Homecoming (9 page)

It was clear. Cory needed permanence. Something he couldn’t give.

If we treated everyone we meet with the same affection we bestow upon our favorite cat, they, too, would purr.

Martin Buxbaum

Chapter 5

Jake pushed open the door of the Faythe Hardware store and searched the large room, hoping to run into Mr. Foster.

He needed a few other things for projects he was working on, so had offered to see if the vintage knobs Cory had ordered had come in.

Metal bins held every size nail and screw he’d ever seen and he reached into one to dig his fingers into the mountain of ten-penny nails, something he’d done as a kid. There was something about a hardware store; the smell of wood and metal, scanning the shelves for just the right part to fix something or build something.

The aisles were marked with carved wooden signs that swung from wrought iron posts. A little on the rough side, they looked as though they could have been made in junior high wood shop.
Electrical
.
Plumbing
.
Paint
.

He dug a note out of his pocket, hoping to just hand it to someone. He was supposed to also see if they carried the Victorian shades of paint Cory wanted for the exterior trim. She’d gotten a book from the library that suggested specific trim colors appropriate for the age of Tillie’s house.

He didn’t care, really. To him paint was paint. He just hoped they wouldn’t have to special order the colors because he was ready to start on the trim in the morning. He’d scraped the worst of the flakes off and even rough-sanded the surfaces to prepare them for a new paint job.

In an aisle toward the back he spied a balding man stocking shelves. “Mr. Foster?” The man straightened up and at first he stared back at him, wordlessly. Then a soft gasp escaped his lips.

“Jake Randall—you
bum
. I’d heard you were back in town. About time you found your way in here.”

Jake grinned and walked toward him, extending his hand. The man ignored him and threw his arms around him in a manly bear hug, almost squeezing the breath out of him.

“Jake, how are you? I’ve always wondered how you made out in Chicago.”

“How’d you know where I went?”

“Oh, son...your dad ranted and raved about it for a solid week after you left. My youngest brother worked at the factory and heard all about you taking off and kissing your career good-bye.”

“He sure was ticked off.”

“Well, I guess he just couldn’t understand why you didn’t fancy drilling holes in pieces of metal until your brains turned to mush. I’m not saying it’s a bad job, but you had more to offer—I saw it in you even if your dad never did. When I heard you’d disappeared, I thought ‘congratulations for choosing to look at Faythe in your rear-view mirror.’”

Somehow hearing that his old teacher had thought his leaving town had been a good idea made him feel validated, even after all the years he’d been gone.

“But you were his only son, Jake, and besides that, he wasn’t used to anyone standing up to him. You know, when your mom left and took you with her, he was never the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, your dad’s always been a son-of-a-gun. In fact, he probably never should’ve married—too set in his ways and he didn’t really see the value in taking time for family. But he got worse after she left. A little meaner, I guess.”

“And worse when I came back.”

“I imagine so, I imagine so. Come over here and sit with me for a minute.”

Jake followed his old teacher to two stools that sat next to a counter in the back of the store, still a little amazed at the warmth of his welcome.

“Sorry about your Aunt Tillie, by the way. The reverend tried to find you, but I guess you never got his note.”

Jake nodded. “Actually, I was in London on business when...well, Tillie had written me a letter and I was going to take a couple weeks vacation to help her with the house...”

“And you were gone when her letter came—I knew something must have happened like that. And I knew you wouldn’t have missed her funeral. She just went so unexpected. Peaceful, though; a real blessing compared to those who linger.”

“You know about Cory Wells staying with her at the house last year?”

“Isn’t that something? I heard someone had moved in with Tillie, then Cory came in one day to pick up something. I was kind of shocked to see her back here—heard she’d married some guy, a lawyer, I think.”

“So she’s only been here about a year?”

“That sounds about right. When I talked with Cory at the service—the memorial was very crowded, by the way; so many people were touched by Tillie, you have no idea—anyway, she explained she was some kind of special nurse. End-of-life-care, I think was the way she described it. She said when she started working for Tillie, Tillie wasn’t terminal or anything, but that she just needed a little more help and she felt better having a stranger do things, rather than someone she knew.”

“Seems like she took good care of her.” Cory hadn’t said much about her profession, and he added to his list of questions tucked away for another day.

“So what’s happening with the house? She leave it to you?”

Jake shifted on the stool before he launched into telling the story for the umpteenth time. Sometimes he thought it would have been easier putting an ad in the local paper, get everyone up to date in one fell swoop. Everyone he ran into wanted to know what was going on...life in the small town hadn’t changed. “Tillie’s will requires us both to live there for three months in order for each of us to earn half the value of the house when it’s sold.” At least he’d gotten it down to one line.

“Interesting,” Foster said, shoving a loose pencil behind his ear. “You two worked well together in school, so you should be able to put that old house together and get it ready to sell in that amount of time.”

“It’s going pretty smoothly so far. She’s pretty organized; I just brought muscles to the table. I’m kind of enjoying working with my hands again. I worked construction day labor when I first hit Chicago, but now I’m just a ‘suit’ and go to meetings all day.”

Foster nodded his approval, then said, “Did you ever figure out that I put you two together on purpose in my class?”

“Cory always said it was fate.” He grinned, looking forward to bursting her happy little bubble.

“Hah. I knew a good team when I saw one. Hey, those knobs Cory ordered finally came UPS yesterday—sorry about the delay. You here to pick ‘em up?”

“And I’ve got a list of paint colors she wants.”

“Let me see that.” He took the note from Jake and scratched his head. “I think I can substitute with something close...unless you want to special order.”

“Close is fine. I want to start painting tomorrow unless that storm blows in.”

“I’ll go get the knobs from the back and check the paint stock while I’m there. You sit tight.”

***

Back at the house, Jake left the gallons of trim paint on the back porch, then put the paper bag of knobs and drawer pulls on the kitchen counter. They’d have to get to the kitchen soon. Things there hadn’t changed a bit since he’d arrived a month ago, even though Cory kept reassuring him it was coming up on her list. It looked like a lot of work to him and he wondered if she’d allowed enough time.

But the yard looked great, and the outside of the house was completely prepped. Thankfully, all that was needed was trim work, though she’d insisted on a two-color scheme which was guaranteed to draw on his patience. And he’d be working on the extension ladder twice as much as he’d have to if she’d only picked one color. But, it wasn’t a hill he wanted to die on, finally agreeing the house would look good in the vintage colors.

But the next day brought gray thunderclouds and steady rain. Bad for painting, but perfect for the flowers they’d planted. And the lilacs practically applauded the much needed shower.

Jake felt antsy, though. The lack of electronic stimulation was hard for him. At his apartment he’d hooked up his CD player so as soon as he walked in and flipped on the lights, music played.

He’d long given up pestering Cory about the lack of radio and television in the house, and had stooped to picking up the news from whoever was at The Java Hut or by scanning the weekly Faythe Bugle, sometimes digging days-old editions of the Sun Times out of the trash.

So far the world hadn’t ended as far as he could tell, but he couldn’t be absolutely sure. Sometimes he felt like he might as well be on another planet.

While the rain grew steady, not hinting at stopping, he spent half the day in the attic going through more boxes of junk, astounded again at what Tillie had saved. After lunch, he went through all the books in the study, copying down the titles carefully to make an inventory list per Cory’s instructions.

Then he heard music.

Following the scratchy sound, he made his way down the stairs and to the parlor where Cory was bent over an old portable turntable.

“Remember that box of records you brought down from the attic? I decided to see if this old Philco worked. And it does.” Joy bubbled in her laugh and shone in her eyes.

Jake’s ears perked up at the familiar blues tune; an old standard he remembered hearing somewhere in his not too distant past. Had to be at the Kingston Mines blues club or maybe Buddy Guy’s, two of his regular Friday night haunts. “Dance with me.” He held out his hand to Cory, who shrunk away holding her hands up, palms facing him.

“Oh, no. I don’t know how to dance to music like this. Give me Billy Joel and I can dance.
Old Time Rock and Roll
, and I’m on the floor. This...this is too complicated.”

“Nonsense. Come here, I’ll show you how easy it is.”

She stood her ground and shook her head. At least for now, he didn’t think she would budge. “Okay, we’ll just sit here in the parlor and just listen. Pretend I’ve come calling. What shall we talk about?” He gazed at her and she looked back innocently.

Cory was glad she’d put the music on. They’d both been so busy lately that they hadn’t talked, hadn’t really seen much of each other...well, except those midnight rendezvous in the hall. The nights had been getting warmer and muggier with the spring rains. He’d taken to wearing his boxer shorts instead of pajama bottoms, and the last time she’d run into him the sight of his bare chest and legs had taken her breath away. Both were covered with a fine dusting of blond hair. He’d smiled a sweet sleepy smile and she’d retreated to her bedroom and her book, knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep.

Jake pulled a red rose out of a vase that sat on a newly acquired cherry-stained drum table and handed it to her. “May I sit with you Miss Cory?”

She brought the rose to her lips and remembered how he used to sneak a rose into her school locker now and then, a shock coming from the never-serious boy he’d been. She nodded and steered him to the davenport instead of the settee. The couch offered a little more room; she didn’t want to be sitting hip-to-hip with anyone who looked as charming as Jake looked at that moment.

They sat for a few moments just listening to the rain, letting the music fade away until it was replaced by end-of-the-record-scratching. She got up to lift the needle from the record and put another record on. This time, the sound of a string quartet filled the air.

“This okay?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“So, did you and Mr. Foster have a good chat? You never did tell me anything about it.”

“We caught up a little. He seems content, don’t you think? Wrinkled, but content.”

She slapped his forearm. “You should look so good when you’re seventy.”

“You think I will?” His blue eyes held hers without wavering.

She licked her lips, then turned away. He made her feel tense, and she wasn’t exactly sure why. Maybe it was the rain. Or the music. She had to blame something other than her own emotions which seemed to be rioting inside her.

“Tell me, Miss Cory, are you content?”

Content? When in doubt, answer a question with a question. “What do you mean?”

He rolled his eyes. “Happy. Content. Satisfied.”

“With myself...or my life?”

“Both. Maybe this is a good time to talk about Cory
Richards
.”

She pulled in her breath. So that was what he wanted. He’d provided her with some history, now he expected some of hers. “I met Ed at college. I was almost through getting my Bachelors in Nursing and he was pre-law.”

“And you fell in love.”

“Well, sure—no, I don’t know.” She sounded ridiculous, even to herself. “We dated; it was comfortable.”

“You married him because he was...comfortable? Like an expensive pair of shoes?”

Jake’s tone seemed warm even though his words stabbed at her heart as she remembered asking herself the exact same thing as she’d walked down the aisle on her wedding day. “It seemed to be the right thing at the time.”

“But you came to your senses.”

“He helped me. Once I’d put him through law school working all the extra shifts I could, he dumped me.”

Jake’s features hardened. “For someone else?”