Pieces of the Heart (32 page)

Rainy frowned. “And why the hell not?”

“Because I don’t have any. How about some orange juice?”

With a heavy sigh of resignation, Rainy said, “Why not? Guess you don’t have any vodka or anything around here to spice it up with, huh?”

“Definitely not.” Caroline’s mother stalked off in a huff toward the kitchen.

Caroline called out to her retreating back, “Can I have a cup of coffee, please?”

When her mother returned, she placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of Caroline. “It’s regular, so drink it slowly. You won’t be getting another one.”

Caroline rolled her eyes and kept sewing, concentrating on making a bird beak with light blue thread. “Thank you,” she said, wishing briefly that she could be alone with her mother so that she might tell her thank you for other things.

But then her mother disappeared into the kitchen again and returned with a glass of water and a can of fiber supplement. “I’ve been meaning to ask if you’re getting enough fiber. Just in case, I bought this at the grocery store on my last visit.”

Caroline felt her cheeks flush and kept her head bent, feeling the glances of Jewel and Rainy. “I’m fine, Mom. Can we please change the subject now?” She wondered again at their changing relationship. She’d begun to consider it a symbiotic one that, like a vine growing on a tree, was one of support and mutual benefit. But sometimes, like now, she thought it was more like those of parasites and sharks.

“Oh, my gosh—look at this.” Rainy had stopped sewing and had been going through a box of Shelby’s papers she’d found in the attic. “It’s that itinerary—remember? The one from when they were going to take that around-the-world trip.”

Caroline stilled, almost feeling the sting on her rear end from the only belt whipping she’d ever received.

Margaret reached for the piece of paper. “Oh, yes—I remember that! Do you, Caroline?”

She nodded, focusing on the material in front of her, not able to face her mother. The whole memory still brought back the feelings of shame and powerlessness, as if the whole episode had happened yesterday. She’d been trying to assert her independence, and her mother had doused it like a bucket of water on a hot flame.

Her mother laughed softly. “When I saw my American Express bill I remember thinking, ‘Wow, what a smart kid.’ I think the thing that made me angry was that Caroline lied to me when I found the itinerary under her bed. That was the one thing I could never tolerate from either one of my children.”

Caroline’s hands stilled as she looked at her mother. She remembered the time she’d seen her crying on the back porch, seeing her as a grieving mother for the first time. She felt that way now, seeing not a stranger, but her mother as she’d always known her in her heart, but not in her eyes.

Her mother continued. “Even when I was yelling at you, and even afterward when I told your father about it, I remember being so proud to have a daughter smart enough to try to pull off something like that.” She looked up at her daughter. “I couldn’t let you know that, of course.”

“Why not? It would have made all the difference to me. You were so mad I thought you were getting ready to send me to boarding school in Siberia.”

Her mother chewed on her lower lip, an action Caroline couldn’t remember ever seeing before. “I didn’t want to undermine my authority by lessening your punishment.” She sighed, her shoulders sinking. “I guess in hindsight I should have handled it differently. As a parent I could only do what I thought best. I figured that as long as you knew you were loved, you could handle any mistakes we made. That sort of became my parenting motto over the years. I made lots of mistakes where you and your brother were concerned. But I always loved you, and I could only hope that you knew it.”

Caroline picked up her needle and thread and continued to sew, afraid to say anything or look at her mother, because if she did she knew she would start crying and never stop.

They were all silent for a long time until Rainy cleared her throat. “Well, gosh, Margaret, you’re going to make us all cry and then we’ll never get this thing done. Let’s talk about something else now. Jewel—is everything ready for the Harvest Moon festival at school tomorrow?”

Jewel looked at Caroline and her mother as they both bent over their work, as if making sure they were finished speaking. “Yep—though Coach Dempsey wanted to know if there were any more place mats for our booth. He thinks we could sell them.”

“Not unless Caroline has more here. We had ten sets of four at the store, and Drew said we’ve sold every last one of them. Real popular merchandise, those. Caroline, you’ll have to talk with Drew about a marketing deal.”

Caroline snorted. “Right. We’ll do that right after we talk about a marketing deal for his furniture.”

“What?” Jewel sat straight up in her chair. “Has he finally agreed to let you sell his stuff?”

“I wish. But he won’t even consider it. What I’d really like to do is just send some photographs of a few of his pieces—like your dining room table—to my boss. Just to get a professional’s opinion. But your dad won’t even talk to me about it.”

Jewel leaned forward. “I wish you’d try harder. He so needs to have something to occupy his mind—besides me and what I’m doing and where I’m going.”

Rainy sent her a reproving look. “Now, Jewel . . .”

“I know, I know. I’m glad, really. It’s been kinda nice spending more time with him. But the man is just sort of floundering, and it makes me feel guilty because I know he gave up so much for me.”

Caroline and the two older women stared at her for a few moments before Rainy spoke. “Good Lord, Jewel. You sound more and more like your mother every day. Thirteen going on thirty. I won’t ask where you got your brains, because it’s obvious. But please try to act and talk like a child every once in a while, all right? You’re my only grandchild and you’re making me feel old.”

Caroline’s mother coughed and looked pointedly at Rainy. “You feel old because you are old, dear.”

The phone rang and Margaret went to answer it. Caroline paused in her stitching, trying to listen. When her mother returned, she was halfway out of her seat. “Is it for me?”

“No. Just the bug man reminding me he’ll be here tomorrow morning.” She knitted her eyebrows. “Who were you expecting?”

“Not my boss, if that’s what you’re wondering. I was actually waiting for a call from Dad. I’ve left about three messages for him on his machine. I know you said he was out of town, but he should be back by now—or at least returning calls from wherever he is.”

Her mother and Rainy exchanged glances. Rainy kept her head down as she said, “I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

Margaret sent her friend a piercing look. “Rainy, please don’t start.”

“Really, Margaret. You’re way past the age of covering for him. Caroline’s old enough to hear a few things now, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t th—”

They had Caroline’s full attention now. “What are you talking about?”

Margaret bent her head to her stitching but her hands didn’t move.

Rainy said, “Just that your dad will call you when it suits him, and not before. That’s pretty much how he’s always been. If he doesn’t feel like doing something, or there’s a bit of unpleasantness to handle, he’s gone so fast it’s like lightning struck him in the butt.”

Margaret had both hands on the table now and was staring at her friend furiously. “Stop it now, Rainy. This is neither the time nor the place.” She nodded her head in Jewel’s direction, indicating that there were young ears present.

“If you say so,” Rainy said, her lips pursed as she began stitching again.

Caroline looked at her mother, but Margaret had already picked up her needle and was studying the corner of the quilt she’d been working on. Caroline stared at the top of her mother’s head, willing her to look up. After several moments Caroline bent back to her own quilt corner, tucking the thought in the back of her mind to dig out whatever it was her mother didn’t want to talk about.

They worked in silence for about a quarter of an hour until the old clock on the mantel chimed. Jewel looked up from where she’d been cutting out paintbrush shapes from an assortment of fabric scraps. It had been her idea to decorate the edges of the border with them, and the three women had thought it a brilliant idea—as long as they didn’t have to cut out the intricate shapes. “What’s tomorrow’s date?”

Rainy’s needle stilled as she looked over at Jewel. “September fourth.” She nodded her head slowly. “It’ll be three years since your mama passed.”

“I know. I can’t believe that I’m just realizing it now, though. The first two years it was like December twenty-fifth to me, you know? And now it just sort of happens without my being aware of it.” She looked at her grandmother. “Is that a good thing?”

Rainy reached over and took Jewel’s hand. “It’s a very good thing. Your mother was all about celebrating life. She’d be happy that you’re living it, and doing such a good job at it, too.”

Jewel looked up uncertainly. “Can we still go to the cemetery tomorrow? I’d like to bring her some mountain laurel blooms again. It’s funny; I know we scattered her ashes far away, but I always feel like she’s there in the cemetery under the stone with her name on it. And I think she likes it when I bring her flowers.”

Rainy smiled, her eyes bright. “She does, sweetie. She does. But I’d like to go, too, so we’ll make a plan for after school, all right?”

“I’ll go, too,” Caroline’s mother said. “I haven’t visited Jude since I’ve been back this time. I was thinking Caroline might like to come.”

The old feelings of grief and guilt clutched at her heart, startling Caroline not only with their presence, but with their lack of intensity. It was almost as if the calm waters of the lake and the fresh air of the mountains had somehow built a cushion around her heart; buffers against painful memories and old heartaches.

“I don’t think so. I—”

“You’ve never been, Caroline.” Her mother’s eyes were hurt but devoid of accusation. But the old anger evaded Caroline. In place of it, a feeling of shared grief and understanding inserted itself, amazing her with its rightness. It was as if she had suddenly raked away the dead pine straw in her mother’s rose garden and discovered soft green stalks beneath.

She swallowed. “All right. I’ll go. Just let me know the time.”

If she didn’t know her mother so well, she would have expected the woman with the exhilarated expression on her face to leap from her chair and pump her fists in the air. Instead Margaret Collier simply nodded her head and said, “Good. I’ll let you know.”

They all bent back to their work with the sound of the ticking clock accompanying the steady rhythm of needles pulling thread, like road maps of a short life long lived, taking each of the quilters to her own destination.

J
EWEL SPOTTED CAROLINE ON THE DOCK SITTING IN THE OLD DIRECTOR’S chair with a pile of rectangular fabric pieces, about the size of the place mats she’d been making, in a small stack beside her. As Jewel approached, she studied Caroline’s face, trying to figure out exactly what had changed. It was softer, somehow, reminding her of the steady glow of the night-light she had used ever since she was a small girl.

Caroline looked up and actually smiled. Jewel smiled back and held out her hand. “I brought you our phone, in case you needed to use it.”

Caroline’s brow raised, but her smile didn’t fade completely. “So what do you want?”

“What makes you think I want anything?”

“Well, according to my observations and my chats with your dad, you should be working a flea market stand. Bartering is your middle name.”

Jewel sat cross-legged on the dock in front of Caroline and picked up a completed place mat. She smiled when she recognized the picture stitched with needlepoint on the front of the water and the canoe with two people and the loon in the sky. “Hey, I recognize this.”

“I would hope so. Your dad said he didn’t mind me reproducing it on a place mat. I actually made a bunch with the identical picture. It’s a lot easier to mass-produce that way, and your dad keeps asking for more. He says he can’t keep them on the shelves, they’re selling so fast. I’m making as many as I can, but ten per day is my limit.”

She squinted up at Caroline. “That must make you feel great—knowing that you’re doing something other people appreciate.”

Caroline stared at her for a moment. “Okay, Jewel. What is it that you want?”

Jewel pulled the Polaroids she’d taken that morning out of her sweatshirt pocket. “I took these pictures of some of my dad’s furniture pieces. I was thinking that . . . well . . . maybe, if you wanted to, you could show them to your boss and . . . well, not sell anything, but just, well, see if he thinks my dad is as talented as you and I do.”

Caroline’s eyes widened in surprise. “Does your dad know you took these?”

“Of course not. Do you think he’d let me give them to you if he did?”