Homecoming

by Janet Wellington

  “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?”

  “Someone younger, prettier, richer.”

  “Just like that.”

  “Just like that. He moved to Los Angeles, in fact, the day the divorce was final. I was glad, in a way. I guess I knew I wasn’t...content. But, for a long time I thought we had a good thing going. I was wrong...stupid—”

  “No,” he interrupted, taking one of her hands in his. “Naive, maybe...fooled, maybe. He just wasn’t the right one for you, Cory. You’ll find the right guy, and you’ll know it when you do. Tell me about nursing. By the sounds of it, it must be a good fit for you.”

  Relieved at the change of subject, Cory recounted her love for her profession; that she’d thrived for a while in the fast pace of the ER, then worked to specialize in palliative and end-of-life care. He listened intently, asking lots of intelligent and probing questions. He seemed pleased to know she was able to bring relief and comfort to Tillie’s last days, that his great-aunt had been safer and more comfortable with her there.

  When the record was over, this time it was Jake who pulled the needle up and flipped through the box of records on the floor.

  “This one,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at her. “And this time, you will meet me on the dance floor, madam.”

  Cory shook her head, but could see he wasn’t going to let her off so easily. So, she’d step on his feet a few times and prove to him she was no Paula Abdul, or, in this case, Ginger Rogers.

  There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats.

  Albert Schweitzer

  Chapter 6

  “I’m giving you a final warning, Jake Randall, that I was born with two left feet. Any bruising of toes will not be on my conscience.” She stayed in her spot on the couch, looking up at him when he returned to her.

  “You must have danced at your own wedding, Cory. What’s the big deal?”

  “Actually...no.” She looked away from him for a moment, then looked back, holding his gaze. “There wasn’t time to plan a big wedding. We were both so busy; Ed was studying all the time and I couldn’t get much time off work.”

  “Courthouse wedding?” He knew so little about her “Ed” but he disliked him more and more.

  “We got married in the campus chapel.” She tilted her chin up in defiance, showing him that—at least on the surface—she didn’t care.

  He was in sensitive territory. Sacred female territory. “Still, it must have been...nice.”

  Her eyes darkened before she spoke, as though she were considering whether she was going to take the conversation further or run for cover.

  “It was fine. The expense of a big wedding didn’t fit our budget at the time.”

  “Tell me you at least took time off for a honeymoon.”

  Her lips flattened into a thin line. “We were going to take a trip after he passed the bar, but...”

  He watched as her eyes moistened, just a little. “Tahiti, like you always wanted?” He remembered a long ago conversation of places they’d each dreamed of going—she’d dreamed of island paradises while he leaned more toward primitive places, Alaska or the Australian outback.

  A sad smile formed, and she shook her head no. “One night at Lake Geneva in a cabin that belonged to a friend. It was a disaster. When we walked in—”

  “Wait...no carrying you over the threshold? Didn’t this guy understand tradition? A pox on both his houses!”

  She rewarded him with a laugh and dancing eyes, looking as if a little bit of the pressure had been relieved.

  “As I was saying, when we walked in there was a dreadful smell. We found a dead squirrel in the middle of the bed upstairs. I should have seen it as a sign.”

  Shaking his head in disbelief, he took a seat next to her. “Not a good start to any marriage. Regrets?”

  “Just about not seeing the writing on the wall until the letters were two feet high. I don’t know...it seemed like things were okay. I was working a lot of hours. For a while, I thought it was my fault. I was never there—”

  “No. It takes two people working hard at a marriage to make it work.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Like I said before, he just wasn’t the right one. Now you’re a woman in the prime of your life who merely needs to learn to dance in order to lure a prince to your arms. Follow me.” As soon as Jake said the words and saw the flare in Cory’s eyes, he wished he’d chosen different ones. He kept his own expression neutral, wondering if she had any idea how much her eyes revealed her emotions, now more than ever.

  After she’d stood, he reached for her left hand and placed it on his shoulder, then wrapped his arm around her, putting his hand high on her back so their embrace was just close enough but not too intimate. Her touch on him was light, barely even there. What was she afraid of? It was true they’d never shared a dance, even in their youth, but, by the tremble he felt run through her body, she seemed terrified. Of the dance...or him?

  “Okay,” he said, dropping his hand away from her and forcing their bodies apart. “Why don’t we concentrate on the rhythm first.”

  She nodded, relief shining in her eyes.

  “Listen for the beats. One...two...one-two. Slow, slow, quick-quick. Hear it?” He watched as she closed her eyes, tipped her head and listened to the music. He studied her face. There hadn’t been many opportunities so far; each time she’d caught him staring at her, her brows would knit together and he’d felt a fool. Now, he took his time.

  Her long lashes fluttered above flushed cheeks and he realized, now that she didn’t wear glasses, her eyes had become his favorite feature. With no lenses to hide behind, her serious brown eyes drew him to her. In the rare moments she did let her guard down, her eyes sparkled. But mostly, she always seemed to be deep in thought, and circumspect. The walls she’d constructed were high, but he was confident there was a way through. But when had it become so important for him to find a way through the barriers she’d built?

  Cory’s hair began to swing as she moved to the music and he wanted to reach out and run his fingers through the long reddish-brown waves so different than the cropped curls of her youth. No. The silk of her hair belong
ed to whoever would steal her heart. Was that someone living in Faythe, just waiting to meet her?

  As his fingers neared her hair, he saw her eyelids flutter. Quickly he dropped his hand, furious with himself for letting the music and the moment carry him away. He was just going to teach her a few swing dance steps. That was it.

  “Okay, I hear it. What’s next?”

  “Watch my feet.” He demonstrated for her until she began to mimic his steps with faltering steps of her own. Her hair hung forward and hid her face as she concentrated on her feet.

  Before she could protest, he took each of her hands in his own, keeping some space between them as he encouraged her to move around the floor just a little. All the while she kept her gaze downward. The lamplight in the small parlor bounced off her shiny hair like crimson sunbeams. He leaned his head just a little closer in, close enough to smell her flowery scent. Jeez—what did she do to smell so good, bathe in lilacs?

  “I’m getting it, aren’t I?” She lifted her head and promptly bumped against his chin. “Sorry—”

  “No, my fault. But you’re feet are no longer your only lethal weapons, I’m sad to say.” He ignored her as she rolled her eyes, easing her left hand to his shoulder and finding a place for his hand high on her back. It felt wonderful. Too wonderful. She stumbled a little just as the thought completed itself in his own head, about the same time the record ended.

  “I’ll put another one on before your feet forget what to do,” he said, throwing a grin her way.

  Cory jammed a strand of hair behind her ears, then fanned her face with her hand. Was it getting hotter? Maybe it was just the increased humidity that had come with the storm.

  “This is another slower one, so it will be good to practice to.”

  Before she could object she was back in his arms and counting steps in her head, focusing her attention on her feet instead of the warmth of his hand on her back.

  The next song was a more simple rhythm and they slipped into a normal slow dance, and she felt much more confident just moving her feet back and forth, following his lead.