Done.
Time to go to work and kick some Rod-butt. There he was comfortable; things made sense. There he had a solid, predictable future. And he was good at what he did.
It would just have to be enough.
***
When Cory tried to tip the driver he explained Mr. Randall had already taken care of him. He placed her bags inside the front door of Tillie’s house, touched the brim of his hat, and walked back to the black sedan for the return trip to Chicago.
She closed the door after him and leaned against it, glad to have left the hustle of the city behind her. Glad to be home. Chicago would always be a nice place to visit, she’d thought as the driver had deftly woven through traffic getting out of the city. But now that she was home, it was clear more than ever that now her heart belonged in Faythe.
Meow.
Max sat in the middle of the hallway and looked at her.
“He’s not here,” she said, squatting down to the floor. The orange cat approached and flopped down in front of her feet, rolling over so she would rub his stomach. Winston appeared next in the parlor doorway, rubbing his cheek against the wood.
“You guys do okay while we were gone?” We. She shook her head as a long sigh escaped. Not we.
She spent the morning cleaning cat boxes and refilling food and water dishes. No obvious signs of mischief or problems and it looked like the cats had gotten along fine without them—her, she corrected.
The sound of her own bustling about the house soon proved more annoying than comforting. First she tried putting on a record, but it only reminded her of Jake. She cut some flowers from the yard and arranged them in a cobalt blue vase, then was reminded there was no one to admire them but herself.
“I will not mope around this house wondering what he’s doing,” she told Leona as the kitten immediately jumped into her open suitcase and buried herself under the clothes. Cory shooed out the kitten and unpacked her bag, then hung her dress in the closet as far to the right side as she could. She didn’t want to see even a scrap of the pale lavender-colored material.
At least for a while. She felt too tender.
***
It had been two days and Jake still hadn’t come home. But Faythe isn’t his home. She forced the logical thought. This—and everything here—is only temporary for him.
With everything on the day’s list completed and the long evening looming ahead of her, Cory grabbed a stack of unread books to return to the library. If she hurried, she could call Sara from there before the library closed, and maybe talk her way into a last minute dinner invitation.
***
Sara opened the front door, and handed a crying Molly to her. “I’m so glad you’re here—I think she’s got a tummy ache or something. I ate some shrimp then nursed her...you think she’s allergic?”
Cory shifted the baby to her shoulder and began patting her little back in tiny circles, then followed Sara into the kitchen.
Sara stood at the sink as she filled the teakettle with water. “All I want is to sit for five peaceful minutes and drink some tea. Want some?” She turned to look at Cory.
“I’m fine. Should we order in?” The kitchen was a mess. Every dish seemed dirty and stacked in the sink along with an assortment of crusty pots and pans and a myriad of cups and glasses.
Sara put the kettle on to boil. “Ted’s been out of town and she just can’t seem to settle down. She’s still not sleeping through the night so every time she naps, I nap. Look at this place,” Sara’s eyes filled with tears.
Molly’s sobs dwindled and she hiccuped softly, her breathing ragged. Cory took a pacifier from the table and wiggled it into the baby’s mouth. With a sigh, Molly began to suck, dropping her damp head against Cory’s shoulder.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Sara’s face brightened a little.
“Sit down and have your tea,” Cory whispered. “We’ll call for pizza and I’ll try to put her down. Then I’ll help you clean up after you rest a while.”
Sara smiled and made herself a cup of tea, finally sitting at the table, propping her feet up on an empty chair. “Wait a minute,” she said as her eyes scrutinized her. A grin appeared and she added, “You slept with him, didn’t you?”
Could her friend really see something in her face? “Now, Sara—”
“How are you doing?”
“Fine. We made a deal.”
“About what?”
“One night. No strings.”
“Whoa...back up. First tell me about the gala and your dress.”
“The dress was a hit; you should have seen his face when I walked in.”
“Oh, tell me everything before I swoon!” Her voice sounded more like a lovesick teenager than a new mom.
She gave Sara a filtered version of the evening leaving out details about making love with Jake, then moved the dozing Molly into the bassinet Sara had placed in the living room. They attacked the kitchen together and had the dishwasher loaded and pots soaking by the time the pizza arrived.
“So, what are you going to do?” Sara asked, putting slices of pizza onto paper plates.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m assuming you left out how absolutely great he was in bed, and how now you’re trying to figure out how you can live without him.”
“Jeez, Sara.” She shot her friend her best “leave it alone” glare. “We had a deal. It’s over.”
“Hah. Your eyes give you away every time, girl. He’s probably seen it in them too which is why he hasn’t left Chicago yet.”
Cory looked away. Sara was probably right. “He seems so different to me now. The award ceremony was incredible—the things Daniel said about him... I think he might have even believed him at least a little—he had an incredible impact on that young man. Jake’s nothing like his father; he’s fair, attentive, creative, thinks things through—”
“Cory. Maybe it’s not that Jake seems different...maybe he really is different. Maybe you’re no longer dealing with the same man you started with.”
She considered Sara’s words carefully. Had he changed? Was it possible? She shook her head. “No,” Cory whispered. “He’s the same; it’s me who felt something and I’m just going to have to get over it.”
“Well, you did it once—”
“And I’ll do it again,” she finished and offered Sara a brave smile.
The cat has too much spirit to have no heart.
Ernest Menaul
Chapter 13
After Jake had left Cory in his apartment, he’d successfully crashed the meeting and set Rod straight. The weasel had been flustered, back pedaling the best he could about his tampering with the Stuart account, and Jake had backed off to give him just enough room to save face. Things would now safely wait for another three weeks. His secretary was due back on Monday and very soon his life would return to its normal, regimented routine.
If he could ever stop thinking about Cory.
He’d finished his business by noon the first day, but had delayed his return to Faythe. He’d moped around the apartment, watched old movies on television, tried to work out at the gym in the building, a hundred different paths of activity that led nowhere fast. Nothing held his attention more than a few minutes, hard as he tried.
He’d spent the second day in bed, assuming he was coming down with something, later admitting to himself he merely wanted to put his nose to the pillow that still held her lovely scent. He wanted to remember it forever; a delicious mixture of her subtle lilac fragrance and the mingle of both their bodies’ aroma of love making.
It was intoxicating.
After two more days, he finally managed to talk some sense into himself. He found his car keys in the spot where he’d thrown them during a midnight fit of self-loathing, left his apartment, and pointed his car north.
Now he was sitting at The Java Hut, sipping on a cappuccino and hoping for some liquid courage before driving to Tillie’s.
The bell tinkled the ar
rival of a new customer and Jake looked up to see Mr. Foster walk into the coffee shop.
“Ellie, I’ll have a large house coffee, black.” Then he looked toward Jake’s table. “Care for some company, son?”
Perfect. A nice excuse to delay his confrontation with Cory. “Been saving you a seat,” he said, kicking out a chair with his foot.
Foster walked over with the large mug in one hand. “Too hot for hot coffee, but I just never developed a taste for it iced. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I was in the city for a few days. Business.”
“You and Cory about done with Tillie’s house?”
“Couple more weeks should do it.”
“So, was I right about you and her working well together, even after all these years?”
“She’s quite the slave driver.”
“She always was the organized one, but she had a real hard time having fun in school. You were a good balance for her, Jake. Her brains and your creativity...it was a good mix. I knew about your learning problems, too, son.”
Jake’s mind refused to register the significance of the words. “You knew what?”
“This school district wasn’t the best for testing and diagnosing back in those days. I’d done some reading on my own, though. You’d managed to survive your whole school career, so I figured you’d make it okay no matter what. But I knew Cory would fill in all the parts that were hard for you. I was right, wasn’t I?”
“Yeah, you were.” And she’s still filling in the missing parts.
“You two were my favorites, did you know that or did I keep it hidden well enough?”
Favorites? Jake had learned early how to charm his way through school, but he’d never pegged any teacher for really liking him when his grades were always in the toilet and he was truant so much.
“Things going better for you now? At your job, I mean.”
“I’ve got it made. I’ve got an assistant that I keep giving raises to so she’ll never be tempted to leave me. She takes care of a lot of the details so I don’t get buried in paperwork on a daily basis. That allows me to do the things that I do to make the company shine.”
“All you ever needed, Jake, was a support system. I know Tillie provided that for a while. Your dad, well, he couldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t,” Jake corrected.
“Okay, wouldn’t.”
Jake watched his old teacher finish his coffee, amazed that he’d had to come back to Faythe to finally get a handle on his learning disability, and realize other people had known he’d needed help. He’d worked so hard to keep himself shielded, keeping his shortcomings hidden or at least give the impression he didn’t care about school.
But he had. He’d gotten sick to his stomach hearing all the other kids talk about their plans for college and the degrees they’d be getting. Something he’d never have, but wanted desperately. He’d never let on that he much he’d hated his inability to read well enough to even attempt furthering his education.
“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.
Homecoming Page 15
