Coming Home to You (22 page)

“I still have difficulty believing he’s not coming home,” his mother said from the doorway. She crossed the room and sat on the bed next to him. The open album made her smile, and she pointed to a photograph on the opposite page—one of him and Bret riding double on an old mule at what had been
their grandfather’s house outside Shelbyville. “What was it your grandfather called that mule? Bessie?”

“Beulah. Bessie was the goat that used to pull us around in a little green wagon.”

“Oh, that’s right. You learned to ride on that old mule, didn’t you?”

He nodded, smiling at the memory. “She had to be thirty years old, but gentle as a lamb. That’s what started me wanting a horse of my own, visiting Pop and Granny Mag in the summer and helping take care of the animals.” He studied his mother’s tired face and red-rimmed eyes. “This has been hard on you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“We shouldn’t have come.”

“No, I’m glad to see you. You know that.”

“But not Kate.”

“I can’t say I’m happy she knows what she does, but she seems to care for you very deeply. I can only pray this will somehow resolve itself without hurting anyone.” She smiled tenderly and patted his hand. “I hoped one day you’d come home, Jamie. And finally here you are. George and I aren’t as young as we used to be. Visiting you is getting harder and harder.”

“I know, and I’m sorry I haven’t come before. I finally realized I couldn’t keep avoiding this trip forever.” He glanced at the doorway, wondering why Kate hadn’t sought him out after her talk with his mother. “Where is Kate? You didn’t dissect her and feed her to that cat of yours, did you?”

“Darling, you make me sound absolutely predatory. The young woman can hold her own, as I’m sure you’ve already discovered. I left her in the parlor
in one piece. She wanted to call her family and let them know where she is.”

“She’s probably calling her brother Marcus. She’s been pretty upset about having to lie to him, and it tears me apart because I know it’s my fault.”

“You’ve come to love her very much, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but she’s loved me even longer.” He related the story of how the two of them had met years ago and how she’d spent most of her life preparing to write this book. “And now the book is the very thing between us.”

“Have faith that things will work themselves out.”

“I don’t see how. I’m beginning to think we’d all be better off if I confessed everything and got it over with. At least, that would solve Kate’s problems.”

“Please, don’t even think that. You would never be happy going back to your old life. You’d only risk your health again.”

“But Kate’s running out of time. I’ve got to find some way to help her.”

“You’re frustrated. Wait a few days. I’m sure if we all put our heads together, we can come up with a solution.”

She was right. He
was
frustrated, frustrated by his inability to provide Kate with an answer to her dilemma. She was giving up her chance at a normal life and a family to be with him. He wanted to give her something back. But what? How?

“Do you ever regret what we did when Bret died?” he asked his mother. He’d wanted to ask her that question for a very long time, but had never had the courage.

She sighed and gave him a sad smile. “My only regret is that you haven’t been able to come to terms with it, to forget what happened and go on with your life. Until today, when I talked with Kathryn, I didn’t realize how difficult things have been for you.”

“I’ve been okay.”

“Have you really?”

He shrugged and said yes, but he glanced away so she couldn’t see into his eyes and know he was lying.

“Jamie, look at me.” Reluctantly he did. “You can’t continue to grieve. You did everything you could to help your brother, and you have no reason to feel guilty. You always spent time with him and took an interest in whatever he was doing, even when you were on the road. He loved you.”

“I know he did,” James said, but a part of him wondered if it was true.

She gave him a hug and stood. “I guess I’d better go find your stepfather. He’s likely to embalm himself with Kentucky bourbon if I don’t keep an eye on him.”

“I’m sorry we caused such an uproar. Kate fussed at me—said I should call and warn you she was coming.”

“I think we’ll survive.”

“Ellen doesn’t look good. Did that guy she’s living with put those bruises on her arms?”

“I suspect he did, but she claims she fell.”

James shook his head and swore. He wished he could get five minutes alone with the jerk. He’d make sure he never touched his sister again.

Ellen was the gentlest person he’d ever known. He owed her his life, and he hated to see her abused.
She’d come to Alabama and taken care of him after Bret’s death, when he’d mired himself in depression. She’d helped him find his way out of the blackness.

“Why does she let him do that? I don’t understand it.”

“Everyone handles their guilt differently, Jamie. Ellen gets involved in unhealthy relationships, George drinks too much, and you wrestle your demons in your own way.”

“What about you? How do you deal with your guilt?”

“One day, darling, perhaps I’ll tell you all about it. But not tonight. Let’s not spoil your homecoming.”

When she left, he went downstairs to see if Kate wanted to go for a ride and maybe see where he’d grown up. The house was a museum now and he didn’t want to go inside, but he’d like to drive by and take a look. Or maybe he’d show her where he’d lived at the time of the crash, or his high school.

The door to the sun parlor was ajar. He started to push it open and go in, but Kate’s distressed voice as she talked on the telephone stopped him.

“…not crazy. Things aren’t going like they should, and I think I should abandon the book before I waste any more time on it.” She paused to listen, then said, “I realize that. Yes, I know what’ll happen if I don’t fulfill this contract.” She sighed and he could hear her heels tap the floor as she paced. “Marcus, calm—No, he didn’t influence my— Marcus, I don’t care about that! Will you shut up!”

James stood there for several minutes and listened with growing concern. It wasn’t hard to figure out
what was going on. Her brother was trying to talk her out of dropping the book, pointing out the serious consequences if she did. A reputation she’d spent a lifetime building might be ruined.

Because of him. He’d done this to her. She was giving up her work, risking everything, because she refused to hurt him or reveal his secret. Somehow he had to find a way to fix that.

K
ATE ROSE LATER
the next morning than she’d planned, the strain of meeting James’s family and fighting with Marcus in the same day having wrung her out emotionally.

She hadn’t slept well, anyway. She’d insisted she and James stay in separate rooms while under his mother’s roof and that, too, had made it difficult to rest. Expecting him to ignore her edict and slip into her bedroom in the middle of the night, she’d slept lightly. But he hadn’t come. Not last night. Not this morning. She’d wrestled with her problems—alone.

She poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe on the sideboard in the dining room and sat at the table where Mrs. Conner was reading the newspaper. “We have sausages, eggs and muffins,” the woman said without looking up.

“Coffee’s fine. Have you seen your son this morning?”

Mrs. Conner peered at Kate over the top of her reading glasses. “Your door was closed, so I assumed he was with you.”

Kate reddened at the implication in the statement. “No, I haven’t seen him since last night.”

“Then he must have gone somewhere with George.
He was up and out of the house early this morning, as well. What are you planning for today?”

“I have no idea. I guess whatever he feels comfortable doing.”

Mrs. Conner folded the paper, laying it on the table beside her plate. “Have you given any more thought to your problem with the book?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. I’m throwing it in the trash.”

Mrs. Conner’s face reflected her shock. “Are you certain?”

“I don’t see any way around it.” Kate glanced at the door. “Are we alone? Can we talk freely about this?”

“Yes, but keep your voice down. Agnes is in the kitchen.”

“If I turn in the story I originally had,” Kate said softly, “it won’t be complete, and I’d never forgive myself for that or for the dishonesty of it. I could add material James has given me and tell an
almost
complete story, but I’d need written documentation for it, which I don’t have. And obviously I can’t use him as a source.”

“But he could give the information as Bret, couldn’t he?”

“Too dangerous. He’d come under scrutiny from the media.”

“Perhaps I could be your source. Or pretend to be.”

Kate shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, but no. You live with enough deception as it is, and I’m not going to add to it. I’d rather face the consequences of breaking my contract.”

“I’m speechless. This book means so much to you.”

“Some things mean more.”

“And the suspicion your actions will arouse?”

“I see no way to avoid it entirely. But it’s the lesser of two evils.”

Mrs. Conner appeared thoughtful. She sat back in her chair and stared at Kate, those intense blue eyes unreadable.

“Having my son home has been wonderful,” she said finally. “I love those long lovely letters he sends me, but they’re not the same as having him here in person.”

“He told me you two correspond often.”

“Quite often. He’s always been very good about letter-writing. Granny Mag—my mother—forced him to do it when he was younger, and surprisingly, he’s kept it up all these years. I’m thankful because they’re beautifully written and so descriptive they made me feel as if I was with him. ”

“Have you kept many?”

“Oh, every one. Tirades from summers at camp about the awful food. Pleas from his grandparents’ house to get a horse when he got home from his visit. Chronicles from every tour he made with the band. Up until the last few years, he was very open about his feelings. His letters, I suppose, have always been an outlet to express what was too personal to put in his songs. Many of them are more similar to journal entries than letters.”

“A journal?” Kate trembled as she put down her cup.

“Let’s look at them and you’ll see what I mean.”

Kate followed James’s mother to her study. The letters were in a beautiful old trunk in the corner. They pulled them out and placed them on the desk, hundreds of them, tied with blue grosgrain ribbons. She picked up one bundle of letters and looked at the dates. This group went back twenty-five years.

“I often get these out and read through them again. I think there’s one letter you might be particularly interested in,” Mrs. Conner said. “What was the date you met James?”

“March 10, 1987.”

She went through the stacks, scanning several letters, until she found the one she was looking for. “Ah,” she said, smiling. “I remembered this last night when Jamie told me how you and he first met.”

She handed Kate the letter. The first few paragraphs were about inconsequential things. Then came something totally unexpected.

Tears streamed in rivers down Kate’s face. James
had
thought her special, at least at the time.

“Open and read some of these others,” Mrs. Conner said.

Over the next hour they went through all the stacks, picking letters at random and reading them out loud to each other. Some were amusing, with amazingly well-drawn caricatures of people he’d met. Some were sad, expressing his feelings of helplessness at
tragic events like Lenny’s illness and Lauren’s suicide.

“His whole life is here,” Kate said. “And in his own words.”

“The letters are yours, Kathryn, for your book. Use them to remind the world how special he is.”

Stunned, Kate couldn’t speak at first. In her mind she saw the book in a new form, her narrative combined with his letters and drawings, and she wanted to squeal with joy. Nothing could be more perfect! But would James go for it? The decision had to be his.

“How,” she said, finding her voice, “can I ever repay you, Mrs. Conner? This is an incredible gift.”

“First, by calling me Marianne. And two, by remembering I’m partial to boys.”

“Boys?”

“Boys. Grandsons. Although a little girl would be nice, too.”

Kate laughed through her tears. “Convincing James might be difficult, but I promise I’ll do my best.”