Homeward

by Melody Carlson

  “This is Mommy and Daddy’s room.” Ashley opened the door at the other end of the hall and walked in. Meg heard the shower running but decided a quick look around the bedroom wouldn’t hurt—after all, Ashley was the one giving the tour. Situated above the triple-car garage, the room was spacious and beautiful with vaulted ceilings and lots of windows. Almost everything was white and cream, with just a few touches of color carefully placed here and there. Again the eye of the artist at work. Meg wondered how Erin kept everything so clean and white with Tom’s work in construction, but she had noticed the roomy bath next to the laundry room downstairs. She also wondered how they had managed to build such a home; it must have cost a fortune.

  Ashley then took Meg up a narrow back stairway behind the girls’ rooms to show her the playroom that had been created in the attic space. Its sloped low ceiling and little dormer windows made the perfect hideaway. And at last—a messy room! Clutter from toys and craft supplies was everywhere. Childish paintings were taped to the walls, many bearing Hannah’s name in big block letters. Hannah had definitely inherited her mother’s talent. Meg thought how lucky these girls were and how much she would have loved to have grown up in a beautiful home like this, with a mother and father who cared so dearly.

  “This is Jenny’s,” said Ashley as she knelt before a large Victorian dollhouse. It seemed the decorating was still in process; stacks of wallpaper and fabric were piled neatly on the floor beside it. “Jenny’s making it real pretty.” The awe showed plainly in Ashley’s voice as she peered inside with tiny hands tucked safely behind her back. “I’m not s’posed to touch anything.” Meg could feel every fiber of the child longing to handle it, to play with it, to have it for her very own. Meg could relate to Ashley’s feelings—she, too, was the outsider looking in.

  “What’s your favorite thing to play with?” asked Meg, hoping to distract Ashley from the forbidden dollhouse.

  “My bunnies.” Ashley stood and grinned. “Wanna see?”

  “Sure. Where are they?”

  Once again Ashley took Meg by the hand, this time leading her down two flights of stairs and then out behind the garden shed where a pair of rabbit hutches stood, with a wide roof overhang protecting them. Ashley carefully opened a wire door, reached in, and pulled out a brindled lop-eared rabbit.

  “This is Flopsy. Wanna hold her?”

  “How about if I just pet her?” Meg reached out gingerly and touched the rabbit. The fur was incredibly soft. She stroked Flopsy several times, and the rabbit seemed quite calm. For some reason she expected it to leap and run away.

  Before she realized what was happening, Ashley had slipped Flopsy into Meg’s hands, then turned and extracted the other bunny from its cage. Meg’s eyes grew wide as she stared at the rabbit cradled in her arm. Its tiny warm body twitched, and its nose sniffed her fingers curiously. Then it snuggled right into the crook of her elbow, and she was filled with an odd sense of pleasure as she held the little breathing creature.

  “And this is Peter.” Ashley held out a gray bunny for Meg to see. His eyes were black and bright, and his whiskers wiggled back and forth on his velvety nose.

  “I like your bunnies, Ashley. I can see why they’re your favorite.” After a while, they put the bunnies back, and Ashley carefully gave them fresh food and water. Ashley then showed Meg around the yard. Neat little gravel paths led to various parts of the yard: a vegetable garden, a gazebo, a big wooden swing set, and a little playhouse. Finally, Ashley stopped by what looked like a toolshed.

  “This is where Mommy works sometimes.” Ashley opened the door to reveal a potter’s shed. The pungent smell of clay and dust reminded Meg of childhood days when she used to tag along with Erin to pottery classes. Usually Erin would share a lump of clay, and sometimes, if there was a potter’s wheel free, Meg would try her hand at a pot. But she could never make clay do the things that Erin could; instead, she usually wound up with a lopsided, lumpy thing that served as yet another ashtray for Sunny. Even though she knew her sister was five years older and gifted in art, Meg always came away feeling like a failure.

  Now as she walked around Erin’s workroom, observing the crowded shelves, she was assaulted with the same feeling. There were all kinds of pots and dishes and tiles. All perfectly symmetrical and lovely. Some were glazed in rich shining colors; some plain-looking pieces were still waiting to be fired. A good-sized kiln was in the back of the shed, and judging by the dry warmth of the room, Meg suspected it was running. There were also a large wooden kick wheel and a smaller electric one. Meg could just imagine Erin in here, puttering around. Already, Ashley had climbed onto a stool and was playing with a piece of clay on the workbench.

  Meg walked over to another work area and examined a large project. Dozens of square clay tiles were laid in a line, and Meg knew enough about pottery to recognize the intricate design of glazes painted on the dull-looking tiles. They would be beautiful when fired. Behind them, some completed tiles were already stacked. The colors and patterns were stunning, and Meg recognized that they were similar to the ones she had seen in the kitchen and bathrooms.

  “Hey, what are you two doing in here?” called Erin.

  “I’m getting amazed by my sister’s talent,” replied Meg, holding up a finished tile in shades of russet, teal, and gold.

  “Oh, those aren’t anything much. I just make them for Tom’s houses.” Erin frowned down at Ashley’s now clay-smudged denim overalls. “Ashley, is that what you’re wearing to Brittany’s birthday party?”

  Ashley nodded, her chin sticking out.

  “Okay, but you’d better change your muddy shoes and wash your hands.” She turned to Meg. “Sunny called while you were outside. She asked for you to stop by the shop today. She wants to take you to lunch.”

  Meg groaned. “It’s so hard to be around her.”

  Erin nodded. “I know.”

  “But I should probably go anyway.”

  “If you’d rather go be with Sunny while I take Ashley to the party, I won’t mind.”

  “It’s not that I’d rather go. But maybe I should.”

  “Besides, we’ll have lots of time to visit later.” Erin checked the temperature on the kiln and turned. “You are going to stay with us for a while, aren’t you?”

  “Sure. I love it here, Erin. I can’t even begin to describe how wonderful it feels to be here. It’s like you’ve created your own little paradise.” Meg grinned.

  “Thanks. I know what you mean. Sometimes I feel kind of silly. I don’t mean to become obsessed with it, and it’s not as if I want to create heaven on earth, because I really do believe in heaven. But I just have this strong longing to provide my girls with something special. Something more…” Her voice drifted off.

  “I understand completely. And I think it’s great, Erin. I’m really proud of you. And as much as I hate to admit it, I’m probably just a little envious—”

  “Oh, Meg, you’ll probably have all this and more one day,” Erin interrupted. “That is, if you want it, I mean. I have a feeling that your coming here is God’s way of bringing you something much, much better.”

  Meg slowly shook her head. “I don’t know about that, but I sure hope you’re right, Erin. Because right now my life looks pretty bleak.”

  SEVEN

  Erin offered to drop Meg off on her way to delivering Ashley to the party, but Meg declined. As much as she enjoyed Erin’s company, she needed her own wheels under her right now.

  Instead of heading straight to town, she hopped on the freeway and drove north. She hoped this little drive might help clear her head a bit before her meeting with Sunny. The rain had finally stopped, but the world was still soggy and gray. The hissing of the wet pavement beneath the tires sounded almost musical, and being behind the wheel gave her a feeling of power.

  She parked the car on a high viewpoint that looked out over the sea. Even with the gray clouds, the ocean provided a beautiful sight, ever changing with the weather and the season. It was
a sight she never tired of. She opened her window and breathed in the fresh, cool air, hoping to absorb some measure of strength from it before she went to see Sunny today. That smell was like nothing else on earth. Part salt, part vegetation—an odd mixture of freshness and decay. Almost like life and death mixed together.

  Meg finally pulled into town about half past noon. She stopped by the gallery as Sunny had suggested, and Sigfried told her that Sunny would meet her at the Beach House for lunch at one o’clock, if that was okay. Meg told him that was fine with her, and he turned back to his art magazine behind the counter. She decided to stroll through the gallery again. She had missed so much yesterday; without the distraction of Sunny, she would be able to study the pieces more carefully. Now she noticed the wonderful collection of myrtlewood carvings and several pieces of Erin’s pottery, prominently displayed on a center table. Meg wondered if Sunny charged Erin a commission.

  “So, are you going to be in town for long?” Meg turned to see Sigfried standing just a few feet away, his arms folded tightly across his chest. He looked as if he were mentally measuring her up, as if he didn’t quite approve of Sunny’s “prodigal daughter.”

  “I don’t really know.” She set down the pottery vase and returned his gaze. What did he want from her?

  “Well, you certainly took Sunny by surprise.”

  Meg nodded absently. He puckered his mouth and rubbed his chin, still examining her in that calculating way.

  “You know,” he began slowly, “Sunny doesn’t need a lot of stress right now.” His eyes met hers evenly, almost like a challenge.

  “Who does?” she answered coolly, resenting his interference. Just who was this guy to Sunny anyway? And what did he think she planned to do to her own mother?

  The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. Not quite a smile, but not really a smirk either. “Looks like there’s a lot of your mom in you.”

  Suddenly she felt angry. She wanted to lash out at this strange man who knew nothing about her. She wanted to scream, “What do you know about me or my mother? And what right do you have to judge me?” But instead she gritted her teeth and politely told him that she had better be on her way, then stepped out the door feeling frustrated and unreasonably furious. The worst part was not knowing exactly why she was so angry.

  The sun was still shining between the rolled-back clouds, and she decided to walk up the hill to the Beach House. Maybe it would cool her head. She didn’t normally think of herself as an overly emotional person; in fact, Jerred had occasionally accused her of being without feelings altogether. Then again, she did recall that her therapist had told her that she had a tendency to repress negative feelings and that someday she would have to face them. Well, hopefully today was not the day. She took a deep breath, hoping to settle her nerves, then realized she was just downwind from the wharf. The pungent smell of rotting fish guts was just about enough to make her lose any appetite she might have hoped to have for lunch with Sunny.

  She slowly climbed the hill, remembering how many times she had come this way as a child. She could remember hot summer days when she had huffed and puffed up this very hill on some crazy errand for Grandmother—taking a spool of pink thread to crabby Mrs. Henderson or picking up some fresh produce from old Mr. Lee’s garden. It wasn’t until Meg was a teen that she figured out that this was Grandmother’s way of ensuring that she got some extra exercise. Thinking of Grandmother made Meg resent the fact that she was not spending more time with her. After all, that had been the primary purpose of this trip. Now, here she was tromping off to lunch with Sunny. Well, she wouldn’t linger over the meal. And afterward she would go straight to see Grandmother.

  She opened the door of the restaurant, and despite herself, she smiled. Nothing had changed in here at all. Same old glass-topped counter filled with shells and driftwood. Same old fish tank sunk into the wall. Perhaps the fish had changed—or did fish live long lives?

  “Hello,” called Sunny, waving from the dark interior of the restaurant. Meg frowned momentarily. Why in the world would Sunny choose a booth without a view? Meg slid into the vinyl seat across from her mother and forced her lips to smile.

  “Is this okay?” asked Sunny, gesturing to the booth.

  Meg’s eyes darted to the more open area in the back where a large bank of windows looked out over the sea. “This is fine,” she lied, her voice flat and dull.

  “We can move,” offered Sunny. “It’s just where the hostess seated me, and I was—”

  “It’s okay,” said Meg in what she knew was an irritated voice. Oh boy, here we go.

  Sunny pushed back a strand of platinum hair and leaned forward with bright eyes. “I still can’t believe you’re here, Meg. It’s just so great after all these years.”

  Meg folded her hands in her lap. “Yes, it seems rather unbelievable to me, too.”

  Sunny smiled, and Meg felt a small flicker of hope, but she knew better than to set any expectations. She had grown wiser in her old age.

  “Tell me, Meg—what have you been doing all these years? I chatted with Erin for a few minutes this morning, so I know a little, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

  “Well, after I put myself through college, I went to work at a large advertising agency in San Francisco. It wasn’t exactly what I thought I wanted to do, but I had to take a good job in order to pay off my college loans and—”

  “And what did you really want to do?” asked Sunny, apparently oblivious to the part about loans and bills and how hard Meg had had to work just to survive, let alone put herself through school.

  “I don’t know.…” Meg’s voice faltered, and she felt a frown crease her forehead. Had she ever really known? Sure, she’d had some longings, but they had never seemed realistic or practical. And now everything seemed so foggy.

  “Well, if you knew that it wasn’t what you really wanted to do, didn’t you have any idea what it was that you did want to do? What were your real dreams, your highest aspirations?”

  “I don’t know,” snapped Meg. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have with Sunny. It was a private thing. Something she would share only with a close friend. She had never even discussed this subject with Jerred.

  “Okay, then. Tell me about your work,” Sunny said as if conceding a pawn in a chess game. “Do you like it?”

  “Yes, it’s interesting, and it was a great opportunity for me. When I started, it was still a young company—family-owned and small enough for me to work my way up the ladder. And it was challenging, at first. I worked hard and put in long hours, and I was rewarded—”

  “Then why did you leave?”

  Meg frowned and looked at the table. Had she told Sunny about her leave of absence? Perhaps Erin had mentioned something about Jerred. Oh well, what did it really matter anyway? Sunny was, after all, her mother.

  “I’m sorry, hon,” said Sunny, waving her hand. “I shouldn’t be so intrusive. But you know how I am about these things.”

  Meg sighed and rolled her eyes. No, she didn’t really know how Sunny was. In fact, she wondered if she really knew this woman at all. “It’s no big secret,” continued Meg. “I took a leave of absence because the boss’s son and I were engaged; then I broke it off, and it was just difficult to be in the same workplace right after that. But my job is still there, and my boss wants me back, and I still have my apartment. It’s not as if I left for good.”

  “You broke it off?”

  “Broke off what?” Meg tried to remember the context. “Oh, you mean the engagement. Yes, I broke it off. Well, I suppose it was mutual, in a way.”

  “Did you love him?”

  Meg looked at Sunny in amazement. “Love him? We were engaged! Of course I loved him.”

  “Really.” It was more statement than question, and Sunny had a knowing look in her eye as if she didn’t completely believe Meg’s story.

  “Excuse me,” said a plump, sweet-voiced waitress. “Can I take your order now?” Sunny began to
order while Meg quickly scanned the menu, settling on a Caesar salad with grilled chicken. The waitress thanked them and left.

  “Did you know that Caesar salad has three times as much fat as a cheeseburger?” asked Sunny in a voice loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear.

  Meg felt her cheeks heating up. “Really? Well, we have to splurge now and then, don’t we?”

  “Sure. Eat, drink, and be merry,” Sunny said, holding up her water glass in a mock toast, “for tomorrow we may die.”

  “Cheers,” said Meg flatly. She sipped her water and studied Sunny, wondering vaguely why her mother wasn’t drinking anything stronger than water.

  “What was his name?” asked Sunny.

  “Who?”

  “The man you jilted.”

  “I didn’t jilt him. And his name was, rather is, Jerred.”

  “Did he love you?”

  Meg pressed her lips together and inhaled through her nose, holding the breath inside her chest for a long moment as if she might explode like a balloon. It was an old habit from childhood, a habit she thought she had broken long ago.

  Sunny smiled and waved her hand in dismissal. “No, you don’t have to answer that one. I’m sure he loved you, Meg. Why wouldn’t he?”

  Meg felt as if she were on a wild carousel ride, being jerked up and down, and around and around. How did Sunny manage to do it with so little effort? Or was she completely unaware of the effect she had on others?

  “Do you still do photography?” asked Sunny as the waitress set down their food.

  “No. I never really did photography. I just dabbled.”

  “Nonsense. You were an excellent photographer.”

  Meg almost dropped her fork. “Since when? And says who?”

  “Says I.” Sunny pointed her steak knife at Meg. “And anyone who ever looked at your photos.”

  “Really?” Meg stared at her mother. Was this the truth, or was Sunny just playing with her again? It could be a setup.