The Law of Bound Hearts (16 page)

“Are you and Richard coming Sunday?” Gabe asked.

She pulled her mind back from thoughts of Mercedes. “Sunday?”

“The bonfire.”

“Oh. That's on Sunday? I don't know. We haven't talked about it.”

Gabe leaned back, lifted his face to the sun. “The Indians used to call prairie fire the Red Buffalo,” he said.

She remembered hearing this.

“Whatever it's called,” he said, “fire is essential for the prairie.”

Richard had told her this, but she nodded, letting him continue, lulled by his voice.

“The upper parts of the grasses are tinder dry. A hundred years ago, lightning strikes used to kindle them, set off fires.”

She shuddered, just a brief shiver, but he noticed.

“Cold?”

“No.” Then, “It's just the mention of lightning. My mother was struck by lightning once.”

He turned toward her. “You're kidding.”

“No. When I was ten. Right in our backyard. She was taking in a load of laundry. Trying to get it all in before the rains came. She said the first thing was she smelled a peculiar odor—just a hint of something that was vaguely familiar, ozone, she thought after—and then she was hit.”

“So was my father.”

“What?”

“Hit by lightning.”

She stared at him. “You're not serious?”

He raised his palm as if taking an oath. “God's honest truth. One minute he was talking on the phone and the next he was laid flat on the floor on the opposite side of the room. He couldn't hear right for weeks.”

“God, your father and my mother. I mean, what're the chances of that?”

“Pretty damn slim, I'd say.”

“Very.” She shook her head. “I've never met anyone else who actually knew someone who'd been hit.”

“After your mother was struck,” Gabe asked, “could she wear a watch?”

Her eyes widened. “No. Never. Any watch she wore couldn't keep correct time. It would gain or lose hours overnight. Your father, too?”

“Not even a pocket watch.”

She finished her apple. “Amazing,” she said.

“Amazing,” he agreed.

They sat in silence, neither in a hurry to talk. It was funny, Libby thought, that Gabe possessed the same deep, soul calm that Hannah had.

“Do you know about the bonesetters?” he asked.

“Bonesetters? No.”

“There's this tribe out in Santa Fe,” he said. “And there are healers in it called bonesetters. They lay a hand on wherever a bone is broken, and just by their touch, the bone is knit.”

“I've never heard of that. Do you believe it? That they can really heal by touch?”

“I don't disbelieve it. The thing is, the bonesetters are those who have been hit by lightning and survive.”

He lifted a finger, pointed to the shunt on her forearm. “Hannah told me she's seen you at the center.”

“Yes.”

“Diabetes?” His voice was clear, his expression devoid of the pity she had expected and feared.

“No. I've got something else.” She told him about her disease and what Carlotta had said about the three causes of disease.

“Bad genes, bad habits, and bad luck,” he repeated. “That about covers it all.”

“Yes.”

They sat for a moment staring out at the prairie. Gabe broke the silence.

“It took Hannah a while to get used to the treatments,” he said. “How're you doing with it?”

“It's not my favorite part of the day.”

“I can imagine.”

“Actually, I hate it.” She blurted it out, relieved to be honest.

He surprised her by laughing. “Tell it like it is,” he said.

She laughed, felt her shoulders relax. “How's Hannah doing?” she asked.

“Some days are better than others. She's trying to get well enough to be considered for a transplant. She's had one already and it's harder to get a second one.”

“Did she know the donor?”

Gabe nodded. “I gave her one of mine. I swear I'd give her the other one if they'd let me.” A spasm of pain crossed his face, so pure Libby had to look away. “She refuses to let me get down. She says we don't have that luxury. She says every day must be one of the good ones. The hardest thing for me is knowing that she's had to let go of some of her dreams.”

Libby knew about lost dreams.

“She always wanted children,” Gabe said. “I swear if any woman was born to be a mother and raise kids it's Hannah. It about breaks my heart, but you know what she says?”

“What?” Libby tried to envision what it would be like not to have Matthew or Mercedes, to be robbed of the riches they brought to her life.

“She says she'll just help other mothers with their kids. As soon as she can, she's going back to school. She wants to get certified so she can open a nursery.”

Libby fell silent. She pictured Hannah—so thin and worn, skeletal, really—holding on to her dream, refusing to let it go.

“If anyone can do it,” Gabe went on, “it's Hannah. She's my miracle.”

Libby felt something stir in her breast, beneath the rise of the catheter, a sensation it took a moment to recognize as hope. She willed it away. Hope was as much a phantom as faith and she knew better than to trust it. She raised a hand to her chest, let her fingers brush over the catheter.

“Look,” Gabe said, his voice so hushed she barely heard.

“What?”

“Over there.” He nodded toward the edge of the prairie, beyond a clutch of hawthorns, to the opening by a stand of sycamores.

A buck stood just free of the trees. If Gabe hadn't pointed him out, Libby would have missed him. She caught her breath at the majesty of the deer.

“Six point,” Gabe whispered. Then, as if he knew what was coming, “Watch.”

The animal turned his head back toward the sycamores. A doe emerged from the shadow of the trees.

“Beautiful,” Libby said. The word seemed insignificant. This was more than beauty. It was power and grace beyond language.

“It's their mating season,” Gabe said.

She stared, transfixed.

“You know what hunters say?” Gabe asked.

She shook her head.

“They say for every deer you see, a hundred have seen you.”

The buck lifted his head, turned toward them.

“We're upwind,” Gabe said. “He's caught our scent.”

Libby longed to freeze this moment, to capture it. Then, in the distance, a dog yapped. In one fluid motion, the buck and his doe were gone, swallowed by the sycamores.

For one moment, one still moment, she understood the miracle of it all. The buck and his doe, the prairie and sky and the gathering clouds. The grasses, and the snakes and voles that hid in their depths. She felt the magnificence of wind and fire, of love and beauty. Of connection. Even—in that one flash of understanding—of pain and grief and loss. Of bonesetters and those who were broken. In the time it took to draw a single breath, she grasped it all. She felt it in her heart and in her diseased body. For that one moment, she
felt
it, and she knew absolutely that she had a place in it, was part of it all, the mystery and miracle of life.

Sam

Forever and ever. Me for you and you for me.

Forever and ever. Her and Libby.

Why was it so easy to make a promise, swear an oath? And, why did anyone, having made a pledge, think it possible to keep it for a lifetime? Intentions weren't enough, Sam thought. What else did it take? Was it even realistic? Did it all come down to luck?

“Here you go.” The waitress placed a glass of wine in front of her. A red. Merlot or a cab, probably. Sam couldn't even remember ordering it. She could barely recall phoning Lee or walking to the Moonfish. She stared out through the front window of the café, lost for a moment in her imaginings of Libby hitched up to a dialysis machine. She tried to picture how her sister, always the healthiest in the family, would react to serious illness. Would she be afraid? Stoic? Resigned? Philosophical?

People liked to believe they knew absolutely how they would respond in a particular situation, but they didn't. Their father had been a pacifist who marched against war and racism, but he'd once struck a man he'd seen beating a dog. Later, he had nearly wept at how, when tested, and in spite of his firmest, deepest beliefs, he had met violence with violence. And Josh? Her brother had always thought of himself as strong, heroic in the John Wayne, do-the-right-thing sense, but now, when Libby needed him, he wouldn't even agree to be tested to see if he was a match.

Sam knew she was no different. Once, she believed that at news of Libby's illness she would have flown to her sister's side, done anything for her. But her immediate reaction when Cynthia phoned— one she could confess to no one, could barely admit to herself—had been a grim flash of satisfaction.
She got what she deserved.
The thought had lasted just a moment, but she could not deny it.
She got what she deserved.
Sam was shamed to find herself capable of such vindictiveness.

“Sam?” Lee stood by the table.

“Hi,” she said. When she phoned him earlier he had agreed to meet, but some part of her had been afraid that, still upset, he would not show.

He hadn't changed after work. There were spatters of white paint on his shirt and a smudge of grease on his forearm. She reached over and traced a finger over the dirt. He bent and kissed her cheek.

“Thanks for coming,” she said.

“No prob.” He slid into the chair opposite her. He looked exhausted. He seemed reserved.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“A little tired,” he said. “It's been a pretty full day.”

She wanted to believe that this was all that was wrong, but their last argument echoed. “Lee,” she began, “about the other night . . .” She wished it were possible to take back words, to erase them from a person's memory bank. Why did she find it hard to apologize? “I'm sorry,” she finally managed.

He nodded. “I'm sorry, too, Sam.” He did not smile or take her hand.

Pain overtook her. She didn't think she could bear it if he stayed angry. Not on top of hearing about Libby.

“What's going on?” he asked. “You sounded upset when you called.”

“It's Libby. She's sick.” She toyed with the place setting. “She has some kind of kidney disease and is on dialysis.”

Lee absorbed the news. “How did you find out?” he asked. “Did you phone her?”

She shook her head, told him about Cynthia's call.

He reached for her hand. “How bad is she?”

She shrugged. “Cynthia didn't have a whole lot of information. All she said was that she was on dialysis and she is on a list for—” The reality of it hit her, robbed her of breath.

“Sam?”

She shook her head, swallowed, blinked back tears. The words would not come.

“Come on,” he said. “Let's get you out of here.” He threw a bill on the table to cover the wine, still untouched.

Outside, the air was sultry, so thick moisture practically hung from it, the kind of heaviness that left a person praying for a storm to roll through and clear things up. He led her to his pickup and headed toward Sprague Cove, driving with one hand, the other curved over the seat back. His fingers brushed her shoulder. At the Silvershell Beach parking lot, he cut the engine and opened the truck door.

“Come on,” he said. “Let's take a walk.”

They went to the water's edge, where the sand was firm underfoot. Overhead a gull screamed. There was a beer can on the shore. Lee stooped and picked it up. Sam waited while he carried it to the trash barrel. Lee had told her that it took two months for an apple core to disintegrate in the sea. A tin can took fifty years, a disposable diaper four hundred and fifty. He'd railed against the disposable culture and the men who came to his yard with more money than they had love for boats. “These people think you buy a boat, hop in, and go,” he'd said. “They think there's no payback, they just go on to the next. But to sustain a boat you have to put in time, energy, thought. You need commitment. It's true of life, too.”

They walked along the shore toward the far jetty. Lee stopped to pick up a stone. Gray granite and worn smooth by water, the stone was bisected with a narrow band of white. He slipped it in his pocket. For Alice, Sam thought. Alice had a wooden bowl on her coffee table filled with stones, each bearing a perfect line through it. Alice believed they were good luck and collected them the way another person might pick four-leaf clovers and press them between the pages of a book.

“It feels so funny,” Sam said.

“What's that?”

“That Libby has been seriously ill and I didn't know.”

“Did your sister-in-law tell you how long she's been sick?”

“No. She didn't say much except that Libby wanted Josh to get tested to see if he was a match. She said Libby has been put on a list.” She thought of the message her sister had left on her machine. “I guess that was why Libby was calling me.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don't know. Call her, I guess.” She could not think beyond that.

“Any thoughts of going out to see her?”

“Out to Illinois?”

Lee nodded.

“I can't. I mean, there's no way I can leave now.”

He looked at her carefully. “Why not?”

“For one thing, I've got two weddings coming up.”

“Can't Stacy do those?”

“I don't think so.”

He put his arm around her. “How are you doing with this?”

“All right, I guess. I don't know. It's so mixed up.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm still so angry with her, Lee.” She looked up at him. “Maybe I shouldn't be now, but I'm still so mad.”

“What are you afraid of, Sam?” he asked.

“I didn't say I'm afraid. I said I'm angry.”

He studied her.

“What?” she said. “You think I'm afraid?”

He picked up another stone, juggled it a moment and then skipped it out over the water. They watched it hit, once, twice, three times, before it sank below the surface.

“You think I'm
afraid,
” she said again.

“Anger is just another face of fear,” he said.

“That's ridiculous.”

The rain began then, sharp drops that pitted the sand, and they headed back.

“What you said back there,” she said when they were in the pickup. “That's completely ridiculous. Anger and fear are two separate things. Totally unrelated.”

He shrugged.

“I'm sorry Libby's sick and of course I'm worried about her. And I'm still angry at her for how she betrayed me,” Sam said. “But I'm not afraid. What would I be afraid of?”

“I don't know, Sam.” Lee's voice was even, calm. “You tell me.”

“Well, I'm not.”

“Okay,” he said. “You say you're not afraid, you're not afraid.” He shifted into reverse, backed out of the lot.

Her hands lay clenched in her lap. Her stomach ached.
Anger is
another face of fear.

Admit it, she thought. There's a lot you are afraid of. Losing Lee, for one thing. Being hurt.

Being betrayed.

There it was. As irrational as it was, she was afraid that somehow, given another chance, Libby would once again betray her.