Written on My Heart (33 page)

“What do you mean, her own issues?”

“Well, she liked to play around with young boys.”

“What do you mean?” I said, not understanding.

“Oh my god,” Glen groaned. I turned to him, surprised.

“What's wrong with you?” Dottie asked.

Glen put his face into his hands. “Oh my god,” he said again.

“She messed around with you?” Parker said, softly, to his nephew.

As we all stared at Glen, I recalled the words he had said to me that day we'd talked in his tent in Grand's living room: “
What she said still messes up my head, along with everything else. She was smart. She was older than me. She was . . .
”

“Patty?” I said. “You were talking about Patty?”

It took him a while to answer, and during that time, I ran everything
I had thought about Patty through my head. Funny, sassy, flirty Patty. I had adored her and wanted to be like her. This was the same woman who had made my friend feel like shit? Had done things to him? Things that were wrong?

Glen took his hands away from his face and sat up straight. Dottie handed him a Kleenex and he blew his nose. “She did it to me,” he said. “I was one of those boys.”

“What she did was against the law,” Parker said to his nephew. “Do you feel like talking about what happened?”

Glen wiped tears from his cheeks. “If it helps Florine, I will,” he said.

“Take a deep breath,” Billy said.

Glen did just that, and then he said, “I was ten. I used to ride my bike to the Shack. Ray'd give me money and tell me to go bug someone else for a while, so I'd pedal up the road for French fries and a Coke. One day, Patty was leaving the Shack to walk back to the cabin she lived in, and she asked if I wanted some homemade cookies. So, I followed her. When she brought the cookies out, she wasn't wearing nothing. I'd never seen a real naked woman before. She asked if I wanted to touch her boobies.

“I didn't know that we was doing something bad,” he said. His face darkened to crimson. “She told me we wasn't hurting nobody, and she thought I was special. Later, she got mean. She'd touch me down there and laugh and tell me what a loser I was, that no one would ever love me. Then she told me to get lost, and if I said anything, she'd tell the police. She said, ‘You know what rape is? I'll scream rape if you say a word.'”

We all sat in silence as Glen stared out at the sunny day, letting his tears run unchecked. No one had known. No one had even suspected. I thought about when Carlie had died. No one had known or suspected that either. My heart ached with the unfairness of it all. Bud squeezed my hand again.

Dottie got up and walked over to Glen. Dottie, who brushed off anything that got too sappy with her smart remarks. Dottie, who
surprised all of us by bending over Glen's chair and wrapping her arms around him from the back to comfort him. She stood that way for a minute, and then she sat down again.

Bud cleared his throat. “I don't mean to make less of this than it is,” he said to Parker. “And I can't believe the bitch did that to Glen. If I'd known, I would have strangled her with my bare hands. But what does that have to do with Carlie?”

Parker said, “Glen, I don't know as it will make you feel less alone, but you weren't the only boy Patty ‘liked.' When I talked to her, she mentioned Andy Barrington.”

Far off, from somewhere inside my head, an ocean began to roll forward.

Parker said, “He used to visit her ‘for cookies' too. But when I talked to Patty last week, she said she had told him to bug off earlier that summer because he was getting rough with her. Said he was strong for his size. Told him she'd call me if she caught him hanging around. He stayed away for a while. But he knocked on her door the night before she and Carlie left for Crow's Nest Harbor that last night. She wouldn't let him in. Threatened him with me again, and he left. But somehow, he found out where they were going and he hitchhiked up. His family didn't know he had gone. No one watched the kid, really. They mostly noticed when he got in the way.”

And then Andy's words floated through my memory: “
I was deflowered by a—uh—woman of experience, in New York City. Taught me to touch her where it mattered most.
” That woman, not from New York, but from New Jersey, had been Patty. I barely heard what Parker said next.

“Andy hung around their motel until he saw the person he thought was Patty walk into town. He stayed far enough away so that he couldn't really see her face. Just followed her by the color of her hair and her clothes. She came back along the cliff walk after that, and he followed her along the path.”

Suddenly Parker stopped talking and laid a hand on my hand. “Florine,” he said, “you all right?”

“Jesus, you're so pale,” Bud said.

“Put your head down between your legs,” Dottie said.

Bud got up and pulled my chair back. Dottie gently pushed my head down until it rested on my knees. My back whined, but the pain brought me back to myself. Hands patted my back, stroked my neck. I sat up.

Andy's desperate voice sounded in my head: “
I hope you will forgive me. . . . I mean it. . . . Sold my soul a long time ago.
”

I had loved him. And he had killed my mother. And he knew what he had done every time he touched me or told me he loved me.

A voice that didn't sound like mine whispered, “How did he kill her?”

Parker held my eyes. “He thought he would jump her, scare her a little. Remember, he thought that she was Patty. Carlie was so shocked when he grabbed her that she fought him and during the struggle, Andy broke her neck.”

I put my hands into my hair, grabbed it, and pulled. A wail burst from my throat: part grief, part rage. Bud and Dottie said soothing things that made no sense, but the sound of their voices eventually calmed me down.

Bud said to Parker, “What happened after that? What did he do with her?”

“Andy put her body into some thick bushes off the path and left for home. Edward Barrington
was
up there that day too, but he didn't see Carlie, or Patty, so he headed back to his place just after dark. He caught Andy hitchhiking by the side of the road. He was in rough shape. Barrington hammered at him until Andy told him what had happened. Edward could have gone to the police, but he didn't do it. He told me he didn't want Andy arrested. Didn't want the Barrington name dragged into it.

“Edward drove them back to where Andy had hidden Carlie's body. Somehow, they got her to the car without being seen and they drove south. They buried her near their cottage the next day.”

“Where?” I said. Parker told me.

I cupped my face in my hands. In my place, my secret place, over by the pines on the other side of the clearing. My mother had been that close to me, for all that time.

“Her body is in Augusta,” Parker said. “We needed to autopsy the body to be sure it was her first before we could tell you.”

“I want to see her,” I said.

“You think that's such a good idea?” Bud asked gently.

“I want to see her,” I repeated, hitting the table with my fist. “She's my mother. I've been waiting for a long, long time for her to come home.”

I didn't ask about what was going to happen to Andy or Edward. I didn't want either of those bastards to have the last word. My mother's body had been found and I could bring her home. That was what mattered.

Arlee's voice, singing a song I couldn't quite catch the words to, arched over us, high and sweet, from way down in Ida's yard.

“I bet she hasn't changed her dress,” I said. I stood up. “I don't want her to get it dirty.” I left the house. Arlee was down by the
Florine
, slapping a paintbrush onto the sanded hull. The ruined dress was covered with a shade the color of midnight.

“Hi, Mama,” she said.

Ida ran out of the house. “Oh, my goodness,” she said. “She was watching television not thirty seconds ago. I'm so sorry.”

“That's okay,” I said.

Ida saw me, then. “Oh, dear god,” she said. “Is . . .”

I nodded. “I don't want to talk right now,” I said.

Ida nodded. “I'll say a prayer,” she murmured.

“Thank you,” I said. She touched my arm and went inside.

Arlee pointed to a second paintbrush. “Help me, Mama,” she said. I dipped it into the can and we painted the boat, together.

O
f course, I still had questions, and after a sleepless night spent on the porch with my son in my arms, my husband snoring beside me in the next rocker, and Arlee asleep on the sofa, I called Parker again. Bud and I went to his office for this meeting. My body ached with sorrow, but I was calm.

“I'm confused,” I said. “How did you find out that Andy had done it?”

Parker said, “After I got all those letters and I read them, I called Barrington. Told him I wanted to talk to him again. He wasn't as eager to do it as he had been before, but he said he would come up to the office. Andy was at the cottage with him. I keep an eye on Andy anyway. Deals drugs, but he's not the big pin. I was hoping he'd lead me to his supplier, but he's got bigger fish to fry now. Anyway, while Barrington was talking to me, Andy walked in. Said he was tired of the bullshit. Said he had killed Carlie, but that it was an accident. Edward tried to shut him up, but Andy told him to fuck off, that they should have done this long ago. I talked to Andy and he told me how things had happened. Then, I talked to Edward, and he finally broke down and admitted it. Said he hadn't wanted to turn his son in, no matter how things had happened.”

“What about the purse?” I asked. “Carlie's purse was found by that pond near Blueberry Harbor. Why was it there?” The only clue to
Carlie's whereabouts had been the finding of her purse by a pond near Blueberry Harbor, one hour south of Crow's Nest Harbor, three and a half years after she had disappeared. Nothing further had ever come of it, but I had always wondered about it.

“Barrington said he got to drinking and had a lamebrain idea—his words, not mine—that if he moved it there and buried it, it would somehow break things up. Said he drove up the coast to the pond near Blueberry Harbor because it was the first place he saw that was off the road. It didn't hold any special meaning for him. Don't make sense, I know, but that's what he did.”

“What happens to them now?” Bud asked.

“Well, Andy was a minor when he did it. Got to figure out the particulars of that. We'll let the law work it out. The crime took place in Crow's Nest Harbor, so what happens will happen up there. The Barringtons have called their lawyer.”

“What happens to Patty?” I asked.

Parker frowned. “Nothing. Patty overdosed on painkillers. She's dead. I got the call when I was at your house yesterday.”

We all paused, and then Bud said, “Probably best. It appears she fucked up a lot of people.”

Parker pursed his lips but didn't say anything. I noticed how tired he looked. He said to me, “You sit tight and we'll see what happens with the Barrington boys. Although the chances of you sitting tight are slim to none, I imagine.” He smiled at me.

We all stood up and I gave Parker a hug. I said, “You said you'd do it, and you did it. Thank you.”

He coughed and said, “You're welcome.”

Bud and I drove home in his pickup, holding hands across the front seat. When we got back to the house, Robin was there.

“How did you know?” I asked, holding her to me. “I didn't have time to call.”

“Bud called me and I came right away,” she said.

We sat at the kitchen table over coffee and tea while I blubbered
out my grief and confusion. “I loved Andy,” I said. “How could he be with me without . . . feeling anything? How could he act like nothing had happened? What was in his head?”

“People compartmentalize things,” Robin said. “They put traumas in dark closets way back in their heads and they nail the door shut. The problem is, they leak out somehow. Didn't you tell me once that he did tons of drugs and never met a school he couldn't flunk out of? And he had his father holding it over him too.”

“He was scared shitless of Edward,” I said.

“We should all be scared shitless of Edward,” Robin said. “From everything you've said about him, that guy has no heart. Or conscience. He's a textbook sociopath.”

Travis, who had been napping in his crib upstairs, yelled, “Bup. Bup.”

I said, “I'll get him.” I climbed the stairs toward him, my heart lifting at the thought of seeing my baby boy. My girl, who had ruined her dress and salvaged my heart at the same time the day before, had gone to work at the state park with Dottie for the morning. Ida would care for her later that day, while Dottie, Bud, Robin, and I headed up to Long Reach and the funeral home.

In the days to come, we would know more about Edward and Andy's plights, and newspapers would pick up Carlie's story again until they moved on to something else.

But at that moment, I filled my arms with my wriggling son.

“I forgot to ask you,” Robin said as the four of us headed up to Long Reach, “when we figure out when the memorial service is, would it be okay if my family rented your dad's house for a couple of weeks? It would be Dad, Ben, Valerie, and me.”

The thought of having my mother's family, my family, being close to us, and soon, perked up my heart and I said, of course, and welcome. “I'll have to get it ready,” I said.

“Well,” Robin said, “if you agree, I'd like to stay there until they
get here, and then I can pack up my apartment and fly home with them. Maybe I can help you work on it.”

“Sounds good,” Bud said. “Keep Florine out of mischief.”

“I'll give you a hand too,” Dottie said.

“Okay,” I said to Dottie. “You make the cookies and bring them with you.”

“I ain't making nothing,” she said. “But I'll help eat whatever's there.”

The funeral director, Mr. Desmond, had a nice smile. He asked us to wait in the hall for a few minutes. He walked away, his shiny shoes making no sound on the thick rugs that led to somewhere in the back.

This was the same place we had come to when Sam had died. In the daytime, it looked different. Rich colors seeped through the rooms. Everything in the hallway was dark red. The carpets, the little flowers on the wallpaper, the runner coming down the dark, polished stairway. A clock ticked somewhere. The sound of a television or a radio barely reached my ears.

“They live here, you know,” Dottie said. “You imagine?”

“Well,” Robin pointed out. “Someone has to live here. Who would take care of the dead people? Who would receive them and stay with them?”

I grabbed her hand as Mr. Desmond walked back down the hall.

“Are you all going in?” Mr. Desmond said.

“No,” I said. “Just me.”

“You sure?” Bud and Robin said at the same time.

I nodded. Mr. Desmond took my arm. “She's in the sun room,” he said quietly as we walked. “She's was buried in the ground for a long time,” he said. “Please understand that. Time takes its toll on the body.”

“I just want to be with her for a couple of minutes,” I said, and then, through no thought on my part, I bent over double and began to howl. My heart chose that very moment to cleanse itself of years of worry, grief, hurt, and anger. Hurried footsteps thumped up the carpet to Mr. Desmond and
me. Bud knelt beside me, took a clean white handkerchief out of his pocket, and wiped my face with it. After a couple of minutes, with his help, I stood upright again on shaky legs. “You don't have to do this,” Bud said. “It will be okay with Carlie, I'm sure.”

Mr. Desmond added, “It might be best if you remember her as she was.”

I took a deep, shuddering breath. “Let's go,” I said. I dug my fingernails into Bud's arm as we finished our walk up the hall.

When we reached the doorway, I blinked. I had wanted to view her body before having what remained of her cremated, but I had expected to view that body in a simple pine box. Instead, a rich mahogany casket lay on a maroon velvet platform in the middle of the bright sun porch, surrounded by bouquets of spring flowers.

I gasped. “What . . .”

“The casket is borrowed for the morning,” Mr. Desmond said gently. “And the flowers are from your uncle—her brother, and his family. I thought it might be more pleasant for you to see her in the light, and to be able to look outside. After your viewing, we will proceed with the cremation, per your request.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“We have covered her body with a blanket,” Mr. Desmond said. “If you would like the blanket removed, I can do that.”

“No,” I said. “I just want to see that it's her and that's she's somewhere that's not just in my head.”

We walked forward and I dug my fingernails into Bud's hand. A crumbling skull rested on a blue velvet pillow. Thin bits of colorless hair still clung to it. A small gap between her two front teeth brought back her smile.

I shook as I let go of Bud's hand. “Can I be alone?” I asked.

“Of course,” Mr. Desmond said.

“I'll be right outside the door,” Bud said.

After they left, I stood until I stopped trembling. I took a deep breath, and let it out in tears that drenched what remained of Carlie's
face. “I missed you, so much,” I said. The light outside gave Carlie's skull an odd ivory sheen. I reached out my hand and touched it. It was cold and hard, not like my Carlie at all. But the bright spark that had occupied my mother lived on in the face of my daughter.

Cheery birdcalls came from outside, and I looked out into the backyard. Fat robins hopped on the lawn. A blue jay bossed its way among bright, light, young leaves. I lifted my hand from Carlie's skull.

Soft footsteps behind me stopped as Bud put an arm around me. We stood silent.

Bud cleared his throat. “You know, them bastards didn't win.”

“What do you mean?” I said, wiping my face.

“Well, they may have buried her body and not told anyone about it until they got caught, but they'll have to live with it until they die. Carlie will be here a long time after they will. When they buried her, right away she became part of everything around her. She'll be here long after they rot in hell.”

Tears trickled into my mouth and I tasted salt. “She's gone,” I said. “But she's home. Welcome home, Carlie.”

I leaned into the coffin and kissed her skull. Then my husband took my hand and we walked down the hallway.