You Make Me Tremble Page 18

  “None of what you’re saying makes sense,” Iris said. “And you will forget me, just like you forgot your mom and your childhood. I’ll be pushed out of your mind with work and numbers until I’m only a memory that feels more like a dream than someone real.”

  Iris saw Casey cringe when she mentioned her mother, and even in her anger she wanted to comfort her, to help her figure out a way to come out of hiding and let herself feel love. But she kept her distance. Casey had left her already, Iris felt it. Nothing Iris said would bring her back, and only Casey could make the choice to return.

  Iris waited, but Casey made no move toward her, physically or emotionally. “Good-bye, Casey,” she said quietly, and left the bungalow.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Black, squiggly lines marked the seismogram. Casey stared at it as the smaller P waves became larger S waves, holding her breath until the frantic scratching of ink settled again. One point eight. Most likely, Iris hadn’t even noticed the earth trembling beneath her feet. Chert might have been nervous, though, barking in the shrill tone he reserved for stressful moments. Casey turned away from the instruments. She spent way too much time observing the island through the medium of a seismometer, like she was watching some strange geologic version of a nanny cam.

  She sat at her desk and started going over the miles of printouts that were curled like a scroll and covering the length of her work space. It wasn’t the same as hiking along a fault line or examining intrusions of igneous rock in person, but it kept her busy. Busy was good. Distraction had become harder to maintain these days, in the two weeks since she had left Iris and the San Juans behind.

  Her boss had been impressed by the observations she had made in the field and not so thrilled by the extended amount of time she had stayed there. Luckily, the quality of the former had been enough to erase any annoyance over the latter. Since then, Casey had found her place on the team here at the lab. He often asked her to join brainstorming sessions, and coworkers had gotten in the habit of bringing questionable data to her for help figuring it out. She worked hard, came in early, and stayed late. The model employee.

  She hadn’t slept much the night before, and the charts in front of her began to resemble Rorschach tests. The wiggly marks morphed into images of Iris and the shelter.

  Here was Iris, naked in bed.

  This one looked like Chert, wrapped tightly in the snare of a fishing net.

  Here was Leo, stealthily moving through the kennels. Jazz, cooking something deep-fried and delicious in her pub’s kitchen.

  Casey shoved the readouts away from her and went into the break room. The lab was sterile compared to the grungy process of forging trails through the woods and scrabbling over huge boulders, but she brought all the untidy elements of the islands to work with her in her mind. She poured some bottled water into a mug and put it in the microwave, wincing at the odor of too many nuked meals. She needed to adjust to life back on the mainland, and she needed to do it fast.

  When the microwave beeped, she took out the mug and added a packet of instant oatmeal, stirring as the less-disgusting aroma of artificial cinnamon replaced the miscellaneous and unappetizing food smells. She sat at a Formica table and looked outside. The view was beautiful here, with plenty of green space and Lake Washington in the background. On a clear day, she’d be able to see the Cascades and Mount Rainier. She smiled, thinking of her day with Iris on Orcas Island and remembering their jokes about the mythical, cloud-covered mountains of Washington State.

  Casey had thought about calling Iris at least a hundred times a day. Like the seismic events she studied, her urges to make contact were sometimes manageable and sometimes overpowering in magnitude. She resisted, though, but her reasons why became less distinct and convincing as time passed.

  All she had to do to get back on track, though, was to remember the way her heart broke when she saw Iris’s face that last evening she spent at the shelter. She saw Iris’s sadness when she came to break the news about Chert, but there had been something else in her expression. Something resolute and accepting. This was the way her shelter worked, something she must experience all the time. She got close to the animals, but she had to let them go. Iris didn’t believe she was a brave person, but she was wrong. She could handle the pain of saying good-bye, but Casey couldn’t.

  Casey saw the wind moving the needle-covered branches of a large pine tree, and she almost felt the same breeze in her hair and brushing across her face, bringing with it the sweet smell of sap and the tang of the ocean. She shook her head. She was inside the lab, surrounded by metal and plastic, and eating the shreds of cardboard that were supposed to be oats. Her senses had been reawakened on the island, and sometimes she felt invigorated by them. Other times, she felt as if she had gone back to sleepwalking since her return.

  She rinsed her mug and went back to her desk and unrolled the readouts again. Interpreting blips and marks on computer printouts wasn’t the same as reading the earth itself, but she was paid to study data and not to wander through nature, rhapsodizing about rocks. She spent the next three hours dutifully marking up the scroll with notes. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she rolled the printout tightly and secured it with a rubber band. She’d go over the rest of it tonight.

  Casey caught the bus, relieved not to have to drive through heavy Seattle traffic, and got off a stop before the one for her apartment. She walked two blocks down the hill toward the Sound and entered the bustling streets of Pike Place Market. Every time she came here, she pictured Iris wandering happily from stall to stall, tasting samples and buying whatever ingredients caught her creative fancy. Iris was always here, no matter where Casey went, but she was especially present in the colorful and aromatic market. Still, Casey chose to come here instead of going to a less Iris-like grocery store.

  She took out her list and checked off items as she bought them. A small bunch of fresh oregano, some carrots, celery, a packet of freshly made egg noodles. She took her small bag, trying not to count how many people had dogs with them in the market, and walked the remaining blocks to her apartment.

  She set the messenger bag containing the printout scroll and other work she had brought home on the hallway floor and went into her tiny galley kitchen. She had been attempting to bring some of the island home with her, to assuage the pain she had felt when she left everything behind. Her plan had been to learn to cook, as if the homemade food she had eaten there had been the big draw. She was having fun following recipes and studying the scientific principles of the culinary arts, but the results only made her miss Iris even more.

  Maybe someday she’d get past it and eat a meal in her own place without being transported back to the San Juans and Iris. Not today apparently, but someday. She placed her tablet on the counter and carefully followed the directions for making soup. She wasn’t as skilled as Iris yet, but she studied hard—another way to keep her mind busy—and she was learning.

  She took out a ruler and marked the optimum thickness of a carrot slice before cutting the vegetable into uniform coins. Celery followed, in neat U-shaped segments. The oregano was more challenging. She peeled the tiny leaves off the stalks with no problem, but she had to search for an online video before she figured out what exactly a rough chop meant.

  Casey ran her knife over the herb, releasing a pungent, earthy scent. She could too easily imagine Iris in the kitchen with her, laughing at Casey’s obsessiveness about using rulers and instructional videos. Casey would insist that her way was better, with measurable results and a clear adherence to the recipe’s instructions. A playful wrestling match for control over the ingredients would ensue, followed by a not-so-playful kiss that would make them forget about cooking and head into the bedroom. Or onto the kitchen floor…

  “Damn!” Casey nicked her finger with the knife and hurried into the bathroom for some ointment and a Band-Aid. She came back into the kitchen and cleaned off her cutting board, getting a fresh handful of oregano and starting over wi
th the process of cutting it. She needed to focus, or she’d burn down her whole building.

  Once she had the broth simmering with vegetables, noodles, and oregano, a warm and homey smell permeated the apartment. She got a packet of crackers out of the cabinet—Iris wouldn’t have made them from scratch, would she?—and set the table with a single bowl and spoon. That looked much too sad, so she got a tray instead, and set it next to a chair in the living room. She ate her meal in there, with the noise of the television providing a distracting background. The food was good, and she was improving in her abilities. Iris would have been proud, complimenting her on the soup and making plans for teaching her something new and more challenging.

  Casey sighed and pushed the empty bowl away. She couldn’t even eat a meal in peace, without memories of Iris haunting her. She cleaned up the kitchen and got out her computer. She’d try to work Iris right out of her mind.

  She had already finished her paper, but she hadn’t stopped writing. She still had a few scraps of paper from her time on the island. On them were scrawled her own words, written by both Iris and herself, from the times when she had gotten carried away with her excitement about the geological marvels around them. She had started wondering if she could share her fascination with other people, not just other geologists. Iris had been inspired enough by Casey’s words to write a poem. Maybe other readers would be inspired to see the world around them in a new way if they understood some of the wonders on which they stood and walked and lived.

  Casey wrote for over an hour before she saved her work and turned off the computer. She should thank Iris somehow for inspiring this project. Casey wasn’t sure where it would lead, but she loved working on it. She never would have come up with this idea if she hadn’t met Iris.

  She picked up the phone, wondering if she should call. Say hello, ask about the Twins and the kittens, Leo and Agatha. Instead, she found herself calling her father and waiting nervously for him to answer. It was two hours later in Chicago, but he was a night owl and wouldn’t go to bed for hours.

  “Hello, Casey,” he said.

  “Hi, Dad. How are you?” She rolled her eyes at the inane beginning to the conversation, and from the tone of his voice she figured he was doing the same thing. They weren’t the type of family to call and share small talk or bits of news about their days, but he played along. They covered her grandparents’ health—good—and the weather—bad—before she got to the question she wanted to ask.

  “I’ve been thinking. About Mom. What she looked like, stuff like that.” Her words sounded stilted because she had to force them out. “Do you have any pictures of her?”

  He was silent for a moment. “We kept some things, pictures and some personal items. I’ll have your grandmother send the box.”

  Casey was relieved to have something. She felt a surge of anger, though, since she hadn’t been told these items existed before now. Of course, she hadn’t asked about them, either. This was yet another way her life had changed because of Iris and because of her time on the island. She had gotten accustomed to having memories of her mother near, and she had gradually started to hoard them like treasures instead of pushing them away with other less emotion-laden thoughts.

  “Thank you. I’ve been thinking of her, and about when I first came to live with you.” Casey hesitated. She needed answers because she couldn’t conjure up certain memories on her own, but for some reason she was afraid to ask. Because she didn’t think her dad would want to talk about the past? Or for some other reason?

  “You know how I was on the San Juan Islands after the earthquake? Most of the hotels were closed, so I ended up staying at an animal rescue place. I liked being around the dogs.”

  “Okay.” He drew the syllables out until they sounded like a question.

  “I remember wanting one when I was little.” Casey just made the statement. She couldn’t ask the questions. Why didn’t you let me get one? Why did you deny me the company and comfort of a pet?

  She heard his sigh over the phone. “We couldn’t keep her, Casey. Both your grandparents and I worked full time, and you were in school. I know you missed her, but you got over it just fine.”

  At first, Casey thought he was talking about her mother, and then a rush of memories returned, making her gasp out loud.

  “I had a dog. We did. Mom and I.” An image of a little hairy dog with black fur and floppy ears filled her mind. Running to greet her. Playing in the backyard. Her dog. She had been crying for her own pet, not because she wanted them to get her a new one.

  “Yes. Isn’t that what you’re talking about? Anyway, the past is in the past.”

  Casey somehow managed to get through their good-byes and end the call. She sat in shocked silence for a long time, with tears falling down her cheeks. She still didn’t have much recall from those early years, but some parts were there. She hadn’t lost everything. Thanks to Iris and her animals.

  Everything was in turmoil in Casey’s mind, as if the world had shifted and the theories she had formed about the world were based on incorrect and incomplete data. She knew one fact with absolute certainty and with all her heart, though. Her mother would have loved Iris. Because of the person she was, yes. But mostly because Casey was in love with her.

  She had lost too much over the years. It was time to stop pushing love and life away just because it might get messy and painful.

  Chapter Twenty

  Iris sat in her folding chair with the Twins curled at her feet, contentedly chewing their cud. She finished one last greeting card and tucked her notepad between her seat and the armrest, stretching her legs out in front of her. She had been sitting here for hours—long enough for the Twins to get tired of playing keep-away with her colored pencils and for her muscles to begin to protest about the unsupportive chair.

  She had been writing more than usual since Casey left. Mostly thinking of you cards. Every time she was tempted to call her or send an email, she wrote down a verse instead, added an illustration that had nothing to do with her or Casey or the time they had spent together, and mailed it to one of her publishers instead of delivering it to Casey.

  She hoped that writing down the words of loneliness would eventually leave her devoid of them, but she seemed to have an inexhaustible supply. Casey was everywhere around here. She’d left traces of herself in every kennel panel she had repaired and every fence board she had replaced. She was in the bungalow, where the kittens played and slept. She was in the kennel office, where she and Leo had shared morning coffee and philosophical discussions.

  Most of all, she was on Iris’s skin. Everywhere she had touched was branded now, as if her fingers had inked tattoos across Iris’s chest, between her thighs, and along her cheekbones. In bed at night, Iris would replay their single time together, and she still felt the heated trail of Casey’s hands and mouth on her.

  She flipped to a blank page, and a poem tumbled from her fantasies and across the white paper. She could feel her skin flush as she wrote. This one was far too erotic for a grocery aisle greeting card, but she had a smile playing around the corners of her mouth as she wrote, even though she was a little embarrassed by the words and phrases she was using.

  When she was finished, she tore the sheet from her notepad and folded it before tucking it in the pocket of her jeans. This one was just for her, and she didn’t want to risk leaving her notepad lying around and having someone else read it.

  She leaned back again and closed her eyes. Getting her feelings on the page was cathartic for a brief moment, but she knew the pain and emptiness would come rushing back once she was done. She missed Casey, plain and simple. The sex had been amazing, and Casey’s body excited her beyond any lover she had ever known before, but the longing went far deeper. She wanted to sit at a café with Casey, go on a walk, or clean the kennels. All the small, everyday events they had shared while she was here.

  Casey was air to her, filling in all the corners of her life. When she had gone, Iris’s world
had collapsed.

  On the inside, that is. On the outside, she was changed in a different way by Casey. She had expanded, even though her daily life seemed pretty much the same on the surface. She wanted to share these transformations with Casey, but she couldn’t.

  She picked up her notepad and folded her chair, carefully stepping around the little goats as she headed back to the office. She stowed her chair behind the desk and went back to her house.

  Casey would be proud to know that Iris had sent some poems to a literary magazine. The submission had included three of the ones Iris had stuffed in her file cabinet long ago, plus a couple she had written while thinking of something Casey had said or done. She sent the latter ones mainly to get the damned things out of the house because every line, every word was full of memories.

  Iris went inside and washed her hands at the kitchen sink. She started pulling ingredients out of the fridge and pantry, setting up her familiar meal-cooking assembly line. She chopped marjoram and parsley and put the fresh, bitter greens in a small glass bowl. Onions and garlic were next, overpowering every other scent in the kitchen. Iris popped a Kalamata olive in her mouth and chewed with her mouth watering at its salty bitterness while she sliced the rest of them into uneven chunks. She zested and juiced several lemons as well.

  Once everything was prepped and arrayed in front of her, she began to cook the chicken for her Greek dish. She had chosen this recipe because she knew Casey would have loved the powerful flavors that were offset by the citrus notes of the lemon. Casey wouldn’t be here to enjoy it, of course, but Iris liked imagining her standing by the counter and stealing bites of food from the bowls.