Homeward

by Melody Carlson

  “Pish-posh, Meggie. I wasn’t fishing for an apology. I’m beyond that sort of pettiness now.” Grandmother leaned her head back again, and Meg stared in amazement. She wasn’t prepared for this. Grandmother had always owned the role of enemy in Meg’s memory. Now she sounded almost gracious.

  “There’s so much you couldn’t begin to understand, Meggie. You were just too young. And you’re right; I wasn’t very nice to you that day, or even before then, for that matter. I know you always favored your grandpa, and he spoiled you rotten. He was always catering to you, feeding you sweets and whatnot. And I hounded you to get rid of that baby fat and to act like a lady. Oh, I thought I’d make something of you, Meggie. I was trying to make up for what I never did for Sunny. Looks like you didn’t need my help.” She sighed. “I never was much good at raising children. Oh, sure, I had fun with Bennie and Sunny when they were young, dressing them up, parading them about, but I never really knew how to be motherly. I’m sure Sunny told you all about that.”

  Actually, the only thing Meg recalled Sunny saying about her childhood was how she despised the small-town mentality of Crandale. Ironic that she should end up here.

  Grandmother was quiet, her eyes closed, and breathing heavily.

  “I think I’ve worn you out, Grandmother. I’d better let you rest,” she whispered. Grandmother nodded slightly, then opened her eyes again.

  “You’ve come home, Meggie,” she whispered. Meg reached out and touched Grandmother’s hand without answering. She didn’t want to lie to her grandmother, not on what might be her deathbed. But if Grandmother wanted to believe she’d come to stay, she wouldn’t say otherwise. At least not right now.

  Out on the beach, Meg walked and walked. For the first time in years, she gave no thought to the time of day, what she was doing, or where she was going. She just walked. Grandpa had loved walking the beaches. She used to walk with him, watching intently as he stooped to examine a shell, a landlocked crab, or whatever else the tide had dragged in. He’d always attached a story to these items of interest, explaining some of the mysteries of the sea and of life. She’d loved being with him and always felt a sense of awe around him. He was so big and strong, so wise. He could do anything, she believed. There wasn’t a piece of machinery he couldn’t take apart and put back together, better than new.

  Yet even as she thought about him with such reverence, she couldn’t recall him ever telling her anything personal about himself. He had never spoken of how he’d met Grandmother, his boyhood dreams, or even his grown-up aspirations or disappointments. Maybe he’d had none. To her he remained just Grandpa, frozen in time with his thick white hair and easy pace. He always wore the same hat—a gray tweed tam, yellowed with age. She remembered asking him once if he ever missed his son, Benjamin. Bennie had been ten years older than Sunny. He had died before Meg was born, killed in World War II. But Grandmother had kept a large photo of him on her bedroom dresser. Meg knew this sad event had greatly overshadowed their lives, and it seemed odd that no one ever spoke of him. She knew Bennie had left a widow and a son behind, but the wife lived in California, and the son—she couldn’t recall his name, but he would have to be at least fifty by now.

  Grandpa’s face had grown cloudy the time Meg mentioned Bennie, and she had instantly wished she hadn’t. She remembered him saying something like, “Some things just aren’t meant to be.” She had never known exactly what he’d meant, and she couldn’t understand why he didn’t regale her with stories about what she imagined to be her war-hero uncle in the same way he told her about the landlocked crab who needed to return to his family in the sea.

  The wind picked up, and Meg noticed that a dark bank of clouds had rolled in while she’d been reminiscing. She decided to turn back. She didn’t even know where she’d be sleeping tonight. She’d made no arrangements and really didn’t want to impose on Rosa, who surely had her hands full with Grandmother.

  Finally Meg spotted the old wooden steps set into the edge of the bluff that led up from the beach to Grandpa’s house. Just as she reached the top step, it started to pour. She raced to the shelter of the porch.

  “Nice car,” spoke an unfamiliar voice from the other side of the big wraparound porch. She looked up as a lanky teen stepped into view. He jerked his thumb in the direction of her car parked near what used to be the carriage house. “That your Jaguar?”

  “Yes. Who are you?”

  He extended his hand. “I’m Jason, and you must be my dad’s long-lost cousin Meggie. I guess that makes us like, second cousins, and some sort of once- or twice-removed. I never could figure that part out. Great-grandma tried to explain it once. Anyway, Rosa told me you were here. She was worried you were going to get caught in the rain.”

  “Really? You’re Bennie’s grandson? How amazing.”

  “Well, that’s one way of looking at it. My dad says he never even met you. Isn’t that totally weird? But Mom and Dad moved here right after Great-grandpa died—I guess that’s just after you ran off. I wasn’t born yet.”

  “So you’ve been living here in Crandale all these years?” Somehow, it didn’t seem quite possible that another relative, unknown to her, might inhabit these parts. She felt a sense of betrayal. Of course, that was ridiculous. She hadn’t cared enough to come back in all these years, so she could hardly claim any ownership to this house or the town.

  “Yep. I was born and raised here. Our house is down a ways on the bluff; you probably saw it from the beach. We used to run the cranberry business, but Dad’s been sort of getting out. He says it’s a lot of hard work without much payoff. He’s thinking about selling off the bog to a developer for a resort. He’ll probably tear down this old house, too.” He slapped his hand against the wobbly railing.

  Meg stared at him in disbelief. “Really? He’d actually tear down Grandpa’s house?”

  “You mean Great-grandma’s house. Yeah, the place is falling down anyway. It’d cost a fortune to fix. But I have to admit I’ll miss it some.”

  Meg nodded sadly. “Guess I’ll miss it some, too.”

  “I wouldn’t think you’d care. I mean, you haven’t been here in ages.”

  Meg swallowed the lump in her throat. She could think of nothing more to say to this boy who seemed to think little of tearing down this old house so full of childhood memories.

  “You think I could drive it?”

  “What?”

  “Your car. I never drove a Jag before. You think you’d let me drive it?”

  She studied him, noticing that although he had her same coloring, the fair skin with red hair and freckles, he looked nothing like her, or Grandpa, the one who had passed on those Lancaster traits.

  “Maybe. But not today. I need to go look up my sister.”

  “Erin? That’s right, she’d be your sister. Man, this is so weird. I just never think about Erin having a sister. I mean, it’s like you were just dead or something. Really weird.”

  “Yeah, I guess it is weird.” That seemed to describe it pretty well. “Could you let Rosa know I’m going over to Erin’s? I’ll be back tomorrow to visit with Grandmother some more.”

  “Okay. Maybe I can drive your car then.”

  Meg didn’t bother to answer as she dashed through the rain to her car.

  FOUR

  Meg wondered if Erin knew she was in town yet. She thought Sunny might have called her; that is, if they were on speaking terms. It seemed that for most of their lives, Sunny and Erin had been in some sort of feud. In fact, Sunny had always seemed to be at odds with someone.

  Meg pulled her address book from her purse and looked up her sister’s phone number. She turned on her car phone and dialed the number, waiting as the phone rang again and again. Didn’t Erin even have an answering machine? Meg studied the address. She thought she recalled where the road was located, but she didn’t remember any houses along it.

  Erin had mentioned in a Christmas card once that they lived in a small mobile home and it didn’t feel very homey at
Christmas. Meg tried now to envision Erin, her husband, Tom, and their little kids, but all she could imagine was poor white trash living in a run-down trailer. It wasn’t a pleasant thought. She knew that Tom worked in construction and that she had three nieces all under the age of ten. But she hadn’t kept very good track of them over the years. She was a pretty poor excuse for an aunt. She did know their names—Jennifer, Hannah, and Ashley—and she thought Jennifer was the oldest, but wasn’t sure about the other two.

  As she reached the top of a small rise, Meg saw a mailbox with their name: The Edwards Family. She turned down the drive until she came to a large two-story home. It was newly built, but the style was that of the Craftsman era, with a tall, steep-pitched roof, wide eaves, and handsome woodwork that appeared to be hand-done. The wraparound front porch reminded Meg of Grandpa’s house.

  Was this really where Erin lived? A carved sign on the porch answered her question. She was impressed; Erin and Tom had done well. The driveway made a nice loop that circled in front of the house, and Meg parked on the far side of the loop, then climbed out. She heard what sounded like a large dog barking, but no one answered her knock at the door. She climbed back into her car and studied the place. So this was Erin’s house. Nice green lawn, flowers blooming in well-tended beds. Who would have thought? Who would have ever thought.

  The last time she’d seen Erin was at the funeral. Erin had been in her early twenties then, and even though it was going out of fashion, Erin still clung tightly to her hippie roots. She’d been living in a commune, supposedly making pottery to sell at arts-and-crafts fairs. Meg remembered that she’d shown up at Grandpa’s funeral in a long black dress that looked as if it had been scavenged from someone’s attic, along with some clunky lace-up sandals.

  Funny how Grandmother had never gotten on Erin’s case like she did with Meg. But then Erin had always been the tall, slender, beautiful sister with her flashing dark eyes and straight black hair. She was dramatic and artistic; she could do no wrong. Even when she had joined the commune and taken her vow of poverty, which she obviously must have forsaken somewhere along the way, no one in the family had ever scorned her the way they had Meg. Erin had taken some art and theater classes in college, but eventually she’d dropped out. A college degree held little interest for a free spirit like her.

  It wasn’t that Meg had anything against Erin. Nothing more serious than sibling rivalry, anyway. In fact, when they were younger, they had always had great fun together, but then Erin had suddenly grown up while Meg remained a little girl. They had been living just off the university campus then, and Erin started mixing with the college crowd. The same thing had happened to Meg at that age, but when she was the younger child she couldn’t understand how it was that Erin had grown up so fast. But Meg had her compensation in the summers. When it was time to go to Crandale, Erin preferred staying with Sunny on campus and joining in the summer fun. Meanwhile, Meg got to stay at Grandpa’s house and had Grandpa’s attention all to herself. Of course, the drawback was having Grandmother’s scrutiny all to herself, as well.

  Now Erin had all this, too. It figured. Meg fought down the feeling of envy as she imagined the good life Erin and Tom enjoyed here in this beautiful home with their three darling daughters. This was just the sort of home Meg had imagined she and Jerred would share. Well, Meg had made her choices, or as Grandmother used to say, she’d “made her bed.”

  Meg noticed the garage door opening, and behind her a dark green Volvo wagon pulled into the driveway. She instantly recognized her sister’s face, but the three smaller heads were strangers to her. Her heart started racing. What would Erin think of her? Would she resent the lengthy absence, the lack of communication? The little girls poured out into the garage, each of them carrying grocery bags, the youngest leaving a trail of items behind her. Erin peered curiously at Meg’s car, probably wondering who this stranger might be. Meg took a deep breath and climbed out of the car.

  “Meggie!” Erin screamed. She threw her purse on the hood of the car and raced over. “Meggie, oh, my gosh, Meggie! Is it really you? Oh, Meggie, you’ve finally come to your senses and come home!” Erin hugged her tight and then held her at arm’s length. “I can’t believe it’s really you. You look terrific! You’re absolutely beautiful. This is so great. Girls, come here and meet your aunt Meggie.”

  Meg was smiling too. For the first time today, she felt like someone was truly glad to see her—no hoops to jump through, no strings attached. And she didn’t even mind being called Meggie. She met the girls. Jennifer, the oldest, was almost ten, with long dark hair and a striking resemblance to Erin as a young girl. Next was Hannah. At six, she had dark curly hair and a pixie face. Last was four-year-old Ashley, with red hair and freckles. The little girls clamored around, asking questions. “When did you get here, Aunt Meggie?” “Did Howard bark at you?” “How long are you staying?” “Do you have any kids, Aunt Meggie?”

  Erin laughed. “Why don’t we let her come inside and relax before we scare her away.” They all grabbed some groceries and carried them inside, where they began unloading them in the big country kitchen.

  “Erin, I can’t believe it. Your house is beautiful,” said Meg as they set the last bag upon the tile-topped counter.

  “I suppose you still remember my vow of poverty.” Erin laughed. Her big, boisterous laugh was just the same as when they were little. “Well, Tom eventually convinced me there was nothing wrong with living comfortably. Still, we do try to think of others who are less fortunate and help when we can. Tom’s very active in Habitat for Humanity—that’s a group of volunteers who help build houses for those who can’t afford much. But enough of that. Tell me about you. When did you get here? Where are you staying, and for how long?”

  “Okay, slow down. I got here this morning around ten. I saw Sunny and Grandmother. I think I’ll find a motel—”

  “No way! My sister is not staying in a motel. You will stay here, in our guest room. I insist.”

  “I don’t want to impose—”

  “Good grief! I haven’t seen you for two decades, and you’re worrying about imposing. Meggie, what is wrong with you?” Somehow the way Erin said it sounded like she really wondered. Meg wondered herself. What was wrong with her? How could she have been so stupid, to cut off her own flesh and blood the way she’d done all these years? She felt tears coming again.

  “I don’t know, Erin.”

  “Meggie, I’m sorry. I’m just so glad you’re here. Don’t mind me. You know I always say whatever comes to mind. Not like you. You were always the quiet one. Not that I blame you. I would have done the same if I’d been you.”

  Meg looked at her sister. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, you know. It seemed like you were always the scapegoat; they were always picking at you—trying to change you and everything. Usually you were pretty quiet about it. At least until the big blowout after Grandpa’s funeral. I was pretty strung out that day, but I can still see you in the front room screaming at the two of them. Your face was literally crimson, Meggie.” She chuckled, and Meg, for the life of her, tried to see the humor. If only she could laugh too; maybe that would make it all better.

  Erin continued. “Grandmother was huffing and puffing like she was just about to explode, and Sunny—“She paused. “Well, we all knew Sunny, as usual, had overimbibed. But you just kept going and going, laying into both of them about how they had killed Grandpa. I wanted to clap—” Erin suddenly stopped. “I’m sorry, Meggie. You probably don’t want to talk about all that.” She started unpacking groceries. “I’m so glad you’re here. I guess I got carried away.”

  “Well, it may have been amusing for a spectator, but do you remember what they said to me?”

  “Wasn’t it their usual diatribe? I think my memory is sort of fuzzy about the rest. Besides, I’ve heard Sunny’s and Grandmother’s versions so much, it all gets rather muddled. You know, I don’t think I ever heard your version.”

  Meg had bee
n trying to help by handing Erin things to put away, but she didn’t know her way around a kitchen, and kept getting in the way. Finally she pulled up a bar stool and sat down. She watched as Erin quickly shoved things here and there, chattering as she did. She could hear the girls arguing in the den, where Erin had sent them to watch a video.

  Erin shoved the last box of cornflakes into the big pantry and turned. “So tell me, Meggie, what is your version?”

  Meg tried to think of where to start, how to condense it, and how not to get upset in the telling of it. “Well, when I heard Grandpa had died, I felt like the only person in the world who had ever really cared about me was gone.”

  Erin frowned. “I cared. I was just too much of a mess to be any help.”

  “No offense, Erin, but you know we hadn’t been close for years. Plus you’d been off in your artsy commune. You seemed pretty checked out. Then Sunny, as usual, was in her own world. Anyway, you know how things were at home, and after I quit high school, Sunny wouldn’t even speak to me.”

  Erin nodded and poured them each a glass of soda. “Well, you must admit, Sunny was pretty miffed when I dropped out of college. Your quitting high school was just a bit too much for the college professor.”

  “I know, but I was already getting my GED, and high school seemed so juvenile at the time. They treated us like babies. Besides, I’d sorted that all out with Grandpa that summer. He’d offered to pay all my college tuition if I would get in and stick to it.”

  “Oh, I remember now. But Grandmother had never heard about any of that, and she thought you’d broken Grandpa’s heart with your wild and rebellious ways.” Erin drew the back of her hand across her forehead in her old dramatic way.