Revolutions of the Heart (16 page)

“You’re not losing me. I’m not asking to break up or anything. I’m just spending my summer elsewhere.”

“I don’t see the difference.”
Why go now, why now?
she stopped herself from screaming. “Why are you doing this?” she whispered.

“My whole life I’ve drifted along, going where my mother or Tom took me. And now I’ve lived a few months in one place, in a good home, with good people. But I feel like any moment I could be picked up and blown away. I’ve been thinking about this ever since your mother died. Nothing could have stopped it from happening, Cory. No medicine, no doctors. It was her time. But my mother…Cory, I really believe if she had stayed with her people, she’d be alive. If she’d had something to hold on to, she wouldn’t have had to keep running. I want to be sure I have it, Cory. And maybe I’m just claiming it for her.”

A log split and crashed in the fireplace, and sparks flew. A chunk rolled onto the hearth. Mac walked to the fireplace and kicked it back in. He raised his arms above his head and stretched, then pointed across the room. “You still have the dream catcher.”

“We wouldn’t throw it out.”

“I didn’t mean that, but you still have it in the same place.”

“Mike has kept a lot of her things in the same place. Makeup and perfume on the dresser, clothes in the closet.”

“That seems weird.”

“It’s nice, actually. Nice to have things the way they were.”

He sat back down, took her hand, and stared into her eyes. He was never without something to say, but this once he seemed unable to bring it up. She waited, staring back, willing him to say what he was thinking.

“I’ve got to go,” he said finally.

After they said good night, she returned to the living room and turned off the lights. She sat still and listened to his car start and drive away. Cory put a log on the fire and lay on the floor, her head resting on stacked fists. She heard Mike moving about in his room, then it was quiet. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the golden glint of the dream catcher. She rose, dragged a chair to the corner, climbed on it, and lifted the web off the hook. Mac hadn’t needed to say a word; she understood his unspoken message. Things weren’t the way they were. Everything had changed.

15

Cory and Mike were eating breakfast the next morning when they heard a car pull into the driveway. Mike rose and carried his empty coffee mug to the sink and looked out the window. “Company for you. I’ll be outside splitting wood.”

Cory checked the clock. Nine A.M. Too early for Sasha, and Mac always called first. She smiled and sipped cocoa. Maybe Bartleby had driven out to offer her a job. Then Rob walked into the kitchen. Without speaking he poured himself coffee, pulled a chair from the table, and sat down.

Cory had choices. She could leave and walk down to the lake, but she would be cold in her pajamas. She could go to her bedroom, but Rob had blocked—not by accident, she was certain—the route to her room and she’d have to ask him to move. Or she could throw tableware and newspaper at him until he left. She poked at her cold oatmeal with a spoon until she had made a pale beige mound. Oatmeal would look good in his hair.

“I need to talk with you. I don’t want you to avoid me any longer. I’m sorry, Cory. I am so incredibly, deeply sorry. I hit my sister and I’ve been really sick about it. And God damn you for not letting me say I’m sorry.”

He waited for her response. She gave none but didn’t leave or move, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

“Reasons aren’t excuses, but I know why it happened. Have you ever had a day when everything you touch goes bad, everything you do goes wrong? That was one helluva day: I’d been arrested, spent the night in jail, screwed things up with my wife, lost my chance at a good job. It was all just closing in on me, Cory. Then you started shouting at me and I wanted it all to stop. Just stop. Everything.”

“So you hit me.”

“Hit you and hated you. Double whammy. I’m sorry, Cory.”

Neither of them spoke, and the silence went on and on until Rob sipped coffee and slurped loudly.

Cory laughed. “Mom always hated your table manners. She had a point.”

“Mostly I did stuff just to bug her. She was so easy to get going sometimes. Remember?”

“I remember.”

“Look, Cory, I’m not here just to apologize. Elaine and I have rented our own place. I’ve started working for her folks. I’m supervising the landscaping crew.” Cory had already heard. She hadn’t talked to her brother for three weeks, but she had heard plenty about him. Heard he was working for his in-laws, heard his criminal charges had been reduced to misdemeanors, heard when Elaine had an appointment with the obstetrician in Wausau.

“We have this new place and next week we’re throwing a party. Sort of a housewarming, but mostly a birthday party for Mike. He’ll be fifty.”

Cory covered her face with her hands and groaned. She’d forgotten.

“He deserves a great party, one with all his friends and all his family. I want to give it to him, and I want you to come.” He took a deep breath, clasped his hands and slid them between his legs. “Bring Mac.” Last night Mac had let her say she was sorry. He had taken the punch of her flip remark about Indian camp, let her breathe in and out, let her apologize. He could have left, could have decided she’d shown true, racist feelings. Could have decided it was all over. But he had let her apologize.

Cory smashed the oatmeal mountain. “It’s okay, Robbie. I made an easy target for you.”

He needed a moment to understand that she had shifted to the original subject. “Oh. Well. The blame is mine. I hit.”

“I lied. I wanted to hurt you, I wanted to hurt you so bad.” She was close to crying. She could feel some internal vise twist her face, could feel the tears squeeze toward the surface. “The party is a great idea. We’ll be there.”

“I hope
he
thinks it’s a great idea. It’s a surprise party.”

“Fifty. Mom used to threaten him with a big party.”

“I know. ‘A blowout when you’re fifty, old man,’ she’d say. She’s gone, so I figured we’d better carry on. I don’t know if we can really keep it a surprise because I’m inviting everyone. His kids, the guys from the plant, Mom’s friends from work—”

“Peter?”

“He’s coming.”

“And Roxanne? To your house?”

“I said everyone. Don’t push it, Cory.”

“Excuse me for being surprised, Robbie, but three weeks ago you would have shot an Indian on sight.” She raised her arm. “You broke my arm, remember? Do you remember what this is all about? You hit me.” She shook her head slowly. “You can’t convince me everything’s different. A party doesn’t change things.”

“I’m trying to change, okay? It’s slow, but I’m trying.”

“You’re a new man?”

“Don’t get sarcastic. Don’t get flip and sarcastic. No, I’m not a new man. I still think the same things, I still feel the same. When I think about how they can have special rights in a place that’s my home, too, I burn up and want to explode.”

“So you throw a party. Logical.”

“For Mike. And I’m smart enough to want things to be different. For chrissake, Cory, our mother is dead, and I’ve got a baby on the way who won’t ever know her. That hurts. And when I hit you I came pretty damn close to making sure the baby would never know you or Mike. I won’t let that happen. I won’t.” He looked toward the window and seemed to direct his words to the outside, or the world beyond. “I’ll do anything,” he whispered.

His emotion charged her. She dug her fingernails into her palm. She wasn’t sure what he expected, wasn’t sure what he needed. Wasn’t even sure what she felt inside.

“Anything?”

A slight nod.

“Pierce your ear?”

His tension—and hers—released in a nearly audible hiss. Rob smiled. “I have my limits. I’ve got to go. We’re putting down two lawns today.” He rose, leaned down, and kissed her. “Is everything okay, then?”

Cory pushed back. “No, Rob, everything’s not okay. It doesn’t get fixed that easily. Better, maybe. Just better.” Cory rose and carried her dishes to the sink.

“Nice pajamas. I like the way you mix a striped shirt with plaid pants. That shirt, by the way, is mine. I bought it in New Orleans on my senior trip.”

“You left it here.” The dream catcher lay on the counter. She had known last night that it needed to come down but had been uncertain about where to put it. Drops of water that had splashed from the sink glistened on the gold filament. Cory slipped her little finger through the loop of string and lifted the web. “Why don’t you take this and put it in the baby’s room? Unless you don’t want anything Indian in your house.” She bit her lip. Words slipped out so easily.

Rob walked around the table. “Do you think Mike will mind?”

“I think he’ll like it that I gave it to you.”

Rob slipped it into his jacket pocket. “I’ll put it over the crib. Keeps away bad dreams, isn’t that it?”

“No nightmares allowed.”

“Thanks, Sis. This means a lot.”

He hugged her, holding on until her stiffness dissolved and she raised her arms and was holding him. Then Cory stepped back. “You said you had to get to work.”

“Are we friends again?”

“Brother and sister. Friends, we’ll work on.”

“Good enough. And your brother would like to ask a favor.”

“What?” She dragged the word into two syllables.

“Don’t be so suspicious. Could you come early on Friday and help set up things before the party? Bring Mac.”

“I can do that.”

“And one more thing. I’d like—”

Enough. Not even ten in the morning and she had already overloaded the day with emotions and memories. Enough.

“What, Robbie?” she snapped. “I’ve forgiven you. I’ve hugged you. I gave your baby a precious gift. What more do you want?”

“Ease up. It’s okay.” He pointed at her. “I just want my shirt back.”

16

Nearly eighty people were crowded into Rob and Elaine’s tiny house waiting to surprise Mike. Cory had come to the house directly after school to help with preparations. Once the first guests arrived she called Mike to report car trouble and ask for a ride home. When his car was spotted turning onto the street, Rob gave a signal that triggered an increase in the chatter and laughter as everyone tried to squeeze into the living room to hide. Cory and Mac were jammed together against a wall near the front door. Tony’s dad was crushed against them.

Cory mustered a smile. Face to face with the town’s number-one bigot. The last time she had seen him he had been leaning over the restraining rope at the landing, so steeped in venom he nearly drooled.

“Some party,” he said.

“He’s out of the car!” someone shouted.

“Be careful, Mac,” Jack Merrill said. “If you try to hold Cory’s hand in this crowd you might discover you made a move on a strange woman.”

Peter Rosebear twisted around from his position behind a coatrack. “Too bad nobody warned Sally Webber, Jack. She was headed to the kitchen and she thought she was next to her husband—”

“Hush!” Elaine called. “He’s coming up the steps.” Peter tipped his head and whispered his story to Tony’s father. When he finished the two men lit up and shook with silent, suppressed glee.

Cory watched, amazed. The two men giggling over some mildly lewd party story appeared to be the best of friends. It was as if the two of them had never been on opposite sides at the landing.

Rob inched through the crowd toward the front door. He tapped Mac on the shoulder and produced one of his thousand-watt, life-is-great smiles. “I hope the roof stays on when this crowd yells surprise.”

“Good party, Robbie,” said Mac.

Cory tapped her cast and stroked the rough, nearly healed line on her cheek. Reality check.

The roof did stay on when the crowd bellowed a greeting. Mike stood still and shook his head. Then Cory broke forward and pulled him in, and the party roared to life.

Cory danced with every middle-aged man at the party, except Mr. Bartleby. She just wouldn’t talk to the man; the protesters and the spearers could pretend nothing had ever happened, but she had her standards.

When Tony’s dad motioned her toward the small space in the living room that had been claimed by dancers, she realized she’d had enough. She shook her head, then fought her way to the back of the house. Mike was in the hallway outside the two bedrooms talking with three coworkers from the factory. He hauled her into a hug.

“Thanks for the party.”

“Rob’s idea.”

“But you came.”

Mike’s daughter appeared behind some people. She lifted her baby up and passed it over someone’s shoulder. “Be a good grandpa,” she said to Mike, “and change her diaper. Rob has a crib set up, and she might go down for a nap.”

Mike offered the baby to Cory. She took a step backward. “When was the last time you changed a diaper?”

She didn’t want to say.

Mike cradled the infant in his arm. “Have you ever changed a diaper?”

“Is that a crime? I was never into baby-sitting.”

Mike whistled. “Time for a lesson, Aunt Cory.” Elaine wasn’t due for nearly six months, but she and Rob had already begun preparing a nursery in the smallest bedroom. They had repaired an old changing table and crib, and hung posters and mobiles. A picture of Cory’s mother was framed and propped on a shelf adjacent to the changing table. The dream catcher hung over the crib. Suspended from a ceiling hook on a clear thread of fishing line, it swayed with the vibrations of the party.