Homecoming (12 page)

What was taking him so long?

Noiselessly she walked up behind him to peek over his shoulder. A shaking index finger traveled slowly under each line as she saw him mouth each word silently.

“Jake?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

She watched his face pale as he realized she’d been standing near him and watching for a while. Fear blazed in his eyes, then she saw his expression morph into one she recognized from high school. The one she’d seen when he’d scoffed at his low grades and missed homework or tests. If he was true to form, he’d begin to joke his way out of the situation.

“Cory, Cory, Cory. Your penmanship is atrocious. I think a detention hour is in order for you, young lady—”

She cut his monologue short by snatching the paper from his hands. “Tell me what the note says.”

A storm flashed in his eyes and she watched him push himself away from the table, grab his car keys from a hook on the wall and lunge out the door without a backward glance.

***

Jake drove as fast as the curved road allowed. The convertible top and all the windows were down, his left arm hung over the door, the wind whipping at his face and hair.

He slowed down to drive through Gills Rock, then pulled over to park at the very end of the peninsula. The end of his world.

He’d gotten at least halfway through the second line of the note when he’d smelled her; a subtle blend of orange from the polish and her own lilac scent.

And it had probably taken her all of three seconds to figure out what was wrong.

He found a perch on a huge boulder and stared at the view with unseeing eyes, and instead, listened to the hum of a speedboat motor, the screech of sea birds, the soft howling of the wind.

She knew.

And he didn’t think he could live with that. Options. What were his options? Leave, was the first thing that came to mind. Face her; convince her she was wrong.

Or...allow her in.

The thought sent his heart to his throat and a dull ache to his stomach.

Part of him wanted to let her in, but things would never be the same between them. Could he live with that? But, maybe...maybe that was a good thing.

They could talk about it. Knowing her, she’d vow to keep his secret, and things would simply return to normal.

Normal. Well, there were only six weeks of normal left to tackle and he could do anything for six weeks.

That was it, then. Jake took one last real look at the blue water, watched the waves cresting in the distance, and returned to his car to drive back to Faythe. Back to tell Cory.

At the outskirts of town, he felt the unmistakable thumping of a low tire. He slowed to a stop and pulled next to the curb in front of a single-story, green, ranch style house. A sign in front read:
Mabel’s Board and Care.

Turning off the engine, he leaned his head back against the headrest. Why here? He smacked one hand against the steering wheel, then popped open the trunk and got busy changing the tire.

While he worked, he avoided even looking at the house where he knew his father now lived. He’d driven or walked past it a dozen times since he’d been back, never giving it more than a glance. But this time felt different. Maybe it was because a piece of his past had finally caught up with him. Maybe it was just time.

He put away the jack and lug wrench and looked at the long, covered front porch. Eight elderly people sat in rocking chairs; women on the right side, men on the left. He looked at each of the men, trying to recognize a familiar face. Nothing, at least from this distance.

Behind the sturdy chain link fence that ringed the yard, the grass was mowed and weed-free; bright salmon-colored petunias lined the winding walk that led to the front door.
Ah, What the hell.

It took him a couple minutes to figure out how to open the gate, probably designed to keep the boarders in and preventing any wandering. As he made his way up the sidewalk, no one seemed to even see him. Except one. There was a man on the end, a little further away from the others as though he’d scooted his chair to put more space between him and the rest.

The man had turned his head to watch as Jake walked up the steps and stood at the door, his hand ready to knock.

“Go away!” The man’s voice was surly and he spat over the short porch rail to emphasize his point.

It was the spitting that gave him away, and Jake slowly turned to face him, his closed hand still raised. The man’s pale, drawn face was stubbled with white whiskers, his oily and yellowed hair plastered close to his head. Even in the summer heat, his shirt was buttoned to his neck; his green work pants looked worn, but pressed. The man leaned forward in the face-off, a look of dogged determination in his eyes, his hands gripping the arms of the chair making his bony knuckles even whiter.

It was him. Jake stared at what his father had become. He looked...small. And weak. Had he really ever been the towering man of his nightmares? The one who had occasionally locked him in the basement for a couple of days to “learn him a lesson” when he’d talked back or dared to disobey an order?

“You! You both deaf AND dumb?”

It was him, all right.

“Pop, it’s me. Jake.”

The man sat back in his chair as though someone had punched him in the chest. He blinked hard, then squinted his eyes as though to get a better look at him. A bit of saliva pooled at one corner of his lips as he gawked.

Jake turned away at the sound of the door opening in front of him.

“Yes, can I help you?” The screen door kept him from getting a good look at the woman standing on the other side.

“I’m Jake Randall; I’m in Faythe for a short while and—”

The woman’s hands flew to her face as she smiled broadly, then she pushed open the door to usher him in.

“I’d heard you were in town and wondered if you’d come. Didn’t think you would, but now that you’re here...”

Jake followed her into a sunny living room whose only occupant was a sleeping yellow Labrador, sprawled on its back, four paws in the air. The dog opened one eye to consider him, then went back to napping.

“That’s Sophie. She’s harmless; good company for me and the folks who live here. And such a loving dog—she’s so smart about people; growls at all the door-to-door salesmen. Your dad doesn’t much care for her, though.”

He nodded. His old man had never allowed animals in the house. Jake had caught his old man with a squirming sack of kittens once, strays he’d found in the garage.
I’ll be introducing them to Mrs. Brick ‘n Bag at the lake.
When Jake had protested that he would take care of them or find them homes, he’d been rewarded with a hard slap across the face, reddening his cheek for the rest of the weekend.

He’d learned not to mention animals again.

Jake bit his lip to hide a smirk. A dog in the house must irritate the snot out of his old man.

“Oh, where are my manners. I’m Mabel, Mabel Johnston.”

“Pleased to meet you.” She gestured for him to sit and he waited for her to take a seat first before joining her on the overstuffed couch.

“I’m not really sure why I’m here,” he said as he pressed his palms together.

“Well, let me just rattle on a little and maybe answer some questions you don’t even know you have. Your dad’s been here quite a while; I think the longest of everyone here now. His Alzheimer’s hasn’t affected his heath any; he’s just a bit forgetful, has trouble finding the right words sometimes. He has good days and bad days. This is a good day, actually.”

A good day.
Jake nodded, unsure if Mabel expected a response from him.

“The doctor comes ‘round to check on the residents when they need it; other than that, I just try to keep them clean and comfortable. This is their ‘porch time’ and I’ll bring them in for supper soon. If you want to stay—”

“Thanks. No. I really have to get going.” Jake rose from his seat and extended his hand to her. “I’m at my Aunt Tillie’s house for about six weeks more, then I’ll be heading back to Chicago.”

Mabel offered him a kind smile as she rose to follow him to the door, and he wondered if she was accustomed to visitors running off.

“He may not know who you are.”

Jake turned to face her. “Excuse me?”

“If you wanted to talk with him a minute—he may not know who you are.”

He nodded, then let himself out as Mabel headed down a long hallway toward the back of the house.

“You!”

Jake turned to see that his old man had gotten up from his chair and was holding onto the porch railing with a death grip. He continued walking down the steps then turned to walk in the grass to stand in front of his old man.

“Hi, Pop.”

“You here to steal my damn money? Well, you’re gettin’ nothin’ when I die. Lousy...worthless....” He spat over the rail, barely missing Jake’s shoe.

“I don’t need your money, Pop.”

“Why you here, then?” He shouted the words in a raspy voice.

Instead of answering, Jake turned and walked away. He never should have come; coming had only created a fresh memory to suppress and file away in the deep recesses of his mind. He’d liked it better pretending his old man was dead.

***

Cory paced the hallway, stopping occasionally to listen for the sound of Jake’s car in the driveway. She’d folded and opened the note so many times the creases had thinned enough to almost cause it to fall apart. She put it back on the kitchen table, finally flopping down in the chair.

She’d embarrassed him; probably worse. Would he just keep going and never come back? He could. The house was close to being done and she probably could handle the rest of it by hiring out the work. He might feel his obligation to Tillie was just about complete. He could easily leave with a clear conscience.

Furious with herself that she had created a confrontation instead of choosing a time to approach the subject in a more subtle way, she had literally run after his car at first, wanting to take it all back, to somehow explain. But he’d been too quick. And as far as she could tell, he hadn’t looked back.

Maybe this was it. The end.

The back door opened and Cory looked up into Jake’s ashen face. He held her gaze; this time it was she who wanted to run away.

“Hi.” He put his car keys back on the hook by the door.

She took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said—”

He held up his hand to stop her. “I think this is the right time for that bottle of Merlot you found in the back of the cupboard. I’m going to change clothes; I’ll be right back.”

By the time he’d returned, she’d set the table with yellow stoneware, clear glass goblets rimmed in red, and the casual white-handled tableware. A green Fiesta-ware tureen in the middle of the table was filled with hearty vegetable beef soup, and next to it a homemade loaf of bread on a cutting board.

“Eat first?” she said as he sat down and reached for a knife to slice the bread.

Jake shrugged one shoulder. “My ground rules are one glass of wine apiece, then fire away.”

At least his humor had returned; a good sign.

They ate in silence. Jake opened the wine and poured a healthy amount into the glasses. By the time he’d refilled them, Cory had cleared the table and suggested they move into the living room.

As Jake settled into a comfy leather chair she’d found that week at an estate sale, Max appeared out of nowhere, jumped to the ottoman and then into Jake’s lap.

“So, what do you want to know?” He stroked the cat until it rolled over on its back in sheer gratification.

She swallowed hard, then puttered around the room, straightening magazines and pillows trying to figure out what to say to him.

“I can read...it just takes me a lot longer,” he began as though he sensed her discomfort. “It’s like my brain doesn’t always instantly recognize words, and my comprehension is pretty poor sometimes.”

“How did you manage to get through school?” She sat in an upholstered rocker and he offered her a sad smile that almost melted her.

“I missed a lot of days in elementary school, so I was always in remedial reading classes. They didn’t expect much, so I got by—sometimes they’d give me oral exams and they’d see I was learning and just kept passing me. I got really good at memorizing.”

“High school?”

“I participated in class a lot—I learned early on that most teachers gave extra credit for that. If I had an afternoon test, I’d find out who took the test in the morning and at least get an idea what I was facing. Or I’d arrange to sit behind someone who would agree to show me their answers. Essay tests were obviously a problem, so I’d just skip class.”

She remembered his intermittent absences and had blamed his father for them, which is what he’d led everyone to believe.

“The system was set up then to just keep promoting kids. I don’t think any of the teachers wanted to deal with the problem, for the most part. Some of the more creative teachers had a more liberal classroom structure that made it easier—”

“Like Mr. Foster.”

“I always wondered if he knew. When I saw him at the hardware store he told me he paired us up on purpose that year. It was the only ‘A’ in my school career.”