Written on My Heart (34 page)

W
e gathered on the little beach at the end of The Point at dusk on the second Sunday in June. Me, Bud, the kids, Ida and Maureen, Madeline, Bert, Dottie, Archer, my uncle Robert and his wife, Valerie, and my cousins, Robin and Ben. Ray and Glen were there and Parker and Tillie Clemmons stood off to the side together. Even Cindi, from the Lobster Shack, showed up per my invitation.

Torches stuck into the gravel and sand turned our faces into the flickering, bright-orange glow offered up by the insides of jack-o'-lanterns.

Glen knelt down by a big rocket containing a mix of firecracker powder and Carlie's ashes, and waited for our signal.

Billy and Maureen stood together facing us.

Maureen began to sing “Amazing Grace,” and I swore that even the ever-flowing tide in the harbor paused to hear those beautiful sounds. Billy stood beside her, swaying, his eyes closed, listening to her sing. Something told me that in a few years, if all went well, they would be together.

As Maureen finished, an owl from somewhere across the harbor cracked open the twilight hush. “
Who?
” it demanded. “
Who?
” We laughed. I leaned against Bud and watched Arlee follow Travis as he wove an unsure, stubborn path through the little stones on the beach. He might fall, but he would pick himself right back up and go on. That was his way. And she would always watch him, because that was her way.

Billy said, “I have only a very few words to say, because Carlie, like
her daughter, didn't like sermons. She relied on what her heart told her, and she had a good heart. My father and I went into the Lobster Shack once, after we'd been fishing, and she was running around waiting on people, carrying plates, smiling, twirling around to dodge anyone who got in her way. I was about fifteen and I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was like the light itself, flitting around the room. She was a woman who danced through life. And I admired that. What happened to stop that dance will never diminish the woman she was, nor should it. She was a beautiful soul who served the lord as a wife, a mother, a friend, a sister, and an aunt. She was a free spirit, and that spirit lives on in Florine and in her children. Carlie never came to church, but I'm sure that Jesus was with her always. How could he not be, when she was so much fun? There is no doubt in my mind that they knew each other well.

“I'll finish up with a couple of lines from Revelations:
‘He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.'

“I would also like to add a few lines from a poem by William Butler Yeats, an Irish poet, because as her brother, Robert, whom we are blessed to have here with us today, has reminded us, Carlie would have loved these lines. The poem is called ‘The Fiddler of Dooney,' and these are the two last verses:

For the good are always the merry,

Save by an evil chance,

And the merry love the fiddle

And the merry love to dance;

And when the folk there spy me,

They will all come up to me,

With, ‘Here is the fiddler of Dooney!'

And dance like a wave of the sea.
”

I listened to the hushed water in the harbor whisper against the shore, and just as I almost caught what it was saying, my uncle Robert took my hand into his own sturdy one. He was tall and shy, unlike his sister, and dark, with curly hair. I saw her in the freckles on his face and in the laughter in his eyes. Arlee, who was hanging on to his leg, adored him, her aunt Valerie, and her cousin Ben.

Travis tugged at me to be picked up. I let go of Robert's hand and hoisted him into my arms. Bud pulled me closer.

Glen, still kneeling by the rocket, cleared his throat, and I nodded to him. He struck a match, lit the fuse, and we all stepped as far back as we could go without falling into the beach-rose bushes. Sparks traveled up the length of the fuse and the rocket took off, streaking into the dark purple of the summer night. It exploded into a swirl of brilliant colors and scattered Carlie's ashes all over
creation.

E
vie Butts came to see me one morning shortly after Carlie's memorial service. She strolled into the house without knocking while I was feeding the kids breakfast.

“Thought I'd come say hello,” she said. “I'm living at home now.”

“You moved back?” I said. “What about Albert?”

“Right. Albert. He's gone. I'm here, for now,” she said.

She looked worn down. She would always be one of the prettiest girls in the room, but something old clung to her face, though she was only seventeen years old. She sat down at the kitchen table, folded her hands, and watched Travis munch down cornflakes.

“He's big, isn't he, for his age?” she asked.

“Daddy was a big guy,” I said. “Travis will be as big as he was, if not bigger.”

“Want to play dolls?” Arlee asked Evie.

“Not right now,” Evie said.

“I color good,” Arlee said. “Want to see?”

“Sure,” Evie said.

Arlee ran upstairs. “Be careful,” I called.

Evie raked her fingers through her dark curls.

“I love your hair,” I said to her.

“It's a pain in the ass,” Evie said. “I wish it was straight, like Cher's.”

“I loved my mother's hair. It was bright red, like Arlee's. Mine is kind of butterscotch with a little bit of pink in it. It's just strange.”

“I'm sorry about your mother,” Evie said. “I'm sorry she's dead.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“You been through some things,” Evie said.

“So have you.”

“I guess. How did you know what to do to make it all right?”

“What do you mean?”

Evie twisted her hands around each other. They were small compared to Dottie's fists. “Well, you got a guy and you got pretty babies and a nice house.”

I laughed. “You think I planned this? No way. It all happened on the way to somewhere else.”

“Where was somewhere else?”

“I don't have a clue. Just somewhere. I was going to show everybody.”

“What?”

“Hell if I know. I was mad at everybody.”

“I am too. They all drive me crazy.”

“They do. But sometimes it's good crazy.”

“I don't know how it's going to turn out for me. I got this kid I don't know what to do with. Somehow, I got to figure out how to raise him.”

“You have help.”

“Yes. But I don't know as I love him like I'm supposed to. Did you love your kids from the start?”

“Yes, I did,” I said. “And I love them more every day. They drive me nuts, but I'd kill anyone who tried to hurt them.”

“When I had Archer, I just looked at him and waited to feel something, but I didn't. It freaked me out. I felt bad about that. And now, every time I look at him, I remember that, and it still freaks me out.”

“You had a hard time having him,” I said. “That probably had something to do with it. With Arlee, I felt a flood of love. But I had a C-section with Travis, and I felt fuzzy for a while. Every time feels different, I imagine.”

Evie picked at her fingernails. “Seems like I do stuff all wrong and it don't even matter to me that I'm doing it wrong. I just”—she shrugged—“do it.”

“I used to be like that. I didn't care what I did. I didn't care that I didn't care.”

“Me too, but I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want to be like that.”

Arlee carried three coloring books over to Evie and plunked them on the table in front of her. “Crayons,” she said. She ran back upstairs to her room.

“If you stick around, you'll get to know Archer,” I said. “Madeline, Bert, and Dottie know him better, because they've been raising him.”

“I don't know. I guess I'll see if that works,” Evie said.

Travis threw a wet cornflake and hit her in the face. “Hah!” he crowed.

“Ewww,” Evie said, and Travis laughed.

Evie's mouth quirked a little bit. “Ewww,” she said again.

Travis laughed harder. She smiled more.

He threw more cornflakes, she said, “Ewww,” and they laughed until Arlee came downstairs carrying her little treasure box in her arms.

“I thought you were going to bring down some crayons,” I said.

“Evie,” Arlee said, ignoring me, “want to see inside?”

“Okay,” Evie said. “Hit me.”

Arlee looked confused. “No.”

“It's something people say,” Evie said. “I would love to see what's inside that box.”

Arlee opened it up and pulled out her shells and flowers and a new blue jay's feather I hadn't seen. While Evie was admiring them, Arlee pulled something else out and held it behind her back.

“Guess,” she said to Evie.

“I don't know,” Evie said. “Give me a hint.”

“A hole in it,” Arlee said.

“Is it a doughnut?”

Arlee rolled her eyes. “No.”

“Give me another hint.”

“Yellow.”

Evie shook her head. “Is it an egg yolk?”

“An egg yolk?” I said. “Really?”

Evie shrugged. “I don't know. Tell me.”

Arlee brought her closed fist around to the front and opened it slowly.

It was Bud's wedding ring.

“Oh,” I said. “Daddy would love to see that. He's been missing it.”

Arlee closed her fist around it. “Mine.”

“Sometimes people drop things by mistake, Arlee. When I married Daddy, I gave him that ring. It's his, forever. Like you are. His, forever.”

“Maybe you can make a trade for something else,” Evie said.

“Okay. Ice cream,” Arlee said.

“Sounds good to me,” Evie said. “I have to go soon.”

“Stay for a while,” I said. “Have a cup of tea.”

“I drink coffee,” Evie said.

“I have that too.”

“Okay,” Evie said. “Then I need to go home to see Archer.”

“Bring him by, anytime,” I said, heading for the stove. “The door's always open.”

B
ud and I went out on the
Florine
, today. Glen captained her, as he bought her a few years ago. I asked him once why he hadn't changed her name.

He told me, “She's tough, she treats you right if you do the same to her, she's reliable, she's got heart, and she's got great lines. Can't think of any other name that would suit her.”

Since we were taking the day off, I made sure to leave the store in good hands. Arlee was at the register and Madeline was in charge of the gallery, crafts, and gift area. Arlee grumbled about working. I'm sure she would rather have been up in Long Reach with her gang of three best friends. She's twelve, the same age I was when I lost Carlie. She's as tall as I am now, and a handful.

“You get the child you deserve,” Ida told me once, but she winked as she said it.

Travis was gardening when we left. He's been crazy about it since he stuck his first shovel into the dirt. Much of The Point is covered with flowerbeds and shrubs, bushes, and trees. He's only ten years old, but he works with gardeners from the surrounding areas to help care for other gardens, including the one owned by the people who bought the Barrington place.

It's been nine years since the summer we found out who killed my
mother. Edward Barrington died of a heart attack before he and Andy came to trial. Andy was charged with second-degree manslaughter and served four years, which was way too short a time in my estimation. I talked with Billy about the unfairness of that. “He has to live with his crime for the rest of his life,” Billy said. “It will affect everything he does. He'll never get away from that fact. You need to forgive him so you won't hold it in your heart forever. That's how you'll get even.”

I've said the words several times. Someday, maybe, I'll be able to mean them.

Tourists come to Grand's General Store because, evidently, it makes “destination” lists in magazines. After they stop in, they walk down the hill through flower-lined paths Travis has created to protect our privacy. They wind up on the wharf and buy fresh lobsters, crabmeat, and clams at Leeman's Little Lobster Shack from whoever is around. Billy, Bert, and Bud built it together about three years ago. On their way up the hill, tourists pause again to take in the beauty of the gardens tumbling down to the sea, and of the houses still standing sturdy in their stubborn way.

“This is such a beautiful place,” they always tell me. “Just beautiful.”

I always smile and agree, knowing that if they ever showed up in January, they would sing a different tune.

Ray sold Madeline Butts and me the store just two years ago. She and I run the place. Ray and Ida retired to Florida. I was surprised, first by their almost invisible romance, and then because Ida was so eager to leave and become a snowbird.

“God's everywhere,” she said. “Warm weather is a wonderful thing.” Ray just goes along with whatever she says. He traded his wisecracks for a wise woman. Ida makes and sends quilts up to the store. Many of them have won prizes and she has quite a reputation.

The gallery was Madeline's idea. Billy and Bud gutted the upstairs and put large windows in to catch and reflect the light. Madeline hangs her paintings upstairs, along with art from artists living in the surrounding community. My knitting is upstairs, along with hand-dyed
weavings and pottery created by an aging commune of hippies down the road. We're always looking for new work. We both have to approve it, although I let Madeline have the final say. She knows art better than I ever could. Bread and knitting. That's all I have time for besides Bud and the kids.

It's enough. Bud and I had a couple of years where we both ran hither and yon trying to catch up with ourselves, but it evened out in the end. Bud has remained sober, and I'm so proud of him for that. I love him more every day. We've been on a few vacations—once to Hawaii, twice to Florida, and once to California to visit Robin and her husband, and to see my uncle Robert and aunt Valerie. We are planning more vacations, most of them together, but once in a while apart.

Today, at about noon, Bud and I boarded the
Florine
, along with Glen and his girlfriend, Mooney, a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman of few words but many smiles. He found her up north, is all he'll say, and she obviously adores him.

Dottie was late, because Archer's baseball game went into extra innings. Dottie and Archer come down to The Point as much as they can. They live in Falmouth, where Dottie is the athletic director for the school system there. She's still single and she still bowls better than most people. She has many fans. Dottie's never officially adopted Archer, but he spends most of his time with her and he goes to school in Falmouth while she works. He's spoiled as hell, but happy nevertheless.

Evie seems okay with this arrangement. She's still a wild girl and sings in a rock band based out of Long Reach. She and Archer are more like brother and sister than mother and son. Evie still lives with her parents, when she's not living with someone else.

“What can I do?” Madeline says. “I keep her room ready.”

We all hope she settles down, but that isn't up to us. All we can do is love her.

When Dottie finally showed up, we chugged out of the harbor on a fine, sunny day in July weather that reminded me of another fine July day so many years ago.

On that day, my father died of broken heart on the deck of the
Florine
. Today, the waves tried to sass the
Florine
, tried to boss her around, but she rolled with every swell like the determined lady she is. She took us out to Beaver Island, which is remote and private. Bud and Billy have done carpentry work out there, and the owner has given them permission to picnic, swim, whatever, if no one is home.

Glen anchored the boat off the beach and the five of us jumped or dove off her and swam to shore, where we stretched out on the little beach and got sunburned. We told stories, old stories about people we know or knew, stories about crazy things we did and about how those things shaped us. We talked about our kids. Glen and Mooney made an announcement. They're going to be parents, they told us, and we all got up and whooped and hollered for joy for them.

We hiked to a spot on the island that overlooks a granite rock left behind by the glacier that shaped Maine millions of years ago. Someone hung a rope swing there and we took turns swinging out over the water, letting go, and living in a moment of terror before letting the water welcome us in.

We boarded the
Florine
about two hours later and ate our lunches on deck. We did some more talking, but all of us are older than we used to be, and a little more tired. I was feeling the pull of the store. Bud was probably thinking about a cabinet he's making in Daddy's workshop for a summer visitor across the harbor. Glen and Mooney sat close together, already changed by what was coming. Dottie's thoughts are never far from Archer. So, stunned by the sun and by time passing, we headed back.

It was late afternoon when we arrived back to The Point. We walked up from the wharf and past Ida's old house, now occupied by Billy and Maureen Krum. We were quiet as we passed. Billy is going through a rough patch with his cancer, and we all hope the best for them. Maureen is a full-blown minister now. She is the official voice of the church up the road.

A young couple with two small kids are renting Daddy's house for
the summer. I love the noise of the screen door slamming and the lights streaming from the windows long after dark. It was a sad house for so long. Maggie, the wife, tells me she sometimes senses a presence. I smile, but I say nothing. I know the ghost inside is friendly, and she loves people. She always did.

Bud surprised me tonight. After supper, Arlee, Travis, and Archer headed off for adventures in the night, like the ones we used to have, only hopefully not as dangerous or destructive. Instead of sitting down in front of the television as we usually do, Bud suggested we go outside. We sat side by side in the Adirondack chairs and looked up at the underbelly of the falling night.

“Damn fine day,” Bud said.

I nodded and smiled, cracking the dried seawater on my face. My hair was caked with salt and my body itched with sunburn. If anyone were to ask me the best feeling in the world, I would answer: this one. The one when I've been out in the sun on a summer day, and I'm content to not stray too far from the second I'm living in.

“Dance with me,” Bud said.

I love him for many reasons, not the least of which is he can still surprise me.

“You don't like to dance,” I said. “When have we danced, except at our wedding?”

“We're going to dance now, if you can get off your ass,” he said.

“I can do that,” I said. “Come and get me.”

He got up from the chair and held out his hands. He pulled me onto the side lawn and I put my arms around his neck. He held me close and we danced in the dark on a lush lawn fragrant with lilies and roses, watched from above by a vast collection of stars, and by whatever souls might be passing by, headed for their own idea of
heaven.