Little Lovely Things, page 22
Yet.
“What else do you make up, Colly?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t see you going to school.”
“School’s out. It’s summer. Remember?”
“When do you start, then?”
“I don’t. I’m homeschooled.”
“Right. By who? Can’t be Moira. She’s gone too much.”
“Books. I do my own reading. It’s not illegal, you know.” Her face darkened. “Besides, she can’t teach me anything.”
“Tell me more,” Jay said, his eyes tense, serious. He wanted to get her to talk about that cave again. But Colly seemed intent on something else. He’d have to work up to it.
“Well, ever since we moved here, I’m painting a little differently and I’ve had some crazy dreams. What do you know about dreams?”
“All I know is the legend of the dream catcher, Little Bird.”
“Can you tell me?” Colly’s face grew calm and sweet. As if the very thought of his story was a lullaby. She settled onto the ground right where she was, next to the bench.
“Again?” Jay dropped to his haunches. “According to Lakota legend, good dreams pass through the center hole to the sleeping person. The bad ones are caught in the web.”
“Like a spider’s web, right?”
“Right…just like that…and once the bad dreams are trapped, they perish in the light of dawn.”
“Where are you supposed to hang them?” Her eyes were large and round, searching.
“Near a child’s bed. Or best, near a sleeping baby, next to her crib.”
“And why is that?” Colly was whispering, along with the breeze that filtered through his legs and around his neck. He felt as if he were in his own dream, protected by the warmth of this girl’s lovely soul.
“Because if you do it when someone is a baby, it can protect them from bad dreams forever.”
There was a long, luxurious silence between them and Jay felt his worries ease. Things were all right, would be okay, if he just listened harder. It was clear he needed to tune in deeper to this girl, to himself. He was afraid, he knew, of opening too wide, of letting too much pain back in. Jay drew his knees to his chest, tenting his legs, and etched tight circles in the dirt with his feet.
Colly’s eyes were closed. She sat for a long moment, breathing in the moist air. The afternoon sun played shadow hide-and-seek with a handful of acorns scattered on the ground.
“I wish,” Colly said, “I had a dream catcher when I was little.”
“I wish,” he responded with his throat lumping up, “you did too, Little Bird.”
* * *
Later that night, after Colly had gone home, Jay began to settle in. Get some sleep for the busy morning to come. But just after he took off his clothes, he remembered something. Crap. My shoes. He’d left them down by the lake.
He slipped on his pants and dashed out to retrieve them. At the shore, the moon on the horizon sent playful winks along the waves. He returned to his trailer, shoes in hand, to find his yard illuminated in milky white light. A sudden breeze tossed his hair and chilled his bare chest. He sensed his mother’s presence, strong and clear.
A rhythm started deep inside and he began to sway. He moved stiffly at first, shuffling along the edge of the circle he’d carved in the dirt. But muscle memory from his childhood took over and he danced as if he were no different from the wind, the sighing lake, the phosphorescent stars. There were no worries, no attachments to his tormented past. He lifted his arms upward and then raised his voice to meet the sky.
“Wamakaskanskan. Wamakaskanskan.”
Jay called to the Great Spirit for himself. He called, too, for Little Bird, his new friend with a confusing story. Drifting somewhere past the clutches of time, he felt the caress of his mother’s, then his grandmother’s, touch in the wind. When he finished, the pattern drawn by his feet in the shadowy dust looked like the craters and seas on the moon. He spent the rest of the night in the open air, escorted by the stars into dawn.
Chapter 20
Claire
Exactly one week after her blowup at Howard’s office, Claire sat at a table in a quiet corner of the hospital cafeteria moving cold macaroni and cheese around on her plate. A familiar shuffling sound approached. She looked up.
“Howard?”
“Room for one more?” Struggling with his cane in one hand and a tray in the other, he came precariously close to tripping. Claire grabbed his tray and set it on the table as he lowered himself into a chair across from hers. Along with a plate of food, he was carrying an aluminum pot of tea and a ceramic mug.
Flushing, Claire started, “But…”
“I made a contract with you, Dr. Rawlings.”
“You did?”
“Indeed.” He nodded, his eyes fixed on hers, tender, compelling. “Uh-huh. It’s more of a personal contract. The bottom line is that I’m not going anywhere.”
“Even after what I did?”
“I’m in this for the long haul. And you’ve come so far.” He spoke the last words slowly, with emphasis. “Do you see it?”
Not really.
“And don’t be embarrassed. There is a technical name for what happened, but let’s just call it losing your cool.”
“So you made me do that?”
“No. You made yourself. You just weren’t aware of what you needed. A release. A clearing of your head.”
“I was—I am—still so confused.” She sighed. “And I’m meeting Glen later today.” Her tone downshifted. “He’s giving me a list. Of things he wants to keep. He wants to get this moving along.”
Howard nodded sympathetically.
“I realize this is how things need to be.” Her voice wavered. “Howard, I…I…just don’t know who I am anymore. Other than MD, PhD…I’ve lost being a wife and…” She began to choke up but swallowed hard, holding back tears. “A mother.” There. She’d said it out loud.
Howard spoke so very gently, as if it were only the two of them in the world, far away from the clanging of dishes and institutional lighting. “Remember: You are the one who told me about fetal cells remaining in your body for decades.”
Her chin trembled as she nodded.
“You are still a mother, Claire, always will be.”
“I’m not… Nothing…seems normal…”
“You have to trust me that you will get there again. Here is the hard part,” he said softly. “You have to learn to walk sideways. Like a spider on a wall.”
“What?”
He picked up his empty teacup and turned it upside down. “What would happen if I poured this pot of tea onto this?”
“It would splash all over, of course.”
“But what if I put it like this?” Howard tilted the cup so it was not quite sideways but not upright either. “What if I pour now, Claire?”
“Some would get in, and some would end up on the table.”
“Exactly. It’s what I call walking sideways. Your goal is to get from here”—he inverted the cup once again so the opening was entirely inaccessible—“to here.” The cup was now supported by his hand in an awkward tilted position, not quite upright.
“Most people live in a state where they are precariously off-kilter. Very few people are, let’s say, fully upright.” He set the cup upright and poured, slowly and deliberately. Claire stared at the tea settling into a smooth surface. “We just want to get you to where most everyone else is. Not necessarily great, but not awful either.”
She looked dumbfounded. “But how do I get there?”
“Over time you will learn. To let go. Of old ways, old ideas that no longer serve your purpose. Find life’s beauty again. It’s the only way to allow healing.”
She shook her head in disbelief. She felt like a bad student, the slow kid in advanced algebra. “Dunno how it applies to me. I can’t let go of my kids… It’s just wrong…”
“Hey. This is an allegory. It’s not about your kids but being open to new possibilities.” He continued, “With therapy and time, things will get better. You will see.”
“Really?” Claire felt sarcasm rising in her throat like a vine on a trellis. “And when is that?”
Howard smiled. “That, my friend, is what we’ll figure out together.” He cleared his throat. “Or if you choose to see someone else…”
“Not gonna happen.”
He touched the back of her hand lightly. “Has anyone used the word ‘stubborn’ and your name in the same sentence?”
She smiled. Only Glen.
“There’s a decision here. One you have to make.”
“And what is that?”
“You have to choose happiness. Daily, hourly, maybe even moment by moment. You have to find that the power is in you to do this.”
Claire looked away. Was it possible? To choose little pieces, tiny crumbs of happiness for herself? Treetops were visible out the window. Swaying. Was any of this possible? Could she open herself to a wing’s brush of happiness ever again?
“Right now, play hooky. Go for a walk. Get some fresh air. I’d come, too, if I wouldn’t slow you down.” He leaned heavily on his cane to pull himself up. “See you Monday. Our usual time? Turtle cove?”
“Turtle cove.” Claire smiled. That’s exactly what his office was. “Seven thirty sharp.”
“And don’t forget that dog of yours.” Howard’s eyes twinkled. “I miss him.”
The weather was crap for early September; instead of clear and dry, it was overcast and gummy. Claire and Glen had agreed to meet at the spot on the lake that Claire now frequented with Gretchie, an inlet cut off from the main beach and not visible from the road. Pulling into the parking area, she could see two buoys knocking in the waves, drop-off markers. A No Swimming sign was posted at the edge of the sand, with smaller letters indicating unpredictable current. Claire parked and got out, circling around to let Gretchie out as well.
The weeds around the parking area were filled with the chit-chit of late season cicadas. Standing on the packed sand, Claire was struck as always by the beauty of the waves, the odor of the lake, like newly laundered linen. It reminded her of her childhood in Wisconsin when she and Vicki had collected shells, the colorless freshwater type that Claire found magical. If the girls were with her, now they’d do the same. Claire opened the passenger-side door and Gretchie sprang from the car.
The area, as she’d hoped, was empty. She walked past an abandoned child’s play set. A lone swing with a black rubber seat and a rickety seesaw creaked in the wind. Beyond that, a rock jetty about fifteen feet long split oncoming waves in two.
“C’mon, girl.” Claire slapped her thigh and unleashed Gretchie. “Run!”
Gretchie stopped only to nose a fish skeleton before sprinting with abandon, spraying sand in her wake. Claire imagined Lily and Andrea squealing, chasing behind. They would be five and a half and closing in on nine years now. Overhead, the sky moved with a motion that mimicked the lake’s surface. G ended up in the shallow water, her feet immersed in small waves scalloping the sand.
“Hey you,” Claire called.
Gretchie trotted back to Claire with a clamshell in her mouth.
“Drop it, G. Sharp.” The dog did as commanded, then headed for a gull. Glen’s car appeared minutes later. He parked and emerged. Claire felt the breath pull from her body. He was so handsome. Truly. Gretchie beelined over and danced on her hind legs as she pressed her front paws into Glen’s waist. He fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around her bobbing shoulders, pulling his face back from her abundant kisses. Claire swallowed back a lump in her throat. He grabbed a stick and heaved it down the beach, parallel to the water. Gretchie raced after it, tongue flapping like bologna—a ridiculous puppy in a grown-up dog body. Glen approached.
“Papers from my attorney.” He held up a bulging plastic folder. “I’ll just put them in your car?”
She nodded.
When he returned, they faced each other as the wind worked along their clothes, ruffling the hypotenuse of Glen’s pants like sails in a storm. He followed Gretchie with his gaze. The buzz of boat engines could be heard on the other side of the jetty.
“Who would be out in this today?”
Claire smiled. “Fools.”
A silence hovered between them like a bird deciding which direction to maneuver.
“Remember how we moved into our first apartment on the coldest day?” Glen offered first.
Claire nodded. “In the worst snowstorm ever.”
“And your first anatomy exam? When you went to the wrong building?”
“The classroom instead of the cadaver lab? I had to go back at night.”
“You were all spooked out.”
The waves shushed against the hard-packed sand.
“Glen, there are things you never told me.”
“Like what?”
“What you thought when we first met.”
“Yes, I have.”
“Not really. You said I was cute.”
“You were.”
“And my nose was crooked.”
He nodded. “In a cute way.”
“But what else?”
“I don’t know what you want, Claire.”
“I want to know how you felt beneath the surface. You could have had any girl on campus. Why me?”
“Because.” He paused and looked down. “You were fierce and elegant and awkward.”
“Really?”
“And I felt… I don’t know.” He met Clair’s eyes with his own. “Smarter maybe, more alive for sure around you. Like you would always be a little wild and I would always be in for it—what I mean is, never bored.” He continued, “But then there was this thing I didn’t count on. How being a teacher feels mediocre next to being a doctor.”
Claire managed to keep her mouth from dropping open. Had she known this all along and forgotten? Or was this an oversight on their part, never quite completing their own circuit of intimacy before life swept them quickly along?
“That’s just bullshit, Glen.”
“It’s real for me.” He looked away. He was difficult to hear, but she strained. “And now you’re working on your PhD too. It’s incredible, Claire, for you.”
“I’m not in the program yet.”
“I always thought if we had a son—sons—rather than daughters, it would be harder, you know. To prove myself to them. To live up to the difference between you and me.”
“Glen, you were a great parent.” Claire wouldn’t choke on her emotion. He needed to hear this. “To our daughters.”
His eyes glistened. He scuffed his feet in the sand. “You too, Claire. A wonderful mother.”
Thank goodness Gretchie barked; it kept Claire’s heart from falling through her chest. She zoomed between them, her ears flopping with joy. They both followed her trajectory, over to the parking area, then down to the edge of the water.
“Hey!” Glen called and then whistled. “Come back.” He turned to Claire. “I don’t like her near the water.”
“Gretch!” Claire called. “Here, girl.”
Gretchie raced toward them and, at the last moment, veered away.
“Glen, do you really want a divorce?”
He bit his lip before answering. “No… Yes… No… I don’t know.”
“Is it really too late?” Her voice shook. “For us?”
“I want us to try, Claire. I really do. I’m just not sure if I’m strong enough for you. For us.”
She kicked at a pile of dried lake weed and rammed her foot into a rock jostled upright by hidden roots. Damn, now her foot throbbed, why did everything just hurt, hurt, hurt?
“The papers are in your car,” Glen said. “You can—we can—think about it. Talk again in a few weeks?”
That seemed so terribly long to Claire. But before she said anything, Gretchie was between them with a stick in her mouth, holding it aloft as if offering it to the highest bidder. Glen knelt on one knee and buried his face in her neck. Then he stood up. “We’ll touch base. Soon.” He turned and headed for his car. “Be a good dog, G, okay?”
Claire wanted to follow him, to tell him that she was the weak one, not him. But he walked briskly as if more conversation would be too much. He started the engine and was gone. Claire waited until the taillights disappeared around the corner and then moved to her car.
“C’mon, girl.” She opened the passenger-side door.
Nostrils quivering, Gretchie strained against the urge to chase down another interesting smell before jumping in when her ears shot up at honking overhead. Migratory ducks—a whole flock of them—were flying low and coming in for a landing, heralded by heavy wing beats and cacophony.
Claire bent into the car to pat the seat but hesitated, seeing the documents Glen had left, neat and contained in their case. She closed her eyes, taking a few slow breaths in and out. When she reached behind to grab for G’s collar, her fingers grasped air.
Claire spun around. “Gretch, here, girl!”
With all the sounds in the landscape, there was clearly one absent: that of a large exuberant dog. Claire galloped toward the water. The wind surged, momentarily blurring her vision. She wiped her eyes. No dog in sight.
“Gretchie! Here, G!”
At the shoreline, the ducks landed and bobbed in the waves. Claire scanned the lake; it was all one color, muddy greenish-brown, without even a shadowy hint of where her dog might be. Just then a brown figure, barely distinguishable in the churning water, appeared about fifteen yards beyond the ducks.
That couldn’t be G. It was farther than she had ever gone. Still, Claire stepped into the water, which veered in skittish insects around her ankles. The ducks rattled angrily. She squinted at the shape. A dog’s head was cutting panicked Vs in the water. A blunt snout struggled at the surface and then vanished in a swell.
