cameronelizabeth cracks

7/30/2019 CameronElizabeth Cracks

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N a r r a t i v e M a g a z i N e . c o M

T H E H O U S E B E G A N to go early in the summer.

It started with a crack in the concrete front

doorstepnot hairline, but thin enough that

Rich squinted at it over the hem of his bag

of groceries, wondering, hadnt that always

been there?

Of course there had been times last winter when he

had begun to think that the cliff the house sat on would

nally succumb to the gray Pacic storms, would bereclaimed by the sea; it hadnt, and then he was reas-

sured, certain it would last another few yearsthough

other houses, at least three in Falcon Cove, had gone

over the past several winters. He had helped those

neighbors pack everything up and move to newer houses

on the northeastern end; he had watched the nal

moment of each home. It was not spectacular. Most

of his neighbors opted to rent a backhoe to tear downtheir walls and lug them to a burn pile, not wanting the

expense of hiring a crane to lift the broken pieces from

the inaccessible beach below. Sometimes they came

back and picked through the rubbleas if something

could be accomplished, as if there were still something

worth saving.

Other, newer neighbors had been surprised by how

quickly it all wentthey who imagined that the cliff and

CracksA S T O R Y

B Y E L I Z A B E T H C A M E R O N

Elizabeth Cameron grew

up in Seaside, Oregon,

and earned a BA from

Lewis & Clark College

in Portland and is atwork on an MFA from the

University of Memphis.

She lives in Memphis,

Tennessee.


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then a house would crumble only piecemeal, would be shaven with ne strokes till

nothing was left. Truth was, Rich knew, the earth and shambles of rock that made up

the bluff had been sinking for ages and, one day, assaulted by the high waters and heavy

rains of the Northwest, would simply no longer support the weight of their homes.

Tempting as it was to believe in the permanence of land, they could see their very geog-

raphy changing; the mountains thrust right out from the sea here, and the strip of cove

below, once a full beach, would soon be swallowed. And then everyone would be gone,

safely stowed in further plotsand he? Rich wondered sometimes, where would he

go? It was exhausting, cumbersome, to think of beginning again, alone, in his sixties.

He stepped over the crack and turned the knob of the door, keys dangling from

the hand that held the bag. He never locked his doors. He set the bag on the marble

counter, careful not to let the peaches spill. The radio was on, as hed left it. He heard

the raucous clarinet notes ofAll Things Considered.

The house always had the same familiar, comforting feel and smellwarm, and

sweet like honey, and heavy like wool blanketswhether it was empty, as now, with

the sound of the kitchen clock stroking like a metronome, or lled with people, as

it had been in the old days. They used to ll it to the brim on long weekends, thirty

years ago: with friends and their children, with Richs colleagues at the law rm in

Portland, with Marions sisters and the young men they gathered and tossed back

like seashells that did not warrant taking home. The parties began in the kitchenand worked westward through the house, trickling past the thirteen-inch TV the

youngsters huddled sleepily around; Marion, who came from a large, well-ordered

family, would pause to tweak the sandy toes with the gentlest of ngers; on through

the back room where Rich and Marion took their breakfast, facing the ocean, and

out the French doors in the back to the lawn that stretched rugged to the cliff. It was

not a dangerous cliff, as one of the partygoers proved when he unsuccessfully mimed

a tightrope walk along its edge (Its not funny, Marion had said, but Rich had roared);

it sloped and held itself together with shifting multitudes of blackberry bramble.About twenty feet below surged the sea, covering the beach at high tide.

Rich would barbecue fresh oysters on the half shell, and Marion would lay the

long table with a blue gingham cloth, and they would set out berry pies and robust red

wines and little vases of the bright orange nasturtiums. They had a freestanding turn-

table just outside the back door and someone was always lifting the glass and turning

the needle to something new or, even better, something familiar. The yearSurrealistic

Pillow came out they stayed up and out almost the entire night, joyous, the children

none of whom belonged to Rich and Marion; none would ever belong to themasleep


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in warm, open-mouthed curls inside. Dawn came early over the mountains in the sum-

mer and the last cars often rolled wearily away, beams aring again to life, in the fresh

half-light when the swallows were beginning to wake and dart.

Rich and Marion would rub their eyes and claim they were going straight to bed.

They yawned hugely, supporting each other through the door, and then inevitably

Marion would come back downstairs in her bathrobe while Rich was still standing

at the French doors to watch the horizon over the ocean, the last stretch to lighten.

She would brew the coffee. They drank it with milk at the heavy wooden table by the

windows there, their eyeglassesalready, they needed glasses!on, ngers reaching

for the blackberries or raspberries in their glazed bowls.

What a lovely night, Marion would say. When Rich looked at her then he felt

like they were starting to get older, just barelyher face was still smoothbut they

were so settled in their rhythm. And now, more than thirty years later, all he could

think was how young and fresh and in the prime of life they had been then, in those

yearseven those rst few decades. In fact, he couldnt say when they had gotten

old. He only knew that they were old now.

The answering machine was blinking on the little walnut table where he set

his keys, and he pressed his thumb on Play. Hi, Rich, Marions voice said. Hadnt

heard from you in a while and just wanted to check in. My side of towns crazy.

That was their joke now; the house where she lived was at the northeast end of theirneighborhood, but the community only stretched a couple of miles. Their marriage

had dwindled to this ve-year-long separation, and their separation had dwindled to

this running joke. Just get in touch, her voice said.

He ought to be calling Marion more, he thought. Keeping up. She checked on him

often, sometimes bringing by groceries or books she thought hed like. Without her

hed be helpless, she jokednally, that same old ght too had dwindled to a joke.

Until recently, shed sometimes stay the night. He hoped that shed come around.

He pressed Save without looking down, though the tape was full of just suchcheery messages. He was looking instead out the window, at the old in-ground

hot tub. A year ago, he had nally gotten around to doing some work on the pip-

ing and, digging to get at it from the side, had realized that something was wrong.

The coppery tubes, patched with the clayey mountainous soil but still gleaming,

were hanging in inchesnearly a footof clean, empty space, the earth fallen away

beneath them. He understood then that his time there was drawing to a close. But he

told no one and by that evening had in fact convinced himself that the house would

probably hang on forever.


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It was evening now. He poured himself a stiff bourbon over ice and took it, clink-

ing, out the back doors, onto the thin strip of yard that lay between him and the sea.

TH E N E X T D A Y, Rich came out in his blue annel robethe sash beginning to strain

around his bellyand stood on the front stoop. Yes, the crack was biggerhe could

see now that it snaked across the entire stone and laid it open like a cheek split by a

heavy blow.

He regarded it for a moment and turned back inside. He looked briey for the

heart medication that normally sat on the counter, gave up, and decided to Irish

up his coffee in preparation for the phone call. He didnt think he could bear any

anguish in her voice when she learned that their home was nally going.

It was a small, cedar-shingled bungalow riddled with windows, never meant for

full-time use. Richs grandfather had had it built in the early thirties for weekend

getaways, salvaging the front door with the diamonded glass panes in the upper half

from a turn-of-the-century Portland house. Richs family was old money, a family

in which the children were usually boys and the boys usually became lawyers. His

grandfather had given the house to his father when work began to keep him away

too much to use it, and his father gave it to Rich when work began to keep him

away too. It was a wedding present. It was their home. And Rich had vowed to

Marion that they would live in it, that they would never give it away.It was still early enough that Marion sounded as if she was answering the phone

beside her bed. Her new house was much bigger than this one, and she had a phone

in every room. He had offered her their house but she had told him no, that he had

inherited it.

Rich? she said. Its early. Are you still having trouble sleeping ? He heard her

shifting out of bed, the covers rustling.

The front doorstep is cracked, he announced, raising the chipped coffee mug to

his lips.Marion was silent for a beat. Not the back?

I only see it in the front. He couldnt stop looking at his reection in the glass-

fronted dish cabinets. In them he was streaked and patchyhe couldnt catch his

eyes, could see only the grizzling on his cheeks, the yaway gray curls on his head. He

lowered his gaze to the cup he was holding. Even his hands looked old and run-down.

Thats bad, Marion said in his ear. Let me get xed up and Ill come look at it.

MA R I O N P U L L E D U P in the 96 Volvo she had bought around the time of their separa-tion. Rich had loved the clunky wood-paneled Chrysler station wagon she had driven


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for most of their marriagethey had taken it, sightseeing and laughing, all the way

to the Rocky Mountains more than oncebut it had nally given out. She parked

behind his car and got out slowly, still tired. Rich was waiting for her out front. He

had brushed his teeth and pulled jeans on but hadnt yet wanted, in the chilly gray

morning, to remove his bathrobe.

Watching her walk up, he noticed again the haircut he couldnt get used to. She

had cut her peppery brown hair shorttoo short, he thoughta few years ago, but he

still thought of it as temporary. Half-unconsciously, he was still waiting for her hair

to grow back. He looked at her and realized that it had become part of who she was

now, this changed version of her.

How long have you been standing out here? she asked, making her way over to

him. Its cold. The whole summers supposed to be unusually cold.

He pointed at the crack. What do you think?

She stood very close, peering down at the doorstep. She sighed and gave him the

briefest of embraces, one armed. Oh, Rich, she said. I thought maybe if it was only

at the back wed have more time.

I bet itll make it through next winter, he said.

I think this is it, she said, shaking her head. This poor old house. She turned

to go inside.

He followed her. Weve been in it for so long, I think we got plenty out of it. Hetucked the whiskey bottle behind the roll of paper towels as she studied the kitchen.

He could see now that it needed cleaning. There were dustballs in the corners and

his heart medication lay, of all places, on the seldom-used dining table.

Where will you go? she asked. You wont get any insurance out of this, will you?

Whats the point, he felt like saying. Once the house was gone, the house was

gone. She kept looking at him and he shrugged. You never know. I might be able to

wrangle something. When he saw her shaking her head again he said, frustrated,

I told you, it would cost more than the house was worth to get it insured for collaps-ing. Its an inherent structural issue, not an act of God.

I wanted to repour the foundation, remember? she said, turning to look at

him. Why couldnt we have done that? Or at least netted the cliff against sliding.

Anything would have helped. She set her lips together and turned back.

He ducked under the heavy beam above the kitchen doorway, following her

through the living room and into the back. She had been taking some of her books

with her, little by little, after each visitmore than hed realized, he thought for the

rst time, looking around now. He hadnt noticed how empty the shelves seemed,left holding only the scattered bowls of seashells theyd collected.


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She turned to him. Do you have boxes?

No, he said, shrugging again. Ill get some. If I need to. He tightened the sash

of his robe, suddenly aware, next to her neat, trim gure, of how much weight hed

put on.

Rich, she said, and something in the way her eyes didnt quite hold his made

him realize she was being gentle with him, you need to.

MA R I O N M A D E A R R A N G E M E N T S for their friends to come and help pack that week

their neighbors, old friends, who hadnt stopped in to see Rich in so long they felt they

owed him a favor. What day is good for you? she asked Rich later, on the phone.

Any day, really, he said. He couldnt imagine it actually happening. Im not

going into the rm anymore. He glanced at his unnaturally tidy desk in the corner

of the living room, bare of papershad she already known that? Someone must have

noticed. Mostly Im just doing freelance work for them.

Okay, she said. She heaved a breath through her nose. Itll be a party.

You might have to call it off, he warned her. Im not convinced its ready to go.

Its just the one crack.

BU T I T W A S N T just the one crack. The house was no longer level. Walking to the

back room just the next day he felt the oorboards sloping mysteriously under hisfeet. How that simple shift in the most familiar thing in the world threw off his bal-

ance! He couldnt stop walking back and forth, waiting for it to right itself.

HE P O U R E D H I M S E L F a bourbon and sat just outside the back doors on one of the

Adirondack chairs, whose seats were beginning to rot, watching the gulls. They cried

in such keen, plaintive tones. They swept up over the lip of the cliff and spread their

wings for landing, eyeing him out of rst one beady eye, then the other. I dont have

anything, he said, lifting his hands. The drink sloshed a little. Convinced, the gullsew back out to sea and down.

He fancied he could see the edge of the cliff crumbling away, could feel the

earth caving below. He saw now that the cracks had become deeper ssures and

that they would lay everything open until the pieces of his home fell away, one by

one. He considered, briey, just sitting here until it all went, until he went and

everything after him, the grandeur of their home and all their beautiful things

sliding into ruin, a captain going down with his ship. He laughed a little to himself.

It wouldnt go so simply, anyway, riding on down to the surf. The whole western


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face of the bluff was sinking, the ground giving way in the depths below. In truth,

the house would just collapse in on itself.

IT S E E M E D T H E only thing that had changed since Marion left was that people no

longer asked him how she was. (They didnt want to break it to him, he suspectedthat

shed moved out. But hed been there the day her taillights winked around the corner of

the driveway; he knew where shed gone, and it wasnt far. Marion wasnt going any-

where any more than he was. And she came back, too, almost often enough.)

He used to walk over to the post ofce every other day and Walt would stop

whatever he was doing to chat. Hows the wife? hed ask.

Good, Rich would say. She loves the kids this year. She says your nephews a

real handful, though. And hed wink. People liked knowing things like thatwhere

the two of them were going for vacation this fall, whether Rich was thinking about

retirement (Never, he used to say). Now they had nothing to ask except how was

he? And his answer was always the same.

HE W A N T E D T O wait at least until the weekend to move, but Marion insisted that

they didnt have that long. She must have gotten a substitute for the day, which, he

tried joking with her, would have been, what, the rst time in thirty years? She was

quiet; she laughed without opening her mouth. She had shown up early, before any-one else, and got right to work boxing up the dishes and keepsakes rst. The picture

frames were hanging crooked on the walls. The whole front door was beginning to

lean away from the doorstep, the crack was that far open, and she bridged the gap

with a small board, saying, When the board goes, we go, no matter whats left.

As everyone arrivedmostly older neighbors, who didnt move as quickly as they

used to but who greeted him with the warmth of years beforeRich went around

clapping them on the back. Here was Angus, who had awed them with that tightrope

walk all those years ago, and here the daughters of their nearest neighbor, all grownup and willowy and smiling. One of their oldest friends, Susan, was missingshe

had divorced her husband and moved inland. And another friend, even older, was no

longer with them.

Rich put himself in charge of overseeing the loading up of books and small furni-

ture. Things like curtains and jars of seashells he secretly just wanted to leavemany

things, in fact, he couldnt stand to see moved. Marion didnt think he remembered

these thingshow at rst they had collected only the asymmetric Japanese hat

shells, a plateful of them, and how the beam over the kitchen doorway was dented


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with her attempts, on Richs shoulders, to place a nail for the Christmas wreathbut

he did. What were these thin shells worth now? He ought to strew them along the

front path to be crushed underfoot. And the beamthat was nothing he could lug

around the rest of his life.

Toward noon he put on the old records and opened a couple bottles of cham-

pagne, and everyone pretended it was a celebration. After all, he kept thinking,

hoping, he might even be moving back in here in a few weeks. The house grew

louder; the contents of the boxes jumbled together unevenly. After that he found the

bourbon where Marion had set it, half-concealed, between the center console and

the passenger seat of her car. Most everyone got into the spirit of the thing and kept

transferring their drinks from tables to windowsills as they worked and their sur-

faces disappeared. Of course no one could be sure, but it seemed the gap between the

front stoop and the door had gotten wider. Everyone joked about going when the

board went.

Rich got jovial and gave his old friends loose hugs. He was feeling pretty good, here

with all these people he had gotten used to not seeing. He had forgotten how much he

loved them. They had all been young couples together, once, mirroring each other.

It seemed no one had seen Marion in a while, and he made his way up the nar-

row, boxy stairs to their bedroom to look for her, a bit unsteadily. He pushed the door

open with the hand that held the drinkand there she was, sitting on the edge of thebed amid half-packed boxes, crying.

Why, Marion, he said. He went over and sat next to her. She was leaning for-

ward with her arms at her sides, and wouldnt look at him.

I feel the same way, he said. I hate to see it go. He looked out the glass door

at the balcony over the sea, where none of their friends had ever gone during those

long-ago parties. That was just for them. The view opened up to the desolate strand

of pebbles along the shore and to the sea stacks, those grim colossi that hugged the

southern point. The door was open and the familiar wash of surf lulled through.He put a gentle hand on her back. This was a time, now, for remembering. Weve

had so many wonderful years in this place, honey, he said. I guess its just time for

us to let it go. It couldnt have been any different.

She turned her head around to him. Her face was contorted in a way he almost

did not recognize, they hadnt fought in so long. You old fool! she cried, and then

said, shakily, Of course it could have been different.

How, Marion? he asked. We knew this had to happen eventually.

Thats the point! she said. We knew, and yet you did nothing.


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What could I have done? He felt himself getting hot, felt his forehead gather-

ing itself against her. Im tired of you blaming thisand he swept an arm out, to

encompass everythingon me!

She stood. Okay, she said. Sure. The house? It was inevitable. But you

He waited. She was trembling in her anger. She compressed her lips till they

were white.

But I what? He slammed his palm down on the bed. It was only a dull sound.

He breathed in until his voice was low and even. I worked very hard, he said, to

take care of everything.

Well, not hard enough, Marion said. Not as hard as I did. I was exhausted, Rich!

I did everything! You have to workhardto keep everything the way you want it. And

look! Is thisand here she mimicked the sweep of his armwhat you wanted?

Maybe we didnt want things the same way, he said.

You have no rightto say that, she said, shrieking now. You saidwe wanted the

same things when we married, Rich. And then it turns out you dont want anything

at all, not enough, anyway. You just want everything to stay the same. You think by

sitting around you can keep things from changing.

He stood to face her, and the creaking of the bed lled the room. He couldnt

think of anything to say.

And sometimes I hate you for it, Rich, she said, soft now, her eyes focused outthe window. Her face had become pinched and grim at the mouth. She began to ges-

ture toward him and dropped her hands. Just sometimes, you see? But it makes all

this . . . impossible.

He let himself sink back down to the bed, the ligaments in his knees cracking

only faint complaints. He didnt think he could ever feel angry again. Say something,

he said to himself.Say something.

At last her shoulders drooped. Oh, set that drink down, she said. Youll spill.

She smoothed the back of her hand under each eye, refusing to look at him. She leftthe room; she left everything in it for him to pack up.

EV E N T U A L L Y S O M E O N E H A D to pack up the turntable, and after that the work went

quietly. Everyone moved with the weariness born of a low-grade afternoon hang-

over. At last nothing remained but Rich, and the bottle of bourbon hed kept behind.

The last thing theyd taken was the beautiful old front door.

His friends gave him long hugs, the women and the men, some of them pulling

back to look at him and offer a smile before getting in their cars. They were driving


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everything to a storage unit Marion had rented; she had already taken his clothes to

the Hallmark Inn and reserved a room in his name. He was still standing on the front

stoop, balancing on the board in his sandals, when she came up to him.

Im sorry about earlier, she said. That was uncalled for. Youre rightits just

hard to see it go.

I know, he said. Of course I know.

She offered him a smile that was not quite a smile. She looked small suddenly,

standing below him there on the stoop. He felt trapped. He gathered himself.

Marion, he said, this is silly. Why dont I just come back with you, to your

place. Thats what were here for. He faltered. For each other.

Oh, she said, Rich, sighing, letting it trail off. That wouldnt be a good

idea. And she glanced behind her at the car. Things cant keep going on the way

theyve been.

Not even today? he asked, aware now that he was pleading, trying to turn it

into a half-joke. And as usual, he realized, it was not enough; he was too late. In my

hour of need?

She shook her head with that faint, pained smile. Its always been your hour of

need, she said.

Rich let out a breath. Right, he said. Right.

She stepped forward to embrace him, and he rested his chin on the top of herhead for a moment. He inhaled, let his arms tighten; in them she was small, and

sturdy, and resolute.

Youd better get to the hotel, she said. Get settled in a bit.

Rich shook his head and gestured behind him, to the house, to the backyard, to

the remaining stretch of sky between the sun and its point of rest in the sea. I think

Im going to stay a little longer, he said.

Dont wait too long, she saidtenderly, he thought; even now, tenderly. She

kept looking up at him, as if she wanted to say something else, and then turned away.Rich stepped back through the empty doorway, waiting for her car to start, not

wanting to watch her gothose taillights, winking around the curve of the driveway

again. And he realized that was the last time shed drive away from here.

He walked through the house, the oorboards creaking strangely, and looked at

the backyard through the hole the French doors had left, where nearly everything he

remembered was gone, and would never be back. The Adirondack chairs, too old to be

hauled away for anything but someones rewood, had left worn yellowed patches of

grass in their places. He turned and creaked back through the house and up the stairs.


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Their bedroom lay bare. The wind was coming in strong from the balcony

doorway, beginning to groan low against the wood. He went out onto the planks that

rocked with his weight and sat heavily, feeling the weathered grain through his jeans.

He had forgotten to keep a glass behind for his bourbon, he realized. He unscrewed

the cap and put the bottle to his lips and drank it straight and warm. He imagined the

next few weeks, alone in the hotel, wondering where to go next, his retirement fund

running down grain by ne grain, like sand. He imagined how the house would look

without walls, glad now, nally, that they had no children to watch it go, that no

generation followed to bear witness. All this time, he realized, he had been hoping

that the house would wait for him to go rst. But now he saw what the consequences

would have been: that it would have all fallen on Marion, who was also alone, that

she would be the one to shoulder its weight, the one to stand on the graying bal-

cony where they had stood their rst night and so many thereafter and take in the

vast upwelling of the sea, always the upwelling, gathering itself and rising against

themand just how many thousands, tens of thousands, of nights did those number?

So many more than the nights of their separation. And for the rst time in years he

remembered playing as a child on the wide beach, far back before all his nights with

Marion here, when the house was newly built and his grandfather stood proudly on

the prow of the balcony, smoking on into nightfall, his wife calling for them both to

come in to dinner, calling to Rich,Be careful, be careful out there. Now he saw thatthis could not have been otherwise, for he had watched unseeing the cracks form-

ing in his home and when that had failed to move him he had been forced to witness

again, and spectacularly, its ruin. Now he was the inheritor of his faults.

With the bottle at his lips he cast about for something else. Hadnt his grandfa-

ther, building the house, known that his descendants would have to bear the weight

of its loss? But then hadnt they always known that this home was treacherous in

its impermanence, that one day this bluff would be only sand and the mountains

lonely rocks outstretching from the sea? (Marion, at least, had known; she had said,Our children could never live here.) If only that day had come alreadyif only the

sea would rise up now and close over everything; if only the bluff would give way

and they could go, gloriously, surging on downhe would go, he would go with it;

if only it was anything but those cracks, those ne, irrevocable schisms, that had

done their work so quietly and so nally. He held the sweet, burning bourbon in his

mouth and listened to the wheeling and crying gulls for the thousandth time, the ten

thousandth time, and followed the sun in its slow descent, falling more swiftly as it

neared the horizon. He wondered if he would hear the board, when it went. nN

cameronelizabeth cracks

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