “Roxanne’s car is in the shop, Jeff has to go to work, and Willy is definitely sick. There’s no conspiracy.”

She watched his hands as he absently poked at the mound of napkins. Too often lately she’d caught herself staring at the Native American people she saw. She hated herself for doing it, but still she’d steal glances at the kids at school, or Roxanne or Peter when they came to the house, or the women in the stores. She realized that not long ago it was as if they were all invisible to her, people who were there but not seen. Now she couldn’t help but look surreptitiously, fascinated with the faces, body types, and, especially, the varied palette of skin colors. Mac was not especially dark, but he was a deeper brown than she could ever hope to be, even if she spent a lifetime on a sunny island. She wanted to lay her hand next to his for the contrast, but instead curled it into a fist and set it on her lap.

“Are you still here?” he asked.

“I was wondering about…” Redskin. That certainly wasn’t accurate. “Just wondering.”

“About what? You were almost going to tell me.”

“About why you always wear short sleeves in the winter.”

“It’s simple: I’m not a cold guy.”

“I never thought you were.” Mac suddenly chuckled. “What’s the joke?” she asked.

“I was just picturing you dressed up and singing to the principal. Do you still have the outfit?”

“In my closet. You never know when you might need something slinky and sexy.”

Mac raised his eyebrows. “I suppose not. Well, what’s the verdict? May I take you home?”

Cory lifted her cup and eyed him over the rim. “What does it mean if I say yes?”

He shrugged. “Means I get a peek at something slinky and sexy.”

She laughed in mid-sip. Water squirted out, coating her chin and shooting up her nostril. Mac handed her a dry napkin. “I can’t refuse that deal,” she said.

He leaned forward. “It’s good to see you laugh.”

“Even with water dripping out my nose?”

“Even then.”

She wiped her face. “I realize I’m not much fun, Mac. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Don’t ever apologize, not for that.”

“For something else?”

He pushed back from the table. “Maybe. You can apologize for not letting me take you home.”

“You can take me home. Let’s leave now.”

“Aren’t they going to have a program?”

“That’s why I want to go now. I don’t want to hear the president of the bank talk about my mother as if she were already dead.”

He rose. “Let’s go.”

“I have to tell Mike, but I’m sure he won’t mind.” Mike was the center of attention at a large table. Several people rose to offer Cory a seat, but she refused. She whispered her apologies and plans to Mike, who nodded and waved a greeting to Mac. Mike and Mac had never met, but Cory decided to postpone the introduction.

They walked quickly to the exit. She suspected her early departure would cause some comment, but in a small town like Summer even a trip to the gas station was a subject for conversation. It might appear that she was ungrateful for the community support, but tonight she just didn’t care.

6

Mac took some time to acquaint himself with the car’s buttons and switches.

“You can drive, can’t you?”

“Sure. Since I was twelve.”

“But legally?”

“I have a license. I’m hesitating because usually I use their other car. It’s older.”

“It’s cold, Mac. Let’s get going.”

“You people up here are obsessed with the weather, do you realize that? It dominates every conversation and it controls your activities.”

“I get your point, and it’s still cold.”

He started the car and everything turned on: cold air burst out of the heat vents; the radio screamed; the wipers whooshed across the windshield. He adjusted the appropriate knobs, and the car calmed down.

Main Street was dark except for the green neon sign over Thompson’s Tap and the flashing beer logo over Paul’s Pub.

“Segregated bars,” said Mac. “Every town has them.”

“Why did you move around so much?”

“My mother’s life wasn’t very settled. I even lived here in Summer once before.”

“When?”

“For a few months when I was eight. That year my mom needed a place to stay and she came to Barb’s. She made some new friends and had a good job, but she didn’t want to stay through the winter. So we left. Another move. That’s pretty much how it was, always moving around. Except we did spend two whole years in Oklahoma. After Mom died, I stayed with my brother, and he moved around, too.”

Cory wanted to know everything. She wanted to ask and probe and hear about his life, which she knew must have been more complicated than anything she could imagine. They reached the edge of town, and Mac accelerated to highway speed. A mile went by before Cory mustered the nerve to begin the questions.

“How did your mother die?”

He tapped the steering wheel with his thumbs. “Car crash.” He smiled at her. “I wasn’t driving.”

Cory tugged on her shoulder harness. “When?”

“Seven years ago. She was…” He reached and turned off the radio.

“Was what?” She could see that he was forming the story for telling. She waited.

He started over. “We were living in Nebraska when she died. She and my dad had split years earlier—he took off and disappeared when I was two—and, like I said, we moved around a lot. My brother is older, and he was gone already. For a short time we were in Missouri, and she had this boyfriend we were living with. Is this where I turn?”

“The next road, by the Big Bass Lake sign.”

“Roger Trimble. He seemed okay, but then something changed or came up from down deep and he started slugging Mom around when he got mad. He did it twice, actually, and then we left. Mom didn’t want to wait for it to happen again. She picked me up at school one day and we got out. But two months later he found us in Nebraska. We were living in Lincoln, and she was working at a bookstore. She always liked books. Maybe that’s how he found her, by checking every bookstore in the Midwest. I was at school and never knew exactly what happened. But I figured out he must have tried to follow her home from work, and she tried to lose him. They both crashed on this gravel road outside of Lincoln. The cops figured they were going almost a hundred.” He downshifted and turned onto the country road that led to Cory’s home.

“I’m sorry, Mac. That’s really terrible.”

“At least
he
died, too. Otherwise I know I’d be after him, trying to track him down and beat the bastard to death.”

“You feel like that?”

He was calm. “I feel like that.”

He pulled into the driveway and parked the car next to the garage. The door was open, showing the empty space for Mike’s truck. “My life hasn’t been that great, but I’ve seen enough to learn a few things.” He shifted in the seat, trying to find room to stretch his legs. “I’ve promised myself three things: I will always get good grades, I will never take a drink, and I will never hit a woman.”

“Keep those promises and you can win a Boy Scout prize for virtue.”

“It’s not virtue.”

“What is it?”

“Control. I just want to control what I can. So much else just spins away that I would feel helpless if I didn’t believe I could control just those three things.”

Cory looked at her hands and had the insane thought that it was time to redo her nails. Maybe pink.

“A lot of people romanticize being Indian these days,” Mac continued. “The honest thing is that you always have this shadow right behind you. One wrong move in the white man’s world, and bam! The good life disappears. Things are okay for me now—really pretty nice, everything considered. I’m working hard to keep them that way.”

Cory curled her hands into fists. “I think you’re right. Things do spin out of control. Sometimes the only thing I feel I can control”—she unfurled her fingers and wiggled them—“is my nail color.”

He laughed. “I don’t have that option. Cory, I don’t want to be pushy, but if you’ve changed your mind about going out, I’d still like to.”

Cory looked at the house. A single light over the deck cast distorted shadows around the yard.

“I understand something about what you’re going through,” he said. “During those years with my brother, he was sick a lot from his drinking. I know how hard it is to take care of someone, and how nice it would be to have a little personal attention.”

Mac stared straight ahead when he spoke. She looked at him and recognized what she saw: a deep-set pain mixed with fear. Never apologize, he had said, and it was clear that with this guy there never would be a need for explanations or apologies for her unhappiness. Something inside turned around and opened. She could feel it.