Coming Home Read online

  “The risk of starting a relationship with your grandmother.”

  Jessie frowned.

  “That’s what happens after people air their differences, you know. They become friends. Is that what you’re afraid of?”

  “Not remotely possible.”

  Bill looked away casually and took another sniff of fresh air.

  As long as they had come this far, Jessie ventured further. “Bill, what are you doing here anyway?” She hoped he would understand what she meant, but she’d probably crossed the line.

  He didn’t even flinch. He took another sniff, removed his hat, and scratched his forehead. “Long story, Jess. Takes several days to tell it.” He cleared his throat casually. “Yep, couldn’t get that story done by Tuesday. Maybe by Wednesday. But, to tell it right, I’d need till Friday.”

  “You never quit.”

  “Done. We’ll move you in.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry, but I distinctly heard a tone.”

  “A tone?” Jessie smiled and leaned back in the swing as the sunlight peeked into the gazebo.

  Am I just a glutton for punishment? she wondered. What could staying possibly accomplish? And yet something was happening within her, and it had started last night. Her mind was swimming with strange inarticulated questions—a feeling of needing to know something. As if she’d been working her way back to this hopeforsaken place, and now she was merely following a script. With this realization, a sense of impending doom nearly overwhelmed her. This can only end badly, she thought.

  “I’m gonna need to spin one of your Montana breakfasts every morning, or no deal,” she finally asserted, and it felt as if she were signing her own death sentence.

  “Deal.”

  Ten minutes later, Bill was carrying in the rest of her luggage. And Grandmother was already talking about tomorrow’s luncheon. Jessie went upstairs to take a nap. Lying on her back on the bed, forearm over her eyes, she had just dozed off when her cell phone rang. It was Betty Robinette. Jessie wondered if perhaps there had been a change in plans.

  “Would you mind if I invited a guest for dinner?” Betty asked.

  “No, of course not,” Jessie replied, curious.

  “Here, he wants to talk to you.”

  A man’s voice came on the line. “Hi, Jess. This is Andy. Remember me?”

  Jessie nearly dropped her cell phone, then composed herself enough to suffer through a strange contortion of small talk with the young boy who’d once been her best friend … a lifetime ago.

  “It’ll be so good to see you,” Andy remarked, and then his voice brightened. “Hey, why don’t you come early? We can catch up a little.”

  They agreed to meet at the Rock House. One hour from this moment. She hung up, feeling suddenly nervous. She stepped into her bathroom to check her makeup and run a brush through her hair, then made her way downstairs, telling Bill of her plans.

  He seemed delighted. “See? I knew you’d want to stay.” He insisted she take “the old Ford,” and the way he said it made her wonder if it was a Model T. But when he led her to the garage, she found a pristine silver Mustang, fully loaded, with forest green leather heated seats, sun roof, and an elaborate dash. At the most, it was a mere few years off its prime.

  “I’m gonna take this out for a spin,” she giggled. “And I may not return.”

  “Atta girl.”

  She got into the car and peered at Bill through the windshield. He was standing at the doorway, waving—happy as all get out.

  The sun was flickering through the pine trees when she backed out and headed down the tree-lined street. Just before Nevada Avenue, she realized she’d forgotten her purse. Since it contained nearly all of her worldly possessions—and her driver’s license—she headed back.

  Upon arriving she realized Bill—or she via remote—had forgotten to close the overhead garage door. She slipped in the connecting door to the house, remembering she’d left her purse in the kitchen. Worried she might awaken her grandmother, who’d been napping when she’d left, Jessie didn’t close the door. Heading down the hallway, she heard voices. Apparently her grandmother was already up.

  “Now that she’s staying, when are you going to tell her?” Bill’s voice.

  “She just got here. I’ll lose her for sure.” Grandmother’s voice. Jessie paused in the hallway. Should she barge in and pretend she hadn’t heard? She took another step and stopped. She held her breath, transfixed by the unfolding conversation.

  “She has a right to know, Doris.”

  “Yes, and I’ll tell her on my own time.”

  What are they talking about? Jessie wondered.

  “What’s on the menu for tonight?” Grandmother asked.

  The conversation was over. Jessie backed her way to the garage door, slamming it shut.

  “That you, Jessie?” Bill called.

  “Forgot my purse,” Jessie called back.

  A moment of silence, followed by her grandmother’s voice. “In here.”

  They greeted her with smiles, and Jessie grabbed her purse.

  “Have a good time,” Bill said.

  Right, she thought.

  Once she merged onto northbound I-25, she noticed the interstate was rather empty of cars. At this rate, she’d be in Palmer Lake in about thirty minutes. She was so distracted with what she’d overheard, she almost forgot she was meeting Andy.

  “She has a right to know” echoed in her mind. Maybe that’s why

  Bill had been so determined she stay. They have something to tell me.

  Secrets, Jessie thought. Was it something simple? “Jessica, I just wanted you to know I bought your mother’s house.” No, couldn’t be. They were discussing something of deeper import. Jessie gripped the steering wheel.

  What are they hiding?

  Chapter Fourteen

  DORIS WAS STANDING in front of the gazebo when Bill came up behind her, chuckling. “This is about the closest you’ve ever gotten.”

  “Doesn’t it seem a bit too white?” Doris asked, studying Bill’s handiwork.

  He didn’t bite. “Have to admit I didn’t quite get it until today.”

  “Is that right?” Doris replied wryly.

  “Jessie took to that swing like Jane in a Tarzan movie.”

  “Took it for a ‘spin,’ I gather.”

  “Took it around the block.”

  “Mercy,” Doris hugged herself, relieved that Jessica had decided to stay. They might actually have a chance to mend their differences. But she was worried, too. Worried that something might go terribly wrong.

  Bill interrupted her brooding. “Care to give it a whirl? Seat’s still warm. Courtesy of your—”

  “I’ll pass, thank you.”

  He was undaunted. “Funny how Jessie loved the white paint. She’s definitely not a bare wood type of gal. Kinda like you, huh? And the swing. Loved the swing. Really, the whole gazebo thing. Who’da thunk it?”

  “Very funny.” Doris sighed.

  “It worked, didn’t it?” Bill put his hand on her shoulder.

  She felt herself stiffen and hoped he hadn’t noticed, but he removed his hand immediately. So he probably had.

  Doris sighed again. Earlier, she had asked Bill about his conversation with Jessica, but he’d hedged. He wasn’t the type to break a confidence—not that she was asking him to. It was obvious that Jessica had become enamored with Bill, which wasn’t a surprise. Nearly all of her old girl friends had a crush on her cowboy handyman.

  “She wondered what a local yokel like me was doing in a classy place like this,” he’d finally replied, but he was probably stretching it pretty thin, paraphrasing the real question Jessie must have asked.

  “Why do you stay, Bill?” she now asked, not sure she wanted the truth.

  “It’s the excitement, Dory. Pure, unmitigated day-in, day-out adventure of what will happen next. Not to mention the paycheck. That’s a bit of an attraction, too.” He chuckled at his own joke.

&n
bsp; “Not that I’m overpaid, mind you.”

  “So you won’t tell me?”

  “Nope.”

  They stood there a moment longer, and Doris felt a small sting of jealousy. Jessica was much too eager to visit Betty Robinette. She cringed and headed for the house.

  Jessie pushed the door open. A young man, dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, rose from his seat, smiling from ear to ear. Jessie was struck first with his height—at least six-two—then with his hair color, a chocolate brown. His skin was tanned and smooth, his eyes clear blue. He bore a much stronger resemblance to his father now but built like a football player. And she wasn’t at all prepared for his good looks.

  “Andy? Is it really you?”

  He laughed and pulled her toward him, giving her a quick hug. She tried not to appear to be holding her breath.

  “We grew up!” he exclaimed.

  At first she didn’t quite know how to respond. It was like opening your eyes under water. Everything suddenly seemed fuzzy again. She caught Betty Robinette’s eye behind the counter. Her girls were waiting on several customers. Betty put her hands on her hips and marveled, “Lookee here!”

  Embarrassed, Jessie smiled and gave a small wave.

  “Can I buy you a cone?” Andy asked.

  “Mrs. Robinette doesn’t have bubble gum anymore.” Not so nervous I can’t crack a joke, she thought.

  Andy gave a mock frown. “Unbelievable. We move away and things go to pieces. Pistachio maybe?”

  “You remembered.” Pistachio had always been her second choice.

  “Sure I remembered. I couldn’t imagine anyone eating the stuff.”

  Jessie grinned. “Yes, I’m afraid pistachio is a refined taste. Like Beethoven and Virginia Woolf.”

  Andy’s fist thumped his chest. “Ooh. You cut me deep, Jess.” Then he frowned again. “Who’s Virginia Woolf?”

  They laughed, ordered their cones, and settled into the corner table—their table.

  The room was suddenly populated with summer-loving children. Or had she just now noticed them? In a matter of moments the ice-cream line was all the way out the door, reminding Jessie of the crowds that came in waves and that as kids they’d learned how to time it so they wouldn’t have to wait in line.

  They were forced to raise their voices to communicate above the low roar. But it provided a comfortable sense of anonymity.

  Andy smiled and noticed her blush slightly. “I don’t know where to begin,” Jessie said, licking her cone. “How long has it been?”

  She seemed less nervous than earlier but still a bit uncomfortable. She’d come nearly undone when he hugged her, and he was afraid that getting older had made a nervous wreck of the most confident girl he’d ever known.

  “It’s so good to see you again,” he said, hoping to put her at ease.

  “I’m sorry.” She smiled. “It’s just so …”

  “Weird?”

  “Yeah, but a cool weird.”

  Andy agreed, noticing how her eyes seemed to avoid his. “You really look wonderful, Jess.”

  She smiled demurely, thanking him for the compliment and returning it. “I have to say that I wouldn’t have recognized you on the street.”

  “Nor I, you.” Andy chuckled. “But we were only kids, you know.”

  “Yes … of course.” She nodded.

  “It’s not every day I get to thank the woman who was responsible for my orderly academic progression through elementary school.”

  Jessie bit her lip, meeting his eyes for the first time, and from that moment they fell into a more natural conversation. They compared memories of classmates and talked about old times, doing homework right at this very spot, watching movies at his house while his mother oversaw them with an eagle eye, walking his dog around the lake, fishing in the summertime—rarely catching anything—talking for hours at the gazebo, but most important, riding bikes from one end of Palmer Lake to the other, a trip that lasted all of ten minutes.

  He kept studying her, stunned that Jessie had become so attractive. Sure, he’d probably had a grade-school crush on her, but that had been based upon platonic friendship, pure and simple, no matter what his mother might have suspected. And while Jessie hadn’t been very cute then, he’d always thought she was as pretty as any other girl in school.

  As their conversation continued, he detected little traces, glimpses, of the younger Jessie. While her flaxen blond hair was lighter than he recalled, her face had thinned, revealing high cheekbones. Her lips had changed; they weren’t so pudgy anymore but full and mature, and her nose, not model thin, was more endearing because it wasn’t so perfect. Little Jessie had indeed become Jessica—quite a woman.

  As she warmed up to him, her eyes danced with an enthusiastic brightness. She bit her bottom lip often, and it occurred to him that he’d always found that particular habit endearing in other women and now realized where he’d seen it first.

  She looked at him with searching eyes that had always seemed to render him transparent, as if she could look through him into his soul, embracing the full meaning of what he said. His thoughts had seemed of paramount importance to her. When she was with you, she was really with you.

  Her expression turned quizzical because he had opened his mouth to speak and nothing had come out. He’d been staring….

  “Do I look that different to you?” she asked.

  “No. I mean, sure … you look … all grown up.”

  She reached over and playfully touched his arm. “Do you remember …” and then she smiled enthusiastically again, as if winding up a memory that had just tickled her. “Do you remember when we watched the The Wizard of Oz at your house? And I was too scared to walk home? I only lived next door, for pete’s sake!”

  For pete’s sake? Andy thought, laughing out loud. There she is again. “I watched you walk home from my door, and you kept looking back. But, c’mon, I remember those monkeys. They were freaky!”

  “I was scared mostly by the witch,” Jessie said in a hush, as if she were admitting a deep and dark secret. “But it was the monkeys that pushed me over the edge. Do you remember what happened the next day?”

  “Oh no …”

  “What?” She laughed.

  Andy shrugged and winced humorously.

  Jessie finished, “I waited for half an hour by the flagpole and you never came out.”

  “I think I remember… .”

  “I started walking home alone, and all I could think of was you’d stood me up. I was crushed! And then—”

  Andy grinned. “Oh yeah … I jumped out from behind Mr. Burgard’s bushes—”

  “I was so scared and so relieved all at the same time.”

  “You were relieved?”

  “Sure … but mostly mad.”

  “I remember the mad part. I jumped out and said—”

  “There you are my little pretty!” Jessie squealed. She was laughing again, leaning back in her chair, holding her sides.

  Andy could barely contain himself. “I still remember you yelling at me. ‘How could you do such a thing? Didn’t your mother teach you better manners? Is this how best friends treat each other?’ I had never seen you so mad in my life. I mean—I always thought you liked to be scared. That’s what I couldn’t understand. How many times had we played practical jokes on each other? But this time, there was steam coming out of your ears.”

  “I wasn’t really that mad about the joke,” Jessie said, her voice softer now, her eyes meeting his. “It’s because when you left me waiting for you at the school I thought you’d forgotten me. I was glad that you hadn’t, but I was still mad. And I couldn’t admit to you why I was mad.”

  It’s really her, Andy thought again suddenly, as if there had been some doubt. He was aware of others in the room, and for a split second he wondered if they were listening, but he didn’t really care. “I remember thinking that no matter how bad the school day had been, you would be waiting for me, and even if everything had fallen apart, I kn
ew you’d listen. And understand. And if you didn’t, at least you’d pretend to.”

  Jessie beamed, almost proudly.

  “And I remember complaining constantly about school, all the way home, but you never made me feel stupid about it.”

  “I thought I was the one who complained,” she said.

  “So I forget … what happened after you yelled at me?”

  Jessie’s expression grew animated again. “I was ready to stomp off—all the while, of course, hoping you’d run after me.” She narrowed her eyes humorously. “But you didn’t!”

  Andy chuckled. “I remember now. I started melting instead.”

  “Just like the witch in The Wizard of Oz. I mean, I was already walking away when you started yelling, ‘I’m melting! I’m melting!”’ They were laughing again, and the memory seemed as clear as the day it happened. “I turned around and watched you slither to the ground, and then you tried to be as flat as paper, and then”—Jessie’s eyes danced with the memory—“you started flapping like a pancake, sizzling as if you were on a grill or something, and that was it. I fell apart. I couldn’t be mad at you anymore.”

  Their eyes locked again and they both laughed until they had tears in their eyes. Eventually Andy sighed, catching his breath, and his mouth hurt. Jessie sniffed and wiped her eyes. Andy reached for her arm, and he didn’t care how it would be perceived. He just had to touch her, if only briefly.

  They talked about unshared memories—junior high, senior high, college, new and old friends, how various current events had affected them … each passage of life leading to another until they were nearly caught up. Three hours had passed in no time, and neither had said a word about her parents, yet it seemed to be in the background of their conversation, coloring everything.

  Andy finally brought it up and then wished he hadn’t. “I’m sorry about what happened. Doesn’t seem fair that you moved away just when you really needed a friend.”

  It was almost a physical reaction—like a turtle retreating within its shell, or an aura of grayness falling over her. She even pulled back a little, and the expression in her eyes was pained, as if he’d actually hit her and she was pretending as hard as she could that it didn’t really hurt.