Homecoming

by Janet Wellington

  She’d gleaned little bits from other people about his father—that he was thought of as the town drunk, how he made men’s lives miserable as the foreman of the small factory outside of town. Not much else. Jake had managed to be pretty tight-lipped about his family history. No one knew details. All she’d really known was that he lived with his father and how much he’d hated him. He’d kept Tillie a secret too, and she couldn’t help but wonder what else.

  Cory settled on her stool and leaned her shoulder against the wall to wait, knowing Jake would take a few minutes to gather his thoughts to prevent them from coming out in a jumble of disconnected sentences.

  “You really want to hear this?” he asked.

  “Yes, I do.”

  He took a deep breath and began. “My mom and I left Faythe when I was five,” he began. “She divorced my old man and said she wanted to make a new start away from Faythe. Tillie encouraged her to make a clean break and even helped her with the divorce. My old man never forgave Tillie for that. We lived in Milwaukee for a while.” He continued to shuffle through the photos as he talked, avoiding eye contact with her.

  “How did she manage?”

  “She worked graveyard shift somewhere—I don’t remember where. I have a vague memory of being home alone at night with the door locked five different ways and the landlady’s phone number taped to the telephone.”

  “She must have cared enough about you to leave him.”

  “She’d married my old man right out of high school, against her father’s wishes and Tillie’s. Her own mother was dead by then, and her dad had had an accident at the plant. He never recovered fully and died of pneumonia complications a year after she married.”

  “You’re an only child, right?”

  “Tillie told me once that my mom had had a few miscarriages before I came along. And I overheard my mom telling someone that when she was pregnant with me, my old man had given her a hard time because she stayed in bed pretty much during the whole pregnancy.”

  “She really wanted you.”

  “I never doubted that for a minute; she was a good mother.”

  “But then you moved back to Faythe?”

  “She got sick in Milwaukee. I remember she seemed so pale and thin; she got weaker and weaker, then finally went to the doctor. She died of ovarian cancer when I was ten. And I got sent back to Faythe to live with my old man. By then I didn’t even know him. It was like moving in with a stranger. I guess I looked like her, blond at least, so I figured he saw her when he looked at me and that was part of why he hated me.”

  Cory sucked in a quick breath. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to talk about his past. She forced her eyes open wide hoping to dry out the tears that had developed while he’d been talking, knowing she needed to keep her cool with Jake or he’d stop altogether. “What about your dad now?”

  “The lady at The Java Hut told me he’s got Alzheimer’s and he’s at a board and care home here in town.”

  “You going to see him?”

  His brows pulled together in an angry frown and he visibly stiffened. “He disowned me thirteen years ago. Just because I came back for Tillie doesn’t mean I need to see him.”

  Cory nodded, letting him simmer down for a few moments before she continued. “So, how did Tillie get back in the picture when you were young?”

  Jake’s face brightened and a devilish look came into his eyes. “The day after school let out that first year, she showed up at the door and said she wanted to speak to my old man. She sort of looked familiar, but I didn’t really remember her from when I was younger or from my mom’s funeral service. She and my old man had a talk in the kitchen while I waited outside on the porch. Then she came out, took me by the hand, and said I’d be staying with her for the summer.”

  “She rescued you.”

  “Oh, yeah. I stayed with her every summer until I turned fifteen. That’s when my old man set me up with a summer job and the lazy days of summer were over.”

  “What was she like then?”

  “Amazing. And I never missed that she had no television or no phone. We were always busy making things, going on little trips to the lake—here, look at this.”

  Jake handed her a sketchbook. She opened it to find pencil drawings of birds and flowers, and Tillie’s house drawn from the perspective of above it—from a tree, maybe? Then she flipped a few pages and stopped at a pretty decent drawing of a kitten, filled in with colored pencils. A long-haired orange kitten. “Max?”

  “Not bad, huh?”

  “How old were you when you drew this?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “That would make Max pushing twenty. I knew he was old, but I had no idea...” She found more drawings of cats and some landscapes and seascapes. The last drawing in the book was a charcoal of a young man’s face—but obviously not Jake’s. “Did you do this one?” She held up the drawing for him to see.

  “No, I don’t remember ever seeing that one. Maybe Tillie did it. She’s the one who taught me to draw.”

  Cory ran her finger tip along the young man’s darkened hair. There was something in his eyes that seemed haunted, maybe a little bit lonely. She’d take the drawing to town with her later, maybe find a mat and a frame for it. There was a space on the wall in the parlor that needed a little something.

  She looked up to see Jake flipping through another box of photos. “You were lucky to have Tillie in your life.”

  “I know.”

  “You never mentioned her to me...when we knew each other...before.”

  “And I don’t know why. She was this sort of secret part of my life back then, the only good part. I was so used to hiding my visits to her from my old man, I think I just got used to hiding it from everyone.”

  “You were pretty reserved about personal stuff. I used to wonder what your charm might be hiding from me.”

  Jake looked up and held up his high school annual, and out of it he pulled an 8x10 photo—her senior picture.

  “Give me that—” Cory leaned forward to reach for the photo and he pulled it away at the last second so that she toppled against him, her open hand landing on his chest. He reached up with his free hand to encircle her wrist, holding it gently against him. His blue eyes searched her face as though he were reaching into her thoughts.

  Then his face split into a wide grin. “Aw, you were cute,” he teased, still holding the photo out of reach.

  Cory regained her footing and reached for his wrist, holding it so she could get the picture. When she stepped away from him to sit back on the stool, she was breathless from the playful struggle, and breathless from the smell of him; a clean, soapy smell with a hint of citrus cologne. She forced her attention to the photo.

  Her hairstyle then was soft curls all over her head; she remembered conditioning it for an hour to try to get it tamed down before she went to the photo shoot. It looked acceptable, she decided, just so different. She hardly remembered even being the girl whose serious eyes looked back at her.

  “I liked it then,” he said, “but the way you wear it now seems to suit you too.”

  “What?” She looked up at him.

  “Your hair.”

  She unconsciously reached a hand up to smooth away a strand that tickled her forehead. “We’ve switched,” she added. “I liked yours long.”

  “Not corporate enough.”

  “So, what is it that keeps you busy in Chicago?” She kept the question vague, wondering if he would talk about his personal life, or take the safe route and talk about his professional life. She’d bet the latter.

  “I work for a company called Think Tank—they’re a big advertising agency downtown. I’m competing for the vice-president position.”

  “I can see you in that environment. Your brain works so fast; you’re a natural for thinking ‘outside the box’ and all that. You were always good at it in school. Remember when you came up with that crazy idea for our last project and we won that silly competition?” She smiled. They
’d been good together.

  “We were a good team.”

  Cory tipped her head, then decided it was as good a time as any to ask him what had been troubling her since the moment he’d showed up, back in Faythe, and back in her life. “What happened to us?” A simple question, but she had the feeling the answer wouldn’t be.

  “You’re going to make me talk about this too, aren’t you.” It was more a statement than a question. Jake let out a sigh, then looked pretty resigned to the idea that she probably wasn’t giving him much choice.

  “It just might make things...easier...if we cleared the air,” she said.

  “Do you remember when we met in the park the night before graduation?”

  She nodded and felt instant heat in her cheeks, a heat that made its way lower until it pooled low in her stomach. She’d planned to seduce him that night; she’d worn painted-on-tight black jeans, a sheer blouse, and a lacy-as-sin black bra she’d ordered from a Victoria’s Secret catalog. She’d felt him pulling away for a while, emotionally, and she thought maybe he was tired of...waiting. She’d even been prepared, taking a condom out of her brother’s underwear drawer.

  “That night I told you I had to leave town.”

  “But you wouldn’t say why.” They’d argued, then, instead of making love. She’d regretted it for a long time. But anger had been stronger than regret, and she had finally been able to lift herself out of the depression that had filled her summer. Her father had kept insisting over and over that it was for the best; her mom had simply comforted her.

  “I couldn’t tell you the whole truth.”

  “So tell me now.”

  “My old man had gotten me a job at the factory. I was supposed to start the next day. I was even going to miss graduation. He and I had argued all month before that. We almost came to blows once, but he was so drunk I wouldn’t fight him. I told him I didn’t want the job and that I was thinking of going to Chicago. He said if I did, to never come back.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I thought you might try to talk me into either staying or taking you with me. And your parents and you wanted you to go to college. My grades were crap. College wasn’t going to work for me. What was I going to do? I knew people like me who stayed in Faythe ended up working in the factory. Deep down I knew your parents only tolerated me because they knew you’d end up somewhere else and I’d end up staying in Hicksville. No matter what, I knew it wouldn’t work, Cory, so I decided to make it easier by leaving quick. No long good-byes.”

  She remembered his eyes that night. The impassive coldness he’d tried to portray had been a poor act. To her he had looked just plain scared; a little like he looked now.

  He cleared his throat as if trying to compose himself. “We had a good thing, that last year. And between you and Tillie, I found the strength to leave. And my leaving freed you up to go to that college you wanted to go to, freed you to find someone...better suited, right?

  “It helps to know why you left.” This time it was Cory’s turn to be evasive. She wasn’t ready to talk about Ed and what had happened to her, what an idiot she’d been. There would be another time for digging into those memories, and she would choose it, if it happened at all. She ignored Jake’s query and instead gingerly tore the charcoal drawing of the young man out of the sketch book. “I’m going to town—you need anything?”

  “No. I thought I’d try to keep sorting through these boxes and you can decide if it’s anything we should keep for the house or give away.”

  His tone was one of relief and such sweetness that she had to fight a powerful urge to go to him and wrap her arms around his neck the way she used to...when he would let her...when no one was watching. But, she needed to leave the past alone too. He’d made a good life for himself, and her sentimental trip down memory lane would only serve to stir things up that would just dead-end anyway.

  Jake was clearly there for three months only. Period. That was it. Then he would return to his big job in the city, which obviously was all that he needed, all that he cared about.

  She was glad she had some errands to run and, besides, she also needed to see if she could find out more about Sara. The grapevine had said she’d had the baby the day after she’d seen her at the library and she was out of town, staying with her mother-in-law. She’d go into town, treat herself to a malt at the soda fountain and ask Peggy if she knew when Sara would be home. Then she’d drop off the drawing at the art gallery on her way and, with any luck, it would be on the wall before dinner. She had plenty to keep her busy and off the path to old times.

  ***

  Jake held Cory’s graduation picture in his hand, surprised it had survived. He remembered bringing his annual over to Tillie’s for safe keeping, but figured she’d probably thrown it out. He stared at Cory’s face. Clearly she had no idea how beautiful she was then—or now. Her skin was still as silky soft as he remembered, her hair still a warm reddish brown that changed with the light like sunshine dancing on a polished cherrywood table. But it was her eyes staring back at him from the photo that haunted him; her always serious eyes of liquid dark chocolate. He was on a slippery slope and felt dangerously close to giving in to his all-too-often urges to lose his hands in her long hair and pull her lips to his.

  He could kick himself for spilling so much in one sitting. What was he thinking? He rubbed his stomach, his gut aching from the memories she’d helped him stir up. She had always been good at getting him to talk.

  He needed to be careful. She could still be vulnerable from her divorce. Her eyes had been unable to hide the hurt that showed when he’d hinted about her finding someone. He’d let it go for now, ask again another time about how she’d ended up alone.

  She seemed happy enough in Faythe; she was much more adapted to small town life. Even when he was young he’d found things much too slow. And the moment he’d arrived in Chicago he’d felt comfortable with the fast pace. He liked juggling projects and meetings and climbing his way up the corporate ladder. It suited him, and sometimes he found himself thriving on the everyday tension and pressure. Marriage and family just wasn’t in his genes, and he felt better admitting it than trying to pretend he was someone he couldn’t be.

  Now all Cory needed was to find a guy who could give her everything she wanted and deserved: a family, a house, and a white picket fence. A real home. He remembered her talking about how much her family had moved. She’d gone to a different school every year until they’d moved to Faythe, she’d said. Being there for two consecutive years in high school had been a record for her.

  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 or
der 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.”