Written on My Heart (28 page)

B
ud and I talked on the phone every night that week. Those talks had a definite pattern to them.

Bud: How could you leave me? I'm a good father, Florine. I'm a good husband, or I try to be. And I love you all more than anything in the world.

Me: We love you too. And you're a good father and husband, when you're sober. But when you drink, you become someone else, someone ugly. Someone I don't want to know and someone that I'm afraid of because I don't know what you're going to do next.

Bud: I can't be that bad.

Me: Yes, you are. When you drink, you're a prick.

Bud: Well, you're not a saint either.

Me: Never said I was. At least I'm a sober prick.

And so on. On Tuesday, he was drunk when he called me. On Wednesday, he sounded almost normal. On Thursday night, he told me he would be down on Friday night after work. I judged him to be about half and half when he told me that, so I didn't quite know what to expect.

I didn't sleep much that night. An owl hooted over by The Cheeks and I thought about cowering, helpless things. I dreamed that Carlie and Stella were friends. “That's where you went,” I said to Stella in my
dream. “We've been fooling you all along,” she said. “We have,” Carlie said, and giggled.

I woke up, went into Arlee's room, lifted her quietly from her bed, and put her in with me. Her calm breathing helped me drift off. I woke up to the weak light of a late-March dawn. I looked over at Arlee and found her looking at me. She grinned and pounced and we wrestled before we started our day.

I fretted all day Friday and kept to myself, except for a morning trip with the kids up to Ray's to buy something for dinner. Ray looked tired, but he was happy to take Travis for me while I shopped around. They had quite a conversation.

“I need a vacation,” Ray said to Travis. “But got no one to run the store. You want to do it?”

Travis laughed and clapped his hands.

“He can't,” I said. “I keep him busy. He does the housework.”

“Wouldn't surprise me,” Ray said.

“Hey now.”

“You seen Glen, lately?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “He visited us last Saturday in Stoughton Falls. He seemed okay. Said he's been traveling through the state.”

Ray shook his head. “He ain't okay, not by a long shot.”

I took Travis back while Ray rang me out.

“I ain't joking about needing a vacation,” Ray said. “Be nice to go to Florida. See my sister.”

“Well,” I said, “someone would take over for you for a couple of weeks, I bet.”

“How about you do it?”

I snorted. “I look like I've got time to do it?”

“Ida would take care of the kids.”

“Why don't you ask her or Madeline? They're home all day.”

“Madeline can't add to save her ass, and Ida would be ringing up Jesus along with the groceries. Not that Jesus is bad, for chrissake. Don't get me wrong.”

“Well,” I said, “I'll be going back to Stoughton Falls soon anyway.”

Ray sighed. “You hear of anyone can add and say hello to whoever comes in without bringing God into it, you let me know, okay?”

“I'll try,” I said. “Where's Stella? She's a pain in the ass, but when she worked here, she made a good sandwich now and then. Maybe she'd work for you again. Give her something to do.”

“Oh, she's got a new man,” Ray said.

“
What?
” I said. “I thought she was going to die loving Daddy forever.”

“Forever is a long time for Stella,” Ray said. “Long time for anyone.”

“Who's the lucky guy?”

“Some flatlander from New Hampshire. How she met him, I don't know. She's been living in the mountains with him. Seems like a nice guy. They been down a couple of times to check on the house. Not sure why it's empty. She could rent it.”

“Who knows why she does or doesn't do anything,” I muttered.

“Stella ain't that bad, Florine,” Ray said.

“Right,” I said. “Well, we have to get going. Hope you find someone to work.”

The rest of the day was filled with chasing kids, feeding kids, putting kids down for naps, getting them up, keeping them out of trouble, and pacing back and forth until four p.m. I thought about Ray's offer, a lot. I pictured myself ringing up customers, having little chats and cracking jokes, directing new customers and tourists toward the delicious bread I would bake, or toward my knitted goods.

But over all of that, I listened for Bud's truck. I was in the kitchen serving up some of Ida's leftover spaghetti to the kids when I heard it chug to a stop in front of the house.

I leaned against the sink as he walked through the door. We locked eyes when he paused at the doorway to the kitchen until Arlee ran to him and grabbed his legs and he lifted her up and squeezed her tight. He walked over to Travis and kissed the top of his head. His hand lingered on his curls. When he looked at me again, his dark eyes a burnt-out blend of hurt, confusion, and love, I burst into tears and he
came to me and held me. I held him right back, our bodies telling us things no phone calls ever could.

We spent suppertime as a family, Bud telling us about his week at work, talking to Arlee, playing with Travis, looking at me, and me watching him. I told him about Stella's new man.

“No shit,” he said, and then covered his mouth as Arlee looked up at him.

“Bad word,” she said.

“Seen Ma?” Bud asked.

“Not much,” I said.

“She called me at the trailer.”

“Of course she did,” I said. “I would be surprised if she hadn't.”

Hurt flashed through his eyes again, and he lowered them as he bent to finish his supper.

He put the kids to bed for me while I waited downstairs in a rocker on the porch. It felt almost like a first date with someone I didn't know well. Why, I thought, am I so nervous? This is my man. This is the man I love. My heartbeat picked up when I heard him cross the downstairs floors to join me. He sat down next to me and took my hand. We watched the afterglow of the winter's day fade away.

“How many times do you s'pose we've done this?” he said.

“Forever, it seems like,” I said.

“I used to watch you rocking on the porch, after Grand died. I wanted to sit with you then.”

“You had Susan.”

“I did,” he said.

“Why did you have her and not me?”

“Didn't want to get messed up in your shit. So much stuff was going on with you.”

“Bud, we can make a life, together,” I said. “You don't have to be a shit mechanic in a shit job . . .”

He let go of my hand. “What the hell are you talking about? You think what I do is shit?”

“Okay, here we go,” I said. “Those were your words. I didn't say them. You did.”

“When?” he said. “When the hell did I say them and why would I say them?”

“This is what happens when you're drunk.”

“You're making this up,” he said. “Why are you doing this?”

“I'm not making it up, Bud.”

He got up.

“Don't leave,” I said. “We have to talk about this.”

He shook his head. “I can't believe I'd say something like that.” He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. I knew he was looking for a beer. When he didn't find it, he shut the door, walked back onto the porch, and looked out the window again.

“So, I said I had a shit job?”

“Yes,” I said. “You said you wished you'd done more with your life, like Susan had wanted you to do. You said that Robin reminded you of Susan.”

“I did?”

“Yes,” I said. “Do you want to do something else besides work on cars?”

“I've thought about it,” he said.

“What?”

“I don't know. Susan thought I should get a business degree, but that don't do much for me. I like working on cars, I guess, until I think of something else.”

“I saw Ray today,” I said. “He was looking for someone to run the store for a couple of weeks so he could go on vacation.”

Bud snorted. “You see me running a store?”

“Not you,” I said. “Me. I thought about it all day. I could do it. Maybe not right now, but in the future. Robin and I talked about me selling my sweaters. I could take 'em up to Ray's, maybe. Get started selling them here on The Point.”

“I don't know,” Bud said. “What about Stoughton Falls? That's where my job is.”

“I know,” I said.

“Maybe you could get a job up there, in town.”

“Maybe,” I said, in a tone that lacked enthusiasm. Living in Stoughton Falls had worn pretty thin. “We haven't done so well up there,” I said to Bud.

Before he could answer, Travis whined and I left to go see what was up. He was sitting up in his crib, his diaper soaked through into the sheets. While I changed him, I heard Bud go outside. I heard the truck door open, then shut, and then I heard Bud walk back through the house and go back to the porch.

I took Travis down and I handed him to Bud, who took him with something like a sigh of relief. “Empty hands are the devil's playground,” he whispered to his son as they rocked back and forth.

We put Travis into his newly sheeted bed at around midnight. Back in our room, in our bed, Bud filled his hands with me, and then he filled me with himself, and we moved together with no space for questions or for fear.

B
ud stayed sober for the whole weekend. He left Monday morning, feeling good, he said. No problem, he said. My heart broke as I waved him away up the hill.

On Wednesday night, Maureen shared supper with the kids and me. While I did dishes, she entertained them both. I puttered around, doing little chores. I finally got around to taking them upstairs to bed and I expected her to be gone when I came back downstairs again. But she had made herself a cup of cocoa and was sitting at the table.

“Whew,” I sighed, sitting down across from her. “Thanks for the help.”

“I love them so much,” she said. “They make me laugh.” She leaned in toward me, as if she were about to reveal a big secret. “Ma doesn't laugh much,” she said, as if Ida might hear her. “It's pretty serious at home. But when the kids come down, she lightens up and I remember that part of her from when I was little.”

“Life takes a toll,” I said, thinking about Ida having to deal with Sam's battle. That would have taken her humor down a notch. My trials with Bud had changed my view of things. My insides sagged with the weight of the battle we faced. My thoughts must have shown on my face, because Maureen said, “Florine, I think Bud and you will be okay. He isn't our father.”

“Drinking is drinking,” I said. “Booze makes people do crazy things.”

“It does. But Bud sees the world different than our Dad.”

“How so?”

Maureen's face lit up. “Oh, Bud is so curious and interested in everything. His room used to be filled with posters of places to go. We would close our eyes and stick pins in a map of the world. Then we'd look those places up in the encyclopedia. He made model cars and airplanes, and he liked puzzles and games. He liked to build stuff, like birdhouses and boats. He likes to be busy. He loves to learn.”

I knew some of the things about Bud that Maureen was telling me. Bud was curious. He loved tinkering and adventure. But this version of Bud seemed to have disappeared. The man I lived with now sat in front of the television and drank. Had being with me and the babies worn him down that much?

“How does that make him different from Sam, though?” I asked.

Maureen's hazel eyes darkened with sadness and memories. “Dad was older than your father. Florine, your father was so handsome!”

I nodded. “He was. Travis looks like him.”

“He does. Anyway, Dad was older. He was tired most of the time. The fishing just beat him up. You know what makes me sad?”

“What?”

“I don't know what his dreams were. I asked Ma once, and she said he was a man who needed routine, a paycheck, and a family. Those were his dreams.”

“Do you think we're holding Bud back?”

“No! No, I don't!” Maureen said. “He loves you more than anything. But . . .” She sat up straight and pressed her hands together as she thought about her next words. Then her eyes widened and she said, “You know what? I think he's afraid he's going to turn into Sam. I think he thinks that he has to stay away from here to keep that from happening. He hasn't figured out yet that it's not where he lives, it's his fear of being like Dad that's holding him back.”

That made such sense to me a chill tickled my spine. “No wonder Ida is excited about you becoming a pastor,” I said. “You'll make a good one.”

“I love helping people,” she said, her eyes shining. “I love that more than anything but Jesus. Anyway, I think Bud will figure it out.”

“Well,” I said, “you might just have hit on something.”

The phone rang, and Maureen jumped up, hugged me, and left.

I picked up the phone and said, “Hello?”

Heavy breathing and television noise filled my ears.

“Hello?” I said. More breathing and noise.

“How come you haven't called me?” Bud finally said, his words tripping over each other. “You with someone else?”

My heart caved in. He was past dealing with.

“Yes,” I said. “I was with Maureen. She stayed for supper and she just left.”

“That's bullshit,” Bud said. “You're with someone else.”

“How has your day gone?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

“It didn't go good.”

“That's too bad.”

“You don't mean that,” he said.

I stretched the loopy phone cord over to the kitchen table so I could sit down.

“What happened today that made it bad?” I asked.

He proceeded to tell me, using language that made even me fidget. A story about a customer and a car and a shouting match about a repair job he had done about two months earlier. My insides squirmed for the both of us, for the love we had for each other, and for this poison liquid shit storm that fouled up those feelings. Finally, he stopped raving and I guessed it was my job to say something.

“Guy sounds like an asshole,” I said.

“It wasn't a guy. Didn't you listen? It was a woman. A dumb bitch that wouldn't know a transmission from a radiator.”

“She sounds like an asshole,” I said.

“Yeah, well,” Bud said. “I got to piss. I'll call you later.”

“I'm going to bed,” I said. “We'll talk tomorrow.”

“You trying to get rid of me?”

“You said you had to pee.”

“Right. But you're trying to get rid of me.”

“I'm tired,” I said. “Been a long day for me too.”

“Well, everyone's tired. You're tired. I'm tired. We're all fucking tired. You can take some time to talk to me.”

“I can,” I said, wanting to hang up more than anything I'd wanted to do in a long time. “Do what you have to do, and then come back.”

Bud dropped the phone and I heard him shuffle down the hall to the bathroom. After a while, the toilet flushed and I tensed for the next round. I heard him walk back to the phone. He picked it up, said, “What the hell? Why's the fucking phone off the hook?” and hung up.

I got up very early the next morning, before our kids were up, and dialed our number at the trailer. The phone rang ten times before he picked up.

“Do you know what time it is?” he growled. “Who the hell is this?”

“Me,” I said. “You hung up on me last night.”

“Jesus, Florine.”

“Two words that shouldn't be used in the same sentence, most likely,” I said. “You did hang up on me. Last night, when you called, we talked for a while and you went off to the bathroom and then you came back and hung up the phone.”

“What?” he said. “I did that? Goddamn.” He didn't say anything for about thirty seconds. And then he croaked in a shaky voice, “I can't remember calling you.”

“You did,” I said. I told him about the rude customer and the car.

“I don't remember talking about that,” he said.

Arlee called my name from the top of the stairs.

“I have to go,” I said. “I love you, Bud. We'll talk tonight.”

“Holy shit,” he said, and hung up.

I thought about Maureen's revelation. It all made sense, but so what? The reasons why Bud drank wouldn't necessarily stop him from careening down the road to destruction. I could only hope he got a clue before that happened.