The Summer of No Regrets (8 page)

Family Grocer had only five liters of Pedialyte. I was about to throw them all into my cart when Natalie appeared at the end of the aisle. She slowed when she saw me. I smiled and began perusing the shelves for a more explainable purchase.

“Hey, Brigitta.” Her upside-down smile was halfhearted.

Other than Pedialyte, this aisle had diapers, bottles, “feminine hygiene,” and condoms. I snagged a box of eco-friendly panty liners. “Hey, Natalie.”

“Any sign of Trent?”

“Any sign of Trent?”

“He’s not Trent, and he’s not home.” It came out sharp. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I haven’t had much sleep.”

She held up a bag of Cheetos. “Want to come over? Cheryl and I are going to watch
Sparrowtree
.”

“Can’t.” I couldn’t leave the kittens for a whole evening. “Dad has this sweat lodge thing.” It was only a small lie. So what if the sweat lodge had already happened?

“Oh,” she said. “Okay.” She glanced at the shelves: the pul-up pants, the bottles, the condoms. “Did you ever give Devon back his coat?”

“Devon? No, I…haven’t had time.” Devon’s coat was stuffed into the window seat. I’d gotten tired of tripping over it. How long could the kittens wait for their Pedialyte? How long would it take me to bike home with all that stuff in my pack?

“So you realy hate him now?”

“What? Oh, no. I don’t hate him.”

“That’s good,” said Natalie.

I’d need to get bottles, too. Bottle-feeding would be easier.

“Brigitta.” Natalie shifted the Cheetos to her other hand.

“What is going on? Is there something you’re not teling me?”

“I…No, Natalie. Why would you think that?”

She looked hurt, but she smiled encouragingly. “Because Cheryl says she saw Devon’s car on the way to your place last night. And he’s being realy secretive. Are you back together with him?”

“Devon?”

“No, Trent Yves. Of course Devon. Unless…
Is
Trent back?” Her eyes shone with renewed possibility.

I imagined what would happen if Natalie found out about Luke. She’d want a script of every conversation. She had with Devon. And then she’d want to be the director. I saw her gathering my life into her lap like a long scarf. I needed to pull it back into my own lap before it was too late. “Devon and I have known each other a long time,” I ventured. “There are things known each other a long time,” I ventured. “There are things between us that nobody else knows.”

This was mean, even though it was true. I had shared secrets with Devon that I hadn’t with Natalie. For a moment I felt the pain of losing him. He had been a good friend, a realy good friend. Now that I had met Luke, I could see that what I’d had in Devon was a buddy, not a boyfriend. But I missed that buddy.

“So he was there last night?”

“He might have been…nearby,” I said vaguely.

“Oh, come on, Brigitta.” Natalie stopped smiling.

“Okay, yeah.” I felt sick with the lie. I didn’t carry lies wel. I couldn’t deal them out smoothly like some people could.

“So you’ve forgiven him for Erika…and the porn?” She looked hopeful.

“He’s…turned over a new leaf.” I hugged her. “I’ll call you.” I bought the panty liners, even though I didn’t need them, wheeled my bike around the side of the building, and waited until she drove away. Then I went back in and bought what I’d realy come for.

•••

He flashed me a smile, and I forgave him for his hasty departure.

“Your mom happy now?” I snapped the top off one of the Pedialytes.

“Yeah. She needed some pictures hung. She’s not tall enough to do it without a ladder.”

“Nice guy.”

“I aim to please.”

At first the kittens choked on the bottles, but soon they had the hang of it and were slurping happily in our laps. They seemed to like it better than water.

We decided on an every-three-hour feeding schedule, based on Luke’s info. I would do nights, of course, and he could cover on Luke’s info. I would do nights, of course, and he could cover mornings. It exhilarated me that I’d be seeing him every day, even if he never stayed long. My chest went all fluttery just thinking about it.

On the way back to the house, I stopped at the spot where I’d first spied Luke from the tree house. I laid my hand on Adam’s bark. He’d done his treeish part in protecting us, I was sure. But then, why us and not Onawa?

I sat down and leaned against his rough trunk, where Luke had been—a dip between two roots that had always made a kind of chair. Only today something was poking me. Another root? No. Something gray jutted out of the dirt. It took my hands and then a stick to loosen it enough to pull it out—a long, metal box.

I set it across my lap, feeling the weight of something inside.

Had Natalie and I buried it when we were kids? We’d done stuff like that—particularly during our pirate phase. But the box didn’t look that old. It wasn’t even rusty—just dirty.

I pried the lid off. Under it was a blue plastic wrapping. I peeled it back: a case—black, with silver buckles. I sucked in my breath. Dad’s flute!

I snapped the buckles open. The flute sections were nested in their red velvet compartments: mouthpiece, body, foot. I brushed my fingertips over the keys and listened to their soft clicks. Had Dad done this? Had he buried his flute? When? I felt a wave of sadness. Why?

“Brigitta!”

Dad! Coming across the footbridge! Hurriedly, I closed the case, shoved both case and box into the plastic bag, and dropped the entire thing back in the hole.

“Brigitta!”

I raked leaves and dirt over the top, just as Dad appeared under Eve. “I need some help with the hermitage. I had a call from a Sufi sheikh who would like to stay there in August.” from a Sufi sheikh who would like to stay there in August.” The hermitage was to be a small cottage a distance from the house where people could take private retreats. Of course, it wouldn’t do to have it built like an ordinary cottage. No, we had to haul out the tires again.

Something crinkled. A bit of blue plastic was showing between my feet. I scooted some leaves over it, trying to keep my eyes off the ground. “Do you need me right this minute?” Dad tugged at the sleeve of his blue work shirt. “Right this minute would be preferable, but I could wait half an hour.”

“Half an hour, then.” I nodded earnestly.

Dad cocked his head and winked, surprising me. “Thanks, kiddo,” he said, almost like the old Dad. Did I dare ask about the flute?

The moment passed.

After he left, I puled the bag out of the ground and filed the hole. Up in the tree house, I assembled the flute and brought it to my lips. I couldn’t play, realy, but Dad had taught me a few basics. I blew a gentle stream down and across the mouthpiece, and the tone emerged, low and silky. The opening notes of the
Pleni
from the Josquin mass went through my head. I hadn’t played it since Opa died. And this was the first time I’d seen Dad’s flute since then.

I took the instrument apart and set it back in its case, then settled the case back inside the metal box. I looked around for a place to hide it, and my eyes fell on a silk scarf of Mom’s. Its purples and greens and blues looked like a stained glass window. She’d given it to me to protect my violin, but it was too pretty to keep locked up, so I’d hung it from the window.

I set the box on the shelf under Onawa’s picture—my altar, I suppose. I draped the scarf over it and set the candle on top. It seemed to belong there. At least for now.

At the hermitage, Dad was surveying the past month’s work.

So far it was roofless. The back and sidewals had been bermed with sloping hils of earth, so that it reminded me crazily of the with sloping hils of earth, so that it reminded me crazily of the baby Jesus’ stable—except lined with tires. A middle partition wal, built entirely of tires, was taking shape and was now up to my knees. Next to it was a wheelbarrow full of earth. One of Dad’s drums hung on a tree spur nearby—evidently at the ready if he suddenly needed to go into a trance.

Dad moved to one side of the wall and I to the other. He hoisted a tire onto the stack, and we moved it into position.

“That looks good,” he said.

We scooped the soil in with our hands and pressed it into the casing. Much as I’d hated building The Center, I had developed a kind of rhythm with tire filing, and it realy wasn’t unpleasant. I liked how the earth felt in my hands—as if I was making myself a part of it.

The first few measures of the
Pleni
drifted through me again.

“Full are heaven and earth of Thy glory” was what the Latin words said. Mom told me the Josquin had been performed at Nonni and Opa’s church when Dad was a teenager. How had she known that? Had he told her?

When we’d done as much hand filing as possible, Dad grabbed his sledgehammer and I grabbed a shovel. I scooped dirt out of the wheelbarrow and emptied it into the tire. Dad climbed onto the wal. Tentatively, I hummed the opening notes of the
Pleni
.

Dad lifted the sledgehammer and began to pound the dirt into the casing. The next few notes were too high to hum, so I sang the Latin, “
Pleni, pleni.
” Each word stretched out for measures and measures.

Dad pounded harder.

I dumped in another scoop of dirt and sang a little louder,

“
sunt
coeli
.”

Dad pounded louder still.

My cheeks began to burn. I switched to his part instead of mine, “
et
terra
.”

He didn’t look at me; he focused entirely on the tire. He began to pound in a contrary rhythm. I dumped in another shovelful and began to sing the next section—a difficult passage we’d had to play over and over before we got it right—“
gloria,
gloria, gloria a tua
.”

Dad stopped pounding and climbed down onto his side of the wal. “Let’s take a break, Brigitta.” He brushed his hands on his jeans. “There’s some iced tea in the house.” He reached for his drum and made for the sweat lodge.

I put my hand on the stack of tires. Dad and I hadn’t created much of anything together since he’d abandoned the mass. And now we were making a wal. I almost laughed.

•••

When I woke up, it wasn’t to the alarm. I squinted. 2:00 a.m.

“Don’t worry. I got the one o’clock feeding.” It was Luke. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

He sat with his back to the wal, barely visible in the clock glow. “Thought I’d let you sleep,” he said.

“Before giving me a heart attack?” Did my breath stink? I was acutely aware that all I had on inside the sleeping bag was my Tshirt and a pair of white cotton panties. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough. Wasn’t tired anymore. Lying in bed running movies in my head.”

“Movies?” I didn’t say, “Like
Imlandria
?” but Luke could hear it in my voice.

He chuckled. “There you go again, Brigitta. But seriously, don’t you do that? When you can’t sleep? Make things up and watch them rol?”

watch them rol?”

I clicked on the mag light and sat up carefuly, with the bag gathered around me. “I guess so. What were your movies?” My brain was moving slow. This was so surreal.

The shadows made odd angles on his face. He wore a hoodie, and his hair was sticking up. He rested his arms on his knees. “Wel, in one I got in my car and just drove.”

“Where’d you end up?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t get that far. It was just me and the car and the road.”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a plot.”

He smiled. “No, probably not.”

“So, where are you going? What are you looking for?” I could never have asked that question of Devon.

Luke was thoughtful. “Eden,” he said.

I was surprised. “As in, ‘The Garden of’? You even know that story?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I just didn’t think you were into spirituality. You seem so…”

“So what?”

“So…into other things,” I finished lamely. “I mean, do you believe in God?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you wouldn’t need God if you had Eden.”

I turned this over in my mind. “I’m not sure that makes sense.

In the story, God made Eden and walked around in it with Adam and Eve.”

“That’s one way to look at it. Or maybe Eden is God.”

“I don’t know any religion that teaches that.”

“Does there need to be one?” Luke picked up the mag light and cast beams on the wall with it.

I yawned and lay down again in my sleeping bag. “Now you sound like my mom.”

Luke frowned. “Better than sounding like my mom.” I hesitated. “What does your mom sound like?” I hesitated. “What does your mom sound like?” Luke stretched out on the floor. He propped himself up on one elbow. “How about you, Brigitta? Do you pray?” I thought about my cougar prayer—my first conscious prayer in a long time. For some reason prayer wasn’t a regular thing with me anymore. “I used to.” I couldn’t say that it was with Nonni I used to pray. Some afternoons we chatted with God on the screened-in porch while we turned Nonni’s sewing scraps into doll dresses for the homeless shelter. It was as if Jesus was sitting there between us, making his scraps into loaves and fishes.

A breeze blew through the cracks in the tree house wal. “Do you need a sleeping bag? There’s another one inside that bench.

Just lift the seat up.”

Luke took the mag light and puled out a board game, Devon’s coat, a tube of hand lotion, and finaly retrieved the bag and a pilow. He moved close enough that I could feel his breath.

A crane fly looped over our heads. I wanted to swat it but felt sleepy, so sleepy.

“I used to pray, too,” said Luke.

I thought, as I drifted off, that I felt him touch my hair.

Luke’s sleeping bag was beside me, rumpled, in the morning. I hadn’t dreamed him. My back hurt from sleeping on boards again. I sat up and secured brushes from the cupboard—tooth and hair. 8:30! How long since the kittens had eaten?

Devon’s coat and the hand lotion were strewn across the floor, along with the board game, a belt, and a pair of Luke’s floor, along with the board game, a belt, and a pair of Luke’s socks. Had he gone home barefoot?

The tree house began to shake. He hadn’t gone home! I brushed my hair furiously and checked my face in the mirror.

Plain, pale. For once I wished I wore makeup.

Footsteps on the porch. I dabbed toothpaste on my tongue.

The door opened.

Natalie.

Her eyes took in the room: me, the two sleeping bags, my jeans, the belt and socks, Devon’s coat.

“Whoa,” she said. “Brigitta. Wow. Should I go?” I opened my mouth and then closed it. What if Luke came back while she was here?

She looked up toward the loft and pointed. “Devon?” she mouthed.

This was what I got for making stuff up.

“No!” I puled some hair out of my brush. “It’s not what you’re thinking, Nat.” It was one thing for her to think Devon and I were back together; it was another to give her the impression that we were—

“He’s not here?”

“No. Just me.”

Natalie eyed the belt. “Wel, you’ll be happy to know I covered for you. Your mom thinks you’re with me. I came so I wouldn’t be lying.” She squinted at the game. “Risk? I know that’s his favorite game, but…” She picked up the socks and twirled them.

“Natalie, it’s realy, realy not what you’re thinking.”

“Yeah, hon, I know.” She winked.

I forced myself not to look out the window. Was Luke still out there?

Natalie moved to the window seat and sat. She took a breath.

“We need to start talking again, Brigitta. You’re different.” I didn’t answer.

I didn’t answer.

Natalie wrapped one curl around her finger. “Is it because…is it because you’ve done things I haven’t done?” She looked down.

“Natalie, I haven’t done anything.”

“Okay.” She brushed some dirt off her sleeve. “I get it.

You’re into him, and I guess it makes you pull away from everyone else.”

She stood, as if she was going to leave, then plopped back down. “But, Brigitta, I always thought you’d tell me…your first time…was it, you know? Was it what you’d dreamed of?”

“Natalie, I did not have a first time!”

She stood all the way up this time. “I believe you, Brigitta.” She dropped my jeans in my lap. “And I won’t tell your mom.

Why don’t you come by sometime?” She opened the door and didn’t bother to close it before climbing down the ladder.

I stayed where I was, planted, feeling small and mean. I waited until she had disappeared down the path.

•••

I colored. “Did you do the entire night shift?”

“Yup. Look at them.”

Luke wiggled the stick. Felix pounced, missed the strings, and captured Luke’s hand. “Ow!” Luke flipped Felix on his back and detached the teeth and claws. He had some impressive welts. He ruffled Felix’s stomach.

“Have you done a miracle or created a monster?” I plunked my butt onto the pine needles.

Luke chuckled. “I’m sooooo tired. I am never having children, ever, ever, ever.” He balanced the wood on his knee. It was about eight inches long, the width of my wrist, and the bark had about eight inches long, the width of my wrist, and the bark had been peeled off.

I picked it up. Three leather laces were tied around one end.

Carved into either side was a cat face. “Did you do this?” Luke nodded. “It’s part of the branch I used to—wel, to fend off their mother. Thought it should become something.” I twirled it, and the beads clicked softly—three blue ceramic bals with dots of green. The carvings were rough, but they were unmistakably cougar faces. “These are good. Where did you learn to do this?”

“Scout camp.” He grinned. “It would be better if I could sand it. But it’s for them. See? This one’s Kalimar.” He traced her round chin and extra-long whiskers on the wood. “And this one’s Felix.” He flipped the stick over and showed me where Felix’s left ear was bigger than his right. “I found the strings in my pocket. Part of a shirt I used to have.” He hadn’t shaved. It made me want to touch his face.

“Did you stay here all night?”

“Mmm.” His head drooped. He had a cut between his forefinger and thumb.

“Isn’t your mom going to wonder?” Kalimar crawled out of the snag and batted at the wood curls by my foot.

Luke shrugged. “Mum sleeps like the dead.”

Kalimar swiped at the beads, whipping one around the stick.

“Unfortunately, Malory never sleeps. That’s why I had to stay in the tree house. And she’s taken down all my Pablo Neruda poems and replaced them with Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.” Luke rested his head against the tree trunk, his eyes half closed. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” he mumbled. His eyes closed completely.

I had a sudden impulse to pull his head into my lap, but (fortunately) lacked the nerve to carry it out. What was coming over me?

Felix wandered out and sniffed at some deer scat. “Not so far, buddy.” I hauled him back. What would we do if the kittens far, buddy.” I hauled him back. What would we do if the kittens began to roam? He wove between me and Luke and started climbing Luke’s shirt.

Luke woke with a start. His head flew up.

I couldn’t help laughing.

Luke leaned back again, while Felix sniffed at his neck.

“Looked like you had a visitor.”

“You saw her. Natalie. She thought I spent the night with Devon.”

“Devon?” He frowned.

“Devon, he’s—an old friend.”

Luke nodded slowly. “Is he an old friend you often spent the night with?”

“No! I mean, sure, when we were little, but not…it’s not what you’re thinking.” How many times would I say that today?

Luke watched my face. I was the first to look away.

“Hey.” Luke puled something out of his jeans pocket. “Look what else I found.” He opened his hand. It was a red feather.

“Cardinal!” I said.

“That’s what I thought. You have them here? They’re all over the place in the Midwest.”

Unexpectedly, my eyes teared up. “No,” I said quietly. “No cardinals here.” I blinked, hoping he didn’t notice. “Where did you find it?”

“It was at the base of that tree, the one where we met Onawa.”

I loved him for caling her by her name—for remembering it.

I thought of what else had been at the base of Adam. Had Dad planned to unbury his flute? He’d packaged it carefuly against damage. But maybe that was like those steel-lined coffins they’d tried to sell us for Opa: they know you can’t realy preserve what’s inside.

In Luke’s other pocket a cell phone began to ring. He silenced it without puling it out. “Here.” He put the feather in my silenced it without puling it out. “Here.” He put the feather in my hand and heaved himself up. “Why don’t you keep it? Maybe a cardinal made its way here, just for Brigitta.” He raised his hand and walked off through the woods. I didn’t folow. He needed to sleep.