Homecoming (21 page)

“Well, son, I’d better get back to it. You visited Tillie yet?”

“What?”

“Well, by your long face, you look like you might benefit from a little trip to see her. She’s resting under the apple tree; the cemetery next to the Methodist church on Higgins, last street on the right off Main. You can’t miss it.”

Jake stared at him, dumbfounded. It had been the last thing on his mind. Well, actually it had never even entered his mind. Now he felt strangely compelled to follow Mr. Foster’s advice.

He watched his teacher walk out of the coffee shop, stopping to give him a little wave just before he closed the door behind him. Mr. Foster would always be a teacher, and he was one of the great ones. He’d been lucky to have his influence when he’d needed it most.

Finishing his cappuccino, Jake took care of his bill then made his way to Faythe’s cemetery to have a conversation with Aunt Tillie.

The temperature was warm, the kind of day when you could almost see the grass taking advantage of the conditions by reaching toward the sky in a dramatic growth spurt. Birds chirped furiously as they flew from tree to ground and back again. They too seemed to be in high gear, diverting all attention to nests filled with young ones ready to take flight any moment, the cycle of life about to begin once again.

As Jake looked for Tillie’s grave, he wished he’d brought flowers. Many of the sites had vases, some with colorful plastic or silk flowers; a few even had petunias or marigolds planted in neat rows in front of the gravestones.

A landscaper stopped his work to help him find Tillie’s resting place and Jake sat on a nearby bench to sort out his thoughts.

“Well, you always were one for surprises, Aunt Tillie.” Jake blinked hard against the surge of emotion, and looked up at the puffy-cloud-filled sky that seemed too picture perfect, a postcard of sugary sweet Midwestern charm.

Tillie’s marker was simple, a small, polished pink granite stone with only her full name and dates of her birth and death. It was a nice spot.

As Jake sat in the stillness, regrets washed over him. He’d give anything to make her know how badly he felt about being late, about why he’d been in London, about the Stuart account and what it would mean for his future. But most of all, he wished she could know how badly he felt about missing his last chance to see her.

The idea is to die young—as late as possible.
Jake smiled at the familiar phrase as it popped into his head. It had been one of Tillie’s sayings, something he hadn’t really understood as a young boy. Now he did. And it helped to realize Tillie had indeed died “young” by anyone’s standards. Independent. High-spirited. Full of joy and optimism. Right to the end.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you when you needed me,” he whispered, “but I’m here now and I’ve—Cory and I’ve done the best we could. I think you’d like the house. She’s put her stamp on it but I can’t think of anything you wouldn’t approve of.”

The house was almost done. The real estate agent was due sometime next week for a walk through, the appraisal would be done, and the “for sale” sign would go up. The last task would be placing the cats, which Cory seemed convinced wouldn’t be a problem—he had a suspicion her plan was somehow to try to keep them all.

Their time together was dwindling to just a few weeks; he could make it. He felt a surge of determination. He would finish it. For Tillie. For himself. For Cory.

He stood, brushed some leaves off the top of the stone and then made his way back to the house.

As he put the key in the lock, the door opened and Cory stood in front of him, all smiles, her hair pulled back into a pony tail. Her eyes were open wide and he saw her rein in her emotions.

“Perfect timing. The new stove’s being delivered tomorrow. Can you help me pull the other one out so I can clean under it and paint the wall?”

He followed her toward the kitchen then stopped in the doorway. It looked like a completely different room.

“What do you think?” she asked. She stood in the middle of the room, hands on her hips, admiring her handiwork.

It was plain that a tremendous amount of work had been done in the four days he’d been in Chicago. The cabinets and drawers had a fresh coat of white paint, blue glass knobs and brass handles replaced all the old metal ones. A few of the cupboard doors now had beveled glass panels, showing off the blue and white everyday dishes. New fixtures had been installed in the double sink. Everything gleamed.

“You did this by yourself?” he asked, guilt rushing in to replace his amazement.

“I hired a guy to help with the sink, but everything else I did. But don’t worry,” she added, “there are plenty of things left on the list—all the things I didn’t want to do. I finally realized you were right—there was a lot more to do in here, so I put my lists aside and concentrated on only this room for two straight days. I really got into it after a while.”

“You found a stove?”

“Wait ‘til you see it. It’s a replica of an old-fashioned stove with all the convenience of a modern one. I decided to keep the fridge—just gave it a good scrubbing. You think it’s okay?”

He nodded. The room oozed homey comfort. New blue and white checked curtains hung at the windows—not too frilly, just right. The table had an off-white crocheted lace tablecloth on it, with a blue underskirt, and the chairs had been painted the same shade as the knobs on the cupboards.

The hutch had been crackle-painted white with Wedgwood blue showing through, and even the back door had a fresh coat of paint. The cat flap opened and he saw Dolly’s head poke through to stare at him. She took a few seconds to evaluate whether he was friend or foe, then entered the room and scampered to her empty food dish.

Cory scooped up the long-haired gray and white cat, rubbing her head while she waited for his comments.

“Man, oh, man. You’ve outdone yourself Cory. What’s left?”

“You still have nailing to do on the porch, right? And we need to get all those boxes out of the attic and donated. We could drive it all to the closest thrift store or the high school said they’d take stuff for their annual end-of-the-summer parking lot sale.”

“I think Tillie would like the school getting the money.”

“Good. I agree. I’ll talk to someone tomorrow and get a pick-up arranged.”

Jake walked to the stove, unplugged it, and then shimmied it away from the wall. Then he pulled out one of the chairs and sat at the table.” “When’s the real estate agent coming?”

“Next Friday.” As Cory put Dolly down, Petunia came in the cat flap as though she’d known Cory’s next movement would be to open the top of an antique flour bin to scoop dry cat food into the dish by the door. “You are such a little piglet, Petunia.” Soon both cats were munching their kibble.

Jake watched Cory, unable to keep his eyes off the way her shorts rose when she bent over. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Dressed in denim cutoffs and a too-big men’s shirt tied at the waist, she looked eighteen again. And his body reacted accordingly.

“Thirsty?” she asked.

He blinked, and had no idea how long she’d been talking to him.

“I was going to pour some sun tea. You want some?”

“Sure.”

She pulled two glasses from the cupboard, filled them with ice, then poured brown liquid from a big glass jar on the counter. Before she brought them to the table, she opened the refrigerator to retrieve a container and brought it to the table as well.

“I found Tillie’s recipe for walnut fudge brownies,” she explained as she opened the container and placed it between them.

The smell of cocoa took him back to his first summer with Tillie. They’d baked brownies together the first night he’d stayed there. She’d had him read one ingredient at a time—asking him not to hurry because she could only handle one step at a time; now he wondered if she too had known every word was a demon he had to overcome.

Jake reached for a brownie and brushed Cory’s fingers as she reached for one too. They both froze for a second, then he recoiled, pulling his hand away. “Go ahead,” he said, watching her take a piece and bite into it, licking a crumb from her lips. He licked his own in response, remembering the sweet taste of her mouth, the feel of her tongue....

He ripped his gaze from her mouth and took a two-inch square from the container and popped it into his mouth, his teeth sinking into the rich fudgy cake. They were as delicious as he remembered.

Draining his glass of tea, he went after another piece of brownie. His mouth full, he asked casually, “You okay?”

He watched her eyes darken; then she took a long draw of her tea. “Sure, why?”

“Chicago. What happened between us.”

She finished her tea then took both glasses to the sink. “More?” she tipped her head at the glass jar.

He shook his head no. Not of tea...more of her, maybe.

She dumped the ice and rinsed the glasses, keeping her back to him while she spoke. “We had a really good time together, Jake. But we had a deal. I have no expectations; you’ve made it clear you don’t want any kind of relationships in your life and I respect that.”

She remained at the sink, busying herself wiping down the counter, then drying the glasses and putting them away.

He watched her carefully, but without seeing her face, her eyes...he couldn’t read her. Her voice seemed strong; there was no tearfulness, no hesitation in her words. And it was true; they’d agreed to one night.
I deserve this.
Relieved he hadn’t revealed his own mixed emotions to her, he smiled bitterly when the thought came to him that the one woman he had grown to care about was treating him exactly the way he treated all the women in his life.

A one night stand. Was that really all it had been to her?

“I’m bushed,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m going to call it a night and read until I fall asleep. See you tomorrow.” She laid the dish towel over the bar at the end of the counter, then walked past Jake without giving him a glance.

Cory marched up the stairs, holding her breath all the way. Finally she closed the bedroom door behind her and dropped her forehead against it.

If he was going to say something, he’d had his chance. She was doing the right thing. Keep it light, keep it simple.

Let him go.

I have studied many philosophers and many cats. The wisdom of cats is infinitely superior.

Hippolyte Taine

Chapter 14

Cory and Jake tackled the remaining projects as though nothing had happened between them, though there were many awkward moments. She worked hard to avoid touching him; they both said “excuse me” if they bumped into each other. If things had only been different, she wondered...but they weren’t.

Jake had grown more quiet, she decided, and there was a lot less teasing than what she had grown accustomed to. She missed the sparkle in his eyes and the wide grin she never saw anymore.

They both sat at the kitchen table, waiting for the appraiser to ring the doorbell that Jake had finally fixed that morning.

Cory tapped a fingernail against her glass of lemonade. “You think he’s not coming?”

“Nah. Probably just running late. You know, Cory, the first thing any new owners are going to do is put in a damn phone line—”

She gave him a look and he stopped. At least he reciprocated her glare with a nice smile and she drank it in like wine, sending a delicious tingle to her arms.

Winston walked into the room and meowed. “He must be coming,” Jake said.

The cat had become a reliable “alarm cat,” so they both stood and walked down the hall.

After the first short ring of the bell, Cory opened the door to greet the appraiser. He was a short, balding man, with thick glasses; he wore a white short-sleeved shirt and a red tie decorated with colorful cartoons of hand tools. A measuring tape was hooked on one side of his belt, a Maglight on the other side, a clipboard in his hand.

“You’ve done wonders with this old house,” he said as he shook both their hands. “The paint job, especially.”

“Cory picked out the colors; she’s done a great job keeping most of the furnishings period, finding reproductions, that sort of thing” Jake said. Though it had indeed been a royal pain to make the paint job perfect enough to pass her inspection, the results had definitely made Tillie’s house stand out on the block even more. It was now a showcase of Victorian charm.

“You might check into whether or not the structure could be listed as an historic building, you know,” the man added as he started making checkmarks on the paper on the clipboard.

Jake said, “You want company or would you rather take a look on your own?”

The man smiled as though Jake had read his mind. “You know, I work a lot faster on my own.”

“Oh, sure,” Cory said, “We can wait for you outside on the porch.”

“There’s an attic, right?” The man looked up the stairs.

“You’ll see the steps on the second floor,” Cory offered, “just beyond the bathroom.”

“I’ll start at the top and work my way down.” As the appraiser marched up the stairs he ran his hand along the banister, giving it a firm shake halfway up, checking its stability.