Pieces of the Heart (38 page)

“Thanks, Mom,” she said, then watched in surprise as her mother sent her the thumbs-up sign. Torn between wanting to laugh and needing to cry, she carefully backed her way out of the long driveway, then pushed the gas pedal down as far as it could safely go.

W
HEN CAROLINE FINALLY RETURNED HOME LATER THAT evening, the porch light was turned on, but her mother, Ken Kobylt, and her mother’s Cadillac were gone. She leaned wearily against the closed door for a long moment, wanting to fall down where she stood and sleep for days.

Instead she found herself moving toward the piano. She remembered how Jude had liked to play when he was feeling bad—after arguing with a friend or playing badly on the football field. She understood it now, and didn’t fight her own desire to find peace and solitude somewhere within the black and white keys.

Her fingers were surer now, drawing from some inner resource Caroline had never realized she had, or, if she had, had never allowed out. She used both hands, finding the melody with the right hand and the accompaniment with the left. It was a piece she recognized from when she used to lie under the piano when Jude played, unformed and unpracticed, but unmistakably beautiful. The act of moving her fingers on the keys and creating music relaxed her, restored her, and somehow fulfilled her in the same way her swimming once had and the way her quilting still did.

She was smiling to herself when her mother returned, surprising Caroline by appearing by the piano, having walked in the front door without being heard. Caroline abruptly stopped playing.

“That was beautiful, Caroline. You never told me you could play.”

Caroline absently plucked at a note. “I didn’t know I could—not until I came here and saw this piano and just started playing.”

Her mother nodded. “You always had musical talent, you know. When you were really little, you used to climb up on the piano bench and make up your own songs or repeat something I’d played.”

“I did? Why did I stop?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe it was when Jude started playing—which was about the same time he learned to walk. He’d do the same thing you did—just pluck out notes or replay favorite tunes. I think at some point you decided he was better at it than you were, so you stopped and became Jude’s audience.”

Caroline’s forefinger continued to hit middle C as she considered her mother’s words, vaguely remembering a feeling—or was it a scrap of music floating in the air?—of when she was very, very small. She jerked her head up suddenly, remembering Mr. Kobylt. “Where’s Ken? I still have his car.”

“I took him home. He’s really a sweet man, but I didn’t want him here when you got back, and I think he wanted to get back to his wife. I told him we’d bring his car to him tomorrow. How is Jewel?”

The pain and worry she’d been trying to forget hit her anew, and she dropped both hands into her lap. “I stayed for the first CT. It’s a cerebral aneurysm—just like Shelby had. And it’s weird because she had a scan a month ago and there was nothing.” She shrugged. “The doctors said it was just a random event. The good news is that it’s not bleeding—not yet. We got her to the hospital in time, it seems.”

Her mother placed her hands over her heart. “Thank God. So where is she now?”

“They’re doing what they can to release the pressure now, but they’re airlifting her to Children’s Hospital in Atlanta tonight. She’ll need to have surgery tomorrow to block the blood flow through the aneurysm so that it doesn’t rupture. Rainy’s with Drew, and he asked if I’d come home and pick up a few things for Jewel and drive to Atlanta tomorrow.”

“I’m going with you.”

“There’s no need, Mom. I can manage fine.”

“It’s a long drive and you’re tired. You should have somebody go with you. I’ll go pack my overnight case now.”

The exhaustion and worry over Jewel pushed at Caroline, making her want to push back. She looked at her mother, her hands in open supplication. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Treat me like a little child.”

“Because I’m your mother and you’re my daughter. Somewhere, in that unwritten book that’s given to every mother at childbirth, it’s in there.”

“What—that you should fuss over your children whether they want it or not?”

“No, that you should love your children whether they want it or not.”

Caroline left the piano bench and stood, hugging her arms over her chest. She came to a stop in front of Jude’s picture. “You never cared when I was little. Why have you decided that now that I’m thirty years old, you’re going to start trying to be my mother?”

Margaret sat down inelegantly on the vacated piano bench, as if all the air had flown out of her. “Oh, God, Caroline. No. Oh, God, no.” Her mother took a deep breath before continuing. “Perhaps I made a mistake when you were growing up that made you think that. But when you pushed me away in your desire to be independent, I let you go, no matter how much it hurt me.” She sighed, and Caroline pictured her mother’s slim shoulders rising and falling inside the lemon-yellow jacket.

“I thought it was what you needed. And then Jude came along, and he was so completely different from you. Not that I loved you any less; it’s just that he always needed me more.”

The old memories of her childhood and her mother clashed with recently made ones, creating enough confusion and anger to push aside the grief and worry. She welcomed these feelings; they were familiar to her in a way that forgiveness never had been. She turned to her mother, still hugging herself tightly.

“And then he was gone, and you didn’t have anybody else to need you anymore. I guess I was second choice, but I was there.”

Her mother’s eyes were damp. “Oh, no, Caroline. You were never second choice. You were my firstborn. We had tried for so many years for a baby, and then you came along. I never thought I could love somebody so much. Even after Jude was born, there was always a special place in my heart just for you. And you grew so fast and so independent—and I was so proud of you even though it meant you had no real use for me.”

She sniffed and reached into the pocket of her jacket for a perfectly folded linen handkerchief. During her entire lifetime, Caroline had never known her mother not to be prepared with a fresh handkerchief.

“When I learned that you needed to take a few months off work, my first reaction was sheer joy. I finally saw the chance to mother you. Since you were a toddler, you’ve never allowed me. I’m sorry if it seems like I’m smothering you.”

Caroline wiped her own tears with the sleeve of her shirt. “Oh, Mom. I have known all my life that Jude was your favorite child. And I don’t blame you for that. Everybody loved Jude—including me. But please—not now. Don’t try to pretend that you haven’t spent the last thirteen years wishing that Jude hadn’t been the one to die that night.”

Her mother marched over to her, and for a moment Caroline was afraid of what she saw in Margaret’s eyes. She shook when she spoke. “No, Caroline. Not for one minute. Not for one second. Have you really believed that all these years?” She raised fisted hands and pressed them against her chest. “When the doctors told me that your heart was damaged beyond repair, I told them to take mine. You were my little girl. And even now, after all these misunderstandings between us over the years, don’t you know that you’re the daughter I’ve always wanted? Don’t you? If there were a store where I had to go pick out a daughter and there were rows and rows of baby girls, I’d still pick you. You’re mine. Whether you had a brother or not, you’re mine. And I never wanted it any other way.”

Caroline turned her back to her mother again, unwilling to comprehend. Too many years had passed, and she found herself aching for the simple existence of only three months before; days when she got by on presumptions and independence, and never thought about the hidden wells of feelings she’d neatly tucked away around her heart.

She stared out the window, at the dying light of day, fighting the voices that seemed to be warring in her head. “If you really loved me, then you’d let it all go. It’s too late to rehash the past. Whether you wanted to or not, you taught me how to live on my own, not to need anybody. I’m happy that way. Why can’t you just let it all alone?”

She sensed her mother’s presence behind her and then her voice, soft but strong. “Because you’ve been crying for the moon for over thirteen years—and you can never, ever have it. Jude is still dead, and you can’t change it. Is this how you think he would have wanted you to live? A part of me inside dies each time I see you alone and hurting—and unwilling to meet me halfway. I’ve tried, Caroline. I’ve really tried to get through to you—to let you know how much I love you. I want you to live that life that was promised to you when you were born. The life that Jude’s heart was meant to live. And I don’t know what else I can say or do to make you listen and believe. I’ve always loved you and I’ve always wanted what’s best for you. I’ve tried to show you, but somehow I’ve failed.”

Her voice was thick with tears, and Caroline heard the sounds of her mother blowing her nose softly into the linen handkerchief. “I won’t give up, Caroline.” The feathery touch of her mother’s hand brushed her on her shoulder, like a tentative butterfly touching down only briefly on unsure terrain. She wanted to feel her mother’s touch again, but didn’t know how to ask. Margaret took a deep, shuddering breath before speaking again. “But I don’t know what else to do.”

Caroline hugged herself tighter, wanting so badly to hug her mother instead but unsure of the steps involved. She wiped her eyes and nose with the sleeve of her shirt again. “I can’t talk about this now. I need to worry about Jewel and Drew. And nothing else. It’s too much.”

They each stood their ground, as they had done for so many years, the small space between them no wider than an arm’s breadth, but deeper than the ocean and just as treacherous.

Her mother was the first to speak. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. But I will drive with you in the morning.”

Caroline turned her head slightly and nodded once, then listened as her mother’s footsteps slowly faded into the back of the house. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there staring out the window and listening to the grandfather clock tick away the minutes. It marked the hour with a chime once, and when it started to chime the second time, Caroline picked up her purse and left the house, shutting the door quietly behind her.

She used the key Drew had given her to let herself into the house next door. The house was dark and quiet, as if filled with the ghosts that were now filling her head. She moved swiftly through the downstairs rooms, flipping on all the light switches. She paused in front of the dining room table as she’d done the last time she’d been there, recalling that she’d never seen what Drew had carved into the fourth leg.

Slowly she approached it and squatted down to get a better look. Her gaze slid down the length of it, then back to the top where the leg met the table, wondering if she’d missed something. Both hands rubbed either side of the leg, but met with only smooth, bare wood.
What are you saying, Drew?
She somehow knew that the leg was the way it was meant to be, and that the dining room table masterpiece was complete. She stood and stared down at the plain wood of the table leg.
What does it mean?

Leaving the room, she moved toward the stairs, remembering where Drew had told her Jewel’s room was. The bedroom door was partially closed, and when she pushed it open Caroline saw that a reading lamp by the bed had been left on and the bedspread was rumpled where it looked like Jewel had been lying on top. A journal lay open in the middle next to an old teddy bear, the pages covered in a flowing, rounded handwriting.

She stepped toward the bed, intent on closing the journal and bringing it with Jewel’s things in case she wanted it. But when she bent to pick it up, the date on the top entry caught her attention.
November 15, 1991.
Six days before Jude died. She moved closer and caught the word
Jude
.
Shelby’s diary,
she thought as she picked it up. She looked at the pages for a long moment, not reading, but not able to close it either. Her hands shook with indecision. But here, in her hands by some miracle, lay a piece of her life that she had thought gone forever. But there it was, an account of the days before her life had irrevocably changed. Slowly she sat down on the edge of the bed and began to read.