Heart Song (21 page)

"I don't think that's true for us then," I said quickly, too quickly. Her eyes widened.
"Oh?"
I blushed and turned away.
"Somehow, I have the feeling you already know you could be compatible, is that it?"
I nodded.
"The first time you made love?" she asked and I nodded again.
"I remember my first time, although it seems like one of my previous lives by now," she added with a laugh. I looked up with interest. "It's all so new and surprising, you expect it will be that way all the time, but often it's not," she warned. "Even with the same man."
"How many men have you--"
She laughed.
"Let's not talk about me. You think you're head over heels in love, is that it?"
"Yes."
"Maybe you are; maybe you're just discovering love itself," she said. "Compassion for each other is so important," she continued. "That's why I made the point about Scorpio. When one lover is more selfcentered than the other, when all he or she wants is to satisfy himself or herself, it becomes something different and soon leads to unhappiness. Find a man who cares for you more than he cares for himself and you've found love.
"But, alas," she said, gazing at the ocean again, "that can be as hard to find as a drop of water after it's been spilled in the ocean."
"You never did?" I asked.
"Once, but unfortunately he died young. That was how Kenneth and I met. He and Brad, my lover, were roommates in college."
"Oh. Kenneth never told me. Actually, he hasn't told me all that much about his past."
She smiled.
"Don't be put off by that. Kenneth lives in the moment, in his art. I've done his horoscope. He'll never change, Melody. Events in his past mirrored the movement of the sun and the moon and produced the dramatic disappointments. They're sewn forever into his being and into his future.
"That's why he and I get along so well. He knows I won't make any demands, won't stay long. I come and go like . . . a cloud," she said, looking at the sky.
"Can't he live like a normal person ever?" I asked, still unable to let go of the dream that Kenneth just might have feelings for me. Though in my heart of hearts, I knew whatever feelings he had would never be able to compare to Cary's love for me.
"Kenneth? Kenneth Childs is one man who is terrified of becoming withal in the sense you mean. Responsibilities, obligations, and the guilt that follows on their heels is very frightening to a true, pure artist. God forbid he had to do something for the house or family just when he was about to begin his work. In the end he would only hate his own wife and children. He doesn't want to be involved in anything or with anyone that will lead to something permanent, something demanding his time and energy. His only commitment is to his art, because it's safe. If he fails, he only fails himself," she concluded.
Then maybe Kenneth is my father after all, I thought, and what Holly was telling me about him was the reason why he would lie or avoid the truth. Would I ever really know the truth?
"What did you mean by Kenneth's dramatic disappointments?" I asked.
"I really don't have a right to talk about it, Melody," Holly said. "Kenneth's memories of happiness and sadness are his possessions. He has to be the one to share them with others."
"It has to do with my mother," I said. "I know it does."
She just held her soft smile.
"Sometimes, I gaze into the stars and I see things I know I must not touch, must not disturb, must not reveal. Sometimes, Melody, it takes more strength to leave a discovery where you found it."
"Is that what Kenneth did?" I shot back at her. Her smile faded a bit.
"It's something we all do, Melody, sometime, at some place in our lives. Hungry?" she asked, changing the topic.
"Yes," I said. After all, I had skipped breakfast.
As we ate, Holly told me more about her own past, about Kenneth's college roommate, Brad, and how much they had been in love. She read me some of her favorite poetry and she talked more about the power of her crystals. We took a walk on the beach, searching for sea shells, and then sunbathed in the afternoon sun. For one day, at least, I felt as if I had an older sister who would listen to my deeper thoughts and fears and who wasn't afraid to tell me about some of her own.
The sun began to show its descent toward the horizon and I thought I should probably head home soon. The family had surely returned from Grandma Olivia's by now. I changed back into my own clothes and Holly drove me home. I didn't see the car and the truck was still in front. The house looked dark, too.
"It doesn't look as if they've come back yet," Holly said.
"They would have had to by now."
"Maybe they went some place else. Your uncle might have taken his family for a Sunday drive," Holly suggested.
"Not likely," I said. "Not in the mood he was in." I got out. "Thanks for a wonderful day. I guess I'll see you tomorrow when Kenneth brings me to work."
"Okay. Watch that sunset. You'll feel a lot of good energy," she said and drove off. When I entered the house, I found it empty, dark. In the kitchen, my empty mug was right where I had left it.
Upstairs I found everything quiet and just as deserted. Why weren't they back yet? I went into my room, showered, put lotion on my browned face and shoulders, and then dressed again. Still, I heard no one in the house. I descended the stairs, thought for a moment, and then stepped outside and decided I would sit and wait facing the road. Nearly another hour passed.
Finally, I saw the Logans' car come around the turn and head toward the house. I stood up in anticipation, but was surprised to see Cary driving, Aunt Sara in the front seat, and May in the rear. Where was Uncle Jacob?
They drove in and parked. I walked toward the car as Cary got out, his face drenched in worry and sadness. Aunt Sara had apparently been crying.
"What's going on? Where's your father?" I asked.
"He . . . had chest pains at Grandma Olivia's," Cary said, "so we had to rush him to the hospital. The doctors said he had a heart attack."
"Oh no! Is he--"
"He's still alive, but he's critical," Cary said. "We were there most of the day."
I bit down on my lower lip and then rushed to help Aunt Sara go to the house.
"I'm all right," she said. "We've got to stay strong. No one's really eaten all day. See to May," she said. "I'll fix us some dinner."
"Oh no, Aunt Sara. Let me do it."
"No, no. I have to do it. I always do it. See to May," she said.
May looked like a small flower, wilted, her little face pale, her eyes wide and full of fear. I embraced her and we all went into the house. At the stairway, Cary turned to me, his eyes wet with tears.
"He's going to die," he said. "I know he is."
"No, Cary. Don't say that."
"I did it to him, you know."
I shook my head.
"Yes, it was my fault. I drove him away just the way I drove Laura and they both left angry at me."
"No," I insisted, but he turned and started up the stairs to his attic hideaway, his shoulders slumped, his head down, drowning in his own guilt.
May clung to me harder. Her little hands moved like small sparrows seeking answers and all I could do was keep telling her it would be all right. Everything would be all right.
My hands trembled like lips caught in lies as I signed.
If there was any place on earth where everything wouldn't be all right, it was in this house, I thought, and took her back with me to the kitchen to help Aunt Sara face another night of agony and loneliness.

11
Last Confession
.
Aunt Sara had prepared a meat loaf for us

before she left for the brunch at Grandma Olivia's. She moved about the kitchen like a robot, not really looking at things. Her eyes resembled two glass orbs, lifeless on the outside with no light of their own, merely reflecting what was in front of her. I imagined that inside, her thoughts were lightning bugs zigzagging from one end of her head to the other, tracing her fears, anxieties, and sorrow across the black wall of her despair.

May set the table and I worked on the mashed potatoes while Aunt Sara checked her meat loaf and prepared some steamed vegetables. We all kept busy, avoiding each other, and taking solace in our labors.

"We were just sitting around talking," she suddenly began as if she had heard me ask what had happened.

"Everyone was having a good time. The food was as delicious as ever and Samuel was very jolly, I thought. Olivia had invited Congressman Dunlap and his wife Joan. We were all having such a good time."

She paused to look at me.
"Olivia was very concerned about you. She asked me dozens of questions, wanting to know how you were, what you had been doing, how well you were getting along at your job. She was very disappointed about your not coming. I think Samuel was even more disappointed. The judge kept asking about you, too. Finally, Congressman Dunlap burst out with, 'Who is this young lady everyone is so interested in? I have to meet her.'

"Everyone laughed. Even Jacob."
"What about Cary?" I asked.
"Oh, he had taken May down to the beach.

They weren't far off."
She sighed deeply and continued to prepare
dinner, talking as she went to the stove.
"They got into a political discussion and the
judge had an argument with Congressman Dunlap
about taxes. They were getting pretty riled up. No one
noticed Jacob rubbing his chest and taking deep
breaths until suddenly--" She paused and looked at
the wall as if the scene were being projected onto it.
"Suddenly, he struggled to his feet, made a strange
guttural sound, and fell forward on the grass. The
congressman was the first at his side. He had been in
the army and had some training in CPR. Jacob complained about pressure on his chest and pain up his arm to his shoulder. The congressman said it looked like a heart attack and we should get an
ambulance quickly.
"I was no good to anyone. I couldn't move. My
legs turned right to butter. All I could do was hold
onto the chair and cry.
"But Olivia. You should have seen her,
Melody," she said with a wide smile of appreciation
and admiration on her lips. "She stood up and like a
general, coolly dictated commands," Aunt Sara said
and then demonstrated, pointing this way and that. "Samuel, go make the phone call. Nelson, go
get a pillow and a few blankets from the maid. She
even told the congressman's wife to pour some water
for Jacob. In minutes, everyone was moving about,
doing something. Then she turned to me," Aunt Sara
said, imitating Grandma Olivia's expression. "Sara, get a grip on yourself. Go get the
children immediately,' she ordered, and I tell you
when she turned her eyes on me, I felt my buttery legs
harden into stone and my spinal cord turn to steel. I
nodded and went down to the beach.
"Cary was devastated. He couldn't believe his
father was--had collapsed. Jacob's been such a tower of strength. He's never been sick, never missed a day's work, and he never complains about muscle aches and pains, no matter how hard he works and how miserable the weather. I've seen him come home with his face blue from cold, but he never so much as
moaned.
"When the ambulance arrived, Olivia hovered
over the paramedics making sure they did everything
as quickly and efficiently as possible. Then she organized us into two cars and we followed the ambulance
to the hospital. Cary drove our car. When we arrived,
she went to the emergency room doctor immediately
and got him to go see to Jacob. He reported to her
before he reported to anyone else. It seemed like only
minutes before they had a heart specialist beside
Jacob and Jacob in the CCU. I never saw Olivia any
stronger. She inspired me and I kept myself together. "After a few hours, she came to us and said we
should go home and get some rest. There was nothing
more to do but wait to see how his condition developed. All the while I kept thinking, if Olivia, who is
Jacob's mother, can be so strong, I have to be strong,
too. So I kept my tears back and did what she said. "Cary worries me now," she continued. "He
didn't say a word until he spoke to you."
"He'll be fine, Aunt Sara," I promised, even
though I didn't know if I had any right to make such
assurances. I certainly had no track record of success
when it came to predictions about people.
She sighed again and returned to the meat loaf.
"Everything's ready," she declared. "Can you get
Cary, Melody?"
"Of course, Aunt Sara."
I went to the stairway and called him, but he
didn't respond, so I went upstairs to get him. I called
him again from the bottom of the attic ladder and still
he didn't answer me. When I looked in the attic room,
I found him sitting and staring at a model of a lobster
boat.
"Cary, dinner's ready," I said. "Your mother
wants you to come down. She needs you, Cary." "I made this when I was only seven years old,"
he said, staring down at the model. "Dad was really
surprised at how well it came out. For a while we kept
it downstairs on the mantle so Dad could show it to
his friends. He wasn't always the way he is now.
When I first started to go out on the boat with him, we
were more like brothers than father and son. He taught
me everything about the boat and the business and
said I was his good luck charm. We had much better
catches in those days.
"After Laura's death everything changed.
Sometimes I think we all died with her," he said, "in
different ways, I guess. Dad kept too much of it inside
him, eating away. Then . . I became a disappointment
to him."
"You're not a disappointment to anyone, Cary.
Anyone who says that just doesn't know. You've been
a better son than any boy I ever met, but you are your
own person and it's not a sin for you to want things
that are different from your father's desires. Deep
inside himself, your father knows that. You had
nothing to do with this. I'm sure," I said.
He raised his shoulders slowly and turned. "But after last night . . . He hasn't struck me for
years," he said.
"And he shouldn't have last night. I'm sorry,
Cary. I don't mean to say anything bad about him,
now, of all times, but he was wrong and I think he
realized that right away and that's what bothered him
the most. You have to be strong for your mother,
Cary, and for May. She's so dependent upon us and
especially you. She's like someone who's fallen
overboard and is barely floating on a tiny raft of hope.
You know how much harder it is for her."
He nodded.
"Yes. You're right, of course."
"You've got to be as strong as your father has
been for this family," I said and he straightened up
even more. "Now come on down and eat something,"
I ordered.
He smiled.
"Aye, aye, Captain," he said, saluting. He rose
and followed me down the ladder and into the dining
room. When Aunt Sara saw him, she brightened a bit.
Serving the meal helped her keep herself together. "We'll need a special reading tonight," she told
him when we all sat at the table. He nodded and
opened the Bible.
"The Lord is my shepherd,' " he began, and
read the psalm so beautifully, it brought tears to my
eyes.
None of us had much of an appetite, but even
May saw how important it was to eat as much as she
could to please Aunt Sara. After dinner, we all helped
with the cleanup and then Cary announced he would
drive us all to the hospital.
"Oh dear," Aunt Sara said. "Maybe I should
change into something fresh, and maybe May should
put on--"
"None of that matters, Ma," Cary said with
authority. "We're only there to be at Dad's bedside and
give him comfort."
She nodded. Cary had already taken the reins.
He was at the helm and in control of our actions and
direction. We got into the car and he drove us to the
hospital, no one saying much until we arrived. The cardiac-care unit permitted only immediate
family visits, for five minutes every hour on the hour.
Cary decided May should wait in the lounge with me
while he and Aunt Sara went in to see how Uncle
Jacob was doing.
Grandma Olivia and Grandpa Samuel had gone
home for the night and left orders for the doctor to call
them if there were any dramatic changes. I kept May
amused and answered her questions about the
hospital, people we saw working, and as much as I
knew about heart attacks. One of Papa George's
friends had died of a heart attack two years before and
I recalled some of the details about blocked arteries,
destroyed muscle, water in his lungs.
I didn't tell May any gruesome details, but her
eyes were dark with worry and fear when I explained
how the heart worked. She was closed up so tightly in
her silent world, and now all this tightened the doors and windows, bringing her more darkness. A touch, a smile, constant signing and embraces helped bring back some light to her face, but in the pauses, the silence grew more deafening and drove her down
deeper and deeper into her own loneliness.
We feel like strangers to each other so often in
our lives, I thought. It's hard enough as it is for most
people to explain, express, and communicate their
feelings, fears, and dreams to each other. May was
born with a disadvantage and given another obstacle
to overcome. It was at times like these when that
handicap would announce itself most loudly and make
the rest of us feel even more frustrated trying to help
her and, therefore, help ourselves.
When Cary and Aunt Sara came out, they both
looked glum. Aunt Sara was dabbing her eyes with a
handkerchief. Cary looked pale. Even his lips had lost
most of their color. He guided his mother to the settee
and then he turned to me.
"It's hard seeing him hooked up to oxygen and
all those heart monitors clicking away. He looks so
small in that bed--he looks like a corpse," he blurted
and his tears broke free to burn down his cheeks. May
started to cry and move her hands about desperately
for news.
Cary signed to her that Uncle Jacob was still
sick but getting better and told her to go sit with their
mother. She did so and Aunt Sara embraced her. The
two rocked gently on the settee. Cary turned back to
me.
"He can talk," he said. "Just barely whisper, but
he can talk. Just before we left, he asked me about you
and I told him you were out here."
"He asked about me?"
"Yes. Then he said--" Cary paused, looked
back at his mother and then back at me. "Then he said
he wanted you to go in to see him alone."
"What?"
"That's what he said, Melody. I told the head
nurse and she said to wait fifteen minutes and then
send you in to see him. She said it would be all right. I
told her you were my sister," he said.
"Why does he want to see me?" It felt like a
hand of ice was stroking the back of my neck and then
moving down my spine.
"He thinks he's going to die tonight," he said,
"and he wants to tell you something before he does,"
Cary replied, taking a deep breath before going to sit
with his mother and sister.
I felt as if I had swallowed a dozen goldfish and they were all flopping about in my stomach. Cary checked his watch and looked at me across the small lobby. It seemed he was looking at me across a chasm so wide and deep we could never reach each other
again.
I sat back. Of all people for Uncle Jacob to
want to see. Me! Maybe he wanted to lay some curse
on me or blame me for his condition. Maybe he
wanted me to promise to leave his house for good. Or
maybe, maybe one of those deeply buried secrets was
about to rear its ugly head.
I took deep breaths. May gazed at me with her
eyes big, the expression on her face mixed fear and
hope. Aunt Sara bit down on her lower lip and nodded
to unheard voices. Cary stared ahead. I vaguely heard
the voices of other people around us and heard the
footsteps of nurses and technicians. My heart pounded
harder with every passing minute.
And then Cary gazed at his watch again and
looked up at me.
"It's time," he said. "Go on. They'll show you
where he is," he added.
I didn't think I could stand, but I did. I gazed at
Aunt Sara, who looked up at me with curiosity and
confusion, and yet with a prayer on her lips and in her eyes. I smiled
^-
at her and at May and then I started toward the door to the cardiac-care unit, my legs and feet floating over the hard tiled floor. I opened the door and entered the large room with the circular nurses' station in the center, a bank of monitors reporting the heartbeats of the patients around them. Everyone looked efficient and serious, emphasizing the critical care and the possibility of life-and-death
choices that were made there each and every day. I sucked in my breath and started across the
room, passing elderly patients, until the head nurse
greeted me.
"Melody Logan?" she asked with a brief smile. Yes, ma'am."
"Right this way," she said and nodded toward
the last bed on the right where Uncle Jacob, hooked to
his life-saving machinery and his monitors lay
waiting, inches from death's grasp. Cary was right
about him, he did resemble a corpse, pallid, small,
withered.
I looked at the nurse.
"You can stay here a few minutes and see if he
wakes. Otherwise, come back later, on the hour," she
suggested. She checked the drip in his I.V. bag and
then walked back to the nurse's station. Timidly, I drew closer to Uncle Jacob's bed and gazed down at him. The beep, beep, beep of the monitors seemed to
mirror my own drumming heart.
Half of me wanted him to remain asleep, while
the other half couldn't contain my curiosity. I was
tempted to flee and also tempted to touch his hand to
see if he would waken. His eyelids trembled and I saw
his lips writhe and then stiffen.
"Uncle Jacob," I said, or at least, I thought I
did. Maybe I had just thought it. He didn't
acknowledge me. "Uncle Jacob?" I said a little louder. His eyelids fluttered and then opened. He
turned slowly and looked at me. There were oxygen
tubes in his nostrils and tiny beads of sweat had
broken out on his brow. I took a cloth from the table
beside the bed and wiped his forehead. As I did so, he
mouthed my name.
I leaned in because he was barely whispering. "Melody . . come closer," he said. I looked back
at the nurses' station and then brought my face as
close to his as I could.
"What is it, Uncle Jacob? You should just rest,
get better."
He shook his head.
"Won't get better," he said. He swallowed, the effort causing him to close his eyes. His Adam's apple strained against his skin and bobbed. Then he opened
his eyes again. "My fault," he said. "It was my fault." "What was your fault, Uncle Jacob?"
"Haille."
"My mother? I don't understand, Uncle Jacob.
What are you saying?"
"Haille . . . When I was a young boy . . . she
was barely thirteen but I . . did a terrible thing . . .
made her do it. She never told, but it was my fault . . .
my fault she became what she became and we had all
the family trouble."
I stared at him. His eyes were watery, dark, the
pupils smaller.
Suddenly, he found my hand and squeezed my
fingers as hard as he could, which wasn't very hard. "I didn't mean to be so hard on you, but I feel
more responsible," he said after a big breath. He
closed his eyes and then opened them quickly. "A sin
can last forever, be passed on from mother to