The Yellow Braid (10 page)

She thought of Livia instead. Indeed, she
couldn’t stop thinking about the girl. She didn’t understand how
she could be falling in love with the teen. And yet, she
co
uldn’t get around the
hard truth—she did love her.

Caro didn’t realize how far she’d walked
until she came upon the Hampton Bay Bridge. On the other side was
Lacey’s, a coffee shop that opened at four, though most of its
customers, at that hour, were fishermen.

It was nothing more than a shack with a
screened-in porch for sitting. There was additional seating
outside, but the plastic chairs were still wet with dew and turned
seat-side-down on the tabletops. The pungent smells of fish, bait,
and diesel fuel brought Caro back to the living.

Caro gave her order at the counter and
stepped into line with the other patrons who were waiting for their
food. Suddenly, she muttered “Shit!” and dug in the pockets of her
hoodie for money, knowing she’d forgotten to bring any. “Excuse me.
Excuse me,” she said repeatedly as she inched her way to where
she’d placed her order—and found herself face to face with
Nina.

“Oh, thank God, how great to meet you here,”
Caro said. “I forgot my wallet. Do you have a few dollars to
spare?”

“Sure. I’m just getting a second cup of
coffee. Livia’s over there,” she said and pointed to a table along
the wall. “I’ll grab your order when it comes up.”

“Livia’s here?”

“Yeah, like I said, over there.”

“What are you doing up and out this early?”
Caro asked Livia.

“We were at the docks before dawn to
photograph a fisherman who hooked a twelve-foot great white shark
yesterday. The shark had been kept on ice overnight especially for
the shoot. It was amazing.”

“I have to agree, it was pretty
extraordinary,” Nina said as she placed the coffee and food on the
table. “What’s your story, Caro?”

Caro shook her head. “I just started walking
this morning and—”

“
Walking
, did you say?”

“I know,” Caro said. “I kind of had it on
autopilot.”

“Guess so. Anyway, I was going to call you
later to ask if you want to come to Queens with me tomorrow. I’m
getting a tattoo as a surprise for Tommy for our anniversary next
week. I really want things to ease up between us.” She whispered
the last comment behind her hand at the same moment Livia left the
table to fetch syrup from the counter.

“Can I tell?” Livia asked as she prepared
her pancakes.

“Go ahead,” her aunt said.

“The tattoo is of an angel with very long
hair. She’s on tiptoes with clouds below her, and reaching up to a
star. The hair is for Uncle Tommy being a stylist, and his name is
written in the clouds.”

“Where are you putting it? And how big?”
Caro asked.

“A three-by-three circle on my
shoulder.”

“Hope he loves it.” Caro’s attention was on
Livia. The newly risen sun shone through the window screens,
dispersing particles of light like glitter across her face.

“Do you have any tattoos, Caro?” Nina
asked.

“
Actually, I
almost
got one once. And have thought about it now and
then.”

“When? What happened that you didn’t?” Livia
sat forward, her expression full of anticipation.

“Never had the courage, I guess. And my
husband didn’t like them on women.”

“Get one now with me,” Nina said.

“Don’t think so. Not on this old body of
mine,” Caro said.

Livia’s enthusiasm and curiosity about the
subject produced a pale blush on her cheeks. “What would you get if
you did?”

Caro didn’t hesitate. “A long-stemmed
lotus in full bloom with the word
infinity
written in black Chinese characters above it. I’d
have it done right here.” She indicated her right hip. “And another
small one on my inner wrist.”

“Seems like you’ve thought about it more
than only every once in a while.”

Caro remained neutral. “Like I said, not on
this body.”

Nina urged, “Come be my support anyway?”

“Sure, what time?”

“My appointment’s at two. But I figure we’ll
leave about noon so we have time to get lunch before. I know a
great Italian deli nearby.”

“Coming too?” Caro asked Livia.

“Wouldn’t miss it. Maybe I’ll get a
tattoo.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” her aunt cautioned.
“Your mom’s not into tattoos.”

“Mom’s not here,” Livia said in a tone of
finality.

Caro asked Livia, “What are you doing for
the rest of the day?”

Livia looked to her aunt for an answer.

“Nothing planned yet, but we need to decide
when we’re going clothes shopping for Phyllis’s party.”

Caro begged off. “Another day.”

“You sound like someone else I know,” Nina
complained.

Caro winked at Livia, whose face lit into a
smile.

“Well,” Caro said, “Sweetwater Books is
sponsoring an open-mike poetry reading tonight. Thought you might
want to go?”

“Are you reading?” Livia asked.

“Maybe, I haven’t decided yet.”

“I’d like to. What about you, Aunt
Nina?”

“Thanks, but I’ll leave the poetry to you
two.”

***

The reading was at the gazebo on the village
green. As Caro and Livia walked from the car with thermoses and
blankets, Caro felt the pride of having Livia with her. People
paused in their conversations to stare at the girl, whose skin, in
the light of the late-day sun, appeared almost iridescent.

“It’s crowded already,” Livia said. “Want me
to run ahead to get a good spot?”

“You don’t have to and really, I don’t feel
like climbing over a lot of people. We’ll find a place out of the
main throng,” Caro said and steered Livia off to one side, near the
forsythia that hedged the property.

Caro positioned herself slightly behind
Livia so she could look upon her and keep her eyes on the stage at
the same time. Not long ago, Abby had cautioned her that she needed
a life, but she wanted little else than Livia’s company; it seemed
that simple. And her ambition to mentor Livia seemed to fade in the
face of her growing feelings.

Within a short time, Ian Finch, the owner of
Sweetwater Books, began the proceedings with a brief welcome, then
introduced the first reader, a local poet whose book Ian had
displayed in the window of his store.

Caro was the third to read. Ian introduced
her as “a cherished poet, and winner of numerous prestigious
awards, including the Pulitzer Prize in 1995 for her
collection,
Primal Landscapes.
” He continued, “Ms. Barrone is at work on a new
collection,
In Search of Eros,
from which she will read tonight’s selection entitled,
“Desire.” Ms. Barrone.” Ian led the audience in
applause.

Caro’s style of poetic recitation was
purposeful, almost pensive, as if she was new to the work and
intent on capturing each nuance of language, dallying over the
words; strung together they became the verses that hung like stars
over the bandstand.

When she recited the closing lines of the
poem, she closed her eyes.
“…deeply submerged, I am in a world of halcyon
darkness where a warm greenness caresses my body in undisclosed
compassion.
”

Livia was on her feet clapping when Caro
rejoined her.

Although the night was mild, when darkness
settled a stiff breeze came off the ocean. Anticipating the
cool-down, Caro had made hot chocolate for Livia and Irish coffee
for herself. She filled thermos cups and spread out a fabric napkin
with oatmeal cookies.

At the close of another reader’s poem, Livia
asked, “What does languorous mean? I love the sound of it.”

“
Listless, lethargic…or having a dreamy
quality to something,” Caro said.

“Languorous,” Livia repeated the newly
learned word. “What a languorous evening this is.”

Caro smiled. “Or, what a wonderfully
languorous expression Livia has on her face.”

As the readings progressed, they cheered at
the good ones and screwed up their faces in distaste at the bad
poems, but applauded nonetheless. During intermission they wandered
among the crowd. A few people addressed Caro with the knowing
“hello” of recognition.

When they returned to their blanket, Caro
zipped up her jacket and leaned on her elbows. She let her head
fall back on her shoulders. Above the lampposts that bracketed the
gardens and the white Christmas lights that outlined the gazebo,
the sky was heavy with stars. “What a lovely night,” she said.

As Ian took the stage and announced the
program for the second half of the evening, Livia leaned over and
whispered to Caro, “In the poem you read tonight everything takes
place in the dark, underwater. Is that why you feel compassion?
Because the desire has to be in secret,
undisclosed
?” Livia cupped her hand over Caro’s ear when she
continued. “Seems like the desire has something to do with sex; I
just don’t know what.”

Livia’s mouth was so close to Caro’s ear
that Caro felt her breath and delighted in the chocolaty scent. It
was the fragrance of youth. “Desire sometimes implies sexual
desire. But it also means a great longing for something, like a
person craving to go home after an extended journey away.”

Livia leaned in toward Caro, prepared to
build on her question when Caro put her finger to her lips and,
nodding toward the performer on stage, whispered, “Later.”

In truth, she was hoping Livia would forget
about pursuing further discussion. Caro’s own sexual feelings were
so confused. Lately, the most innocent bodily gesture of Livia’s
stirred Caro in ways that made her want to reciprocate—and also
made her crush the impulse. Even now the sight of Livia stretched
out on the blanket, her eyelids quivering with sleepiness, caused
Caro to tremble. She sat on her hands so she wouldn’t be tempted to
stroke the girl’s face.

Later, when Caro brought Livia home, Nina
answered the door.

“Hi,” Livia said, and gave her aunt a peck
on the cheek in greeting. Turning back to Caro, she startled her
with a heartfelt hug before disappearing inside.

Caro declined Nina’s offer for a nightcap.
Feeling deliciously alone, she walked down to the beach. The tide
was going out, and she walked out a long ways, her feet sloshing in
the saturated sand. With every few steps, she relived the sensation
of Livia’s arms around her, the brief euphoria that erupted from
her heart in little waves and came out in goose bumps on her
flesh.

It is not sex that gives the
pleasure, but the lover.
~
Marge
Piercy

Sheets of pre-made tattoo templates, called
flash, covered the walls in systematic categorization of the main
styles of tattooing: old school, tribal, ethnic, Celtic, Asian, and
fantasy. The specific type often determined whether the work
displayed best in black and white or color. Autographed pictures of
celebrities who’d gotten their tattoos done at Sean Z’s Tattoos
demonstrated the most popular selections.

Now, as Caro, Livia, and Nina waited for him
to call her in, they ogled their favorite stars. Livia wandered
across to the Asian section and began scanning the flash with names
written in Chinese calligraphy. She found the equivalent of “Livia”
in “Olivia” and to her surprise “Nina” was there as well. She was
scrolling through the alphabet when Caro joined her. “Yours wasn’t
here,” she said.

“That might be because Caro is short for
Caroline.”

“
Oh, I passed Caroline before, and look
here—Zach.”

Caro followed to where Livia indicated on
the wall. “That’s not his.”

“Yes,” Livia insisted. “I saw the exact
design over there, too.”

Caro walked to where Livia pointed, her face
leaching of color with each step. The tattoo on the board with
Zach’s name, was Marcie’s tattoo.

Caro felt a stabbing deep inside of her at
the sudden souring of a marriage and a friendship. When Zach died,
Marcie’s tears hadn’t been a sympathetic consequence of Caro’s
grief. Rather, she was lamenting with Caro—a lover, a second wife.
Her visionary dreams she’d had weeks earlier of Zach and Marcie
together were true after all.

Livia’s face registered alarm. “What’s
wrong?”

Caro ran out of the shop and didn’t stop
running until she collapsed on a bench three blocks away, nearly
knocking into an elderly woman. She tried to stabilize her quaking
body and swallow her sobs. How blind not to have known what was
going on? Then again, why not? They had been her husband and her
closest confidante. She’d trusted them. Images of them together
made her stomach lurch until she felt she was going to vomit.

As much as she wanted to, she also knew she
couldn’t stay where she was but must return to the tattoo shop;
Nina and Livia would be worried. She got up slowly, cautiously, and
began walking back to the shop.

Nina and Livia were outside on the sidewalk,
searching up and down the street. When Caro drew within their
sight, they ran to her, each grabbing an elbow, and escorted her
back to the car.

Caro cried, “What about your tattoo? Your
surprise for Tommy?”

“Not to worry,” Nina said. “Have some water
and try to settle down.”

The trio was silent except for Caro’s
weeping. When she’d calmed down, Nina asked, “Want to talk about
it?”

“
Marcie had a tattoo on her ankle of
Chinese letters. When I asked her their meaning she said they
spelled out her name. But…but it was really Zach’s name. Know how
long she got it before he died?”