Take Me Home

by Nancy Herkness

  “If you keep looking like that, we’re going to have to leave early,” his voice rumbled in her ear.

  “Mmm, not before I get my brownie,” she said, shivering at the delicious tickle of his breath against the whorls of her ear.

  “Claire, nice to see you here.”

  Her eyes snapped open, and she looked up to see Paul standing in front of her, wearing a cowboy hat and carrying a six-pack of Budweiser.

  “Dr. Tim.” Paul nodded to her companion. “I hear you made a very generous donation to the bake sale.”

  “Just a contribution to a good cause,” Tim said, rising to his considerable height and shaking hands. His manner was easy, but his voice sounded tight.

  “When you pay fifty dollars in advance for a half dozen brownies, it gets people talking,” Paul said.

  Claire shook her head with a laugh as she pushed up from the hay bale. “I knew he’d bribed someone to hold those for him. They always sold out first at our bake sales.”

  The loudspeaker broke in on their conversation. “Paul Taggart, you’re needed at the barbecue pit.”

  He lifted the six-pack slightly. “My beer is needed at the barbecue pit.” Flashing a grin at her, he said, “Save a dance for me later, will you? It’s been a long time since we did the two-step.”

  As he walked away, she glanced up at Tim. He was staring after the other man with annoyance written all over his face. Paul’s little barb had hit right where he’d wanted it.

  “Paul’s just joking around,” she said, wishing she could give her old friend a good punch in the arm. “He never went to a dance of any kind when we were in high school. I doubt he’s suddenly developed a desire to two-step.”

  Tim’s gaze was heavy lidded. “I know I’ve suddenly developed a desire to two-step. Naked.”

  “Stop it, you wicked man,” Claire said, grinning. “You don’t need to remind me who I’m sleeping with.”

  “No, but I need to remind your old pal.”

  “C’mon, some food will make you less grouchy,” she said, pulling him toward the snack table.

  “I’m not grouch—”

  “Dr. Tim, Mama said you got us Mrs. Estep’s fudgies and to say thank you because they’re our favorites,” Kayleigh said as she came running up. “We can’t have them till after dinner, though.”

  “You’re welcome,” Tim said, squatting down to the little girl’s level. “Did I tell you what a pretty dress that is you have on?”

  Kayleigh twirled so her pink skirt flew out and showed the lacy petticoat underneath. “You said we all looked beautiful. I like Aunt Claire’s boots too.”

  Claire glanced down at the bright-red cowboy boots whose pointed toes peeked out from under her jeans. She’d bought them at an expensive boutique on the Upper West Side in Manhattan. The irony made her smile.

  “I like Aunt Claire’s jeans,” Tim said.

  “Really? They don’t look fancy to me,” Kayleigh said, eyeing Claire’s classic Levi’s.

  “It’s the way they fit,” Tim said.

  Claire cocked her hip into his shoulder, so he had to slap his hand down on the wood shavings to keep from falling over sideways. He slanted a reproachful glance up at her before he stood up, dusting his hands off on his jeans. “Kayleigh and I were simply discussing fashion,” he said.

  A sudden lessening in the general hum of conversation made Claire look around to see what was claiming people’s attention.

  “Oh hell!” she said under her breath as she saw Frank walking toward the table where Holly sat.

  “Papa!” Kayleigh took off before Claire could stop her, running up to her father and throwing her arms around his legs.

  Frank stumbled and looked down. “Hey, baby, how are you?” He swung his daughter up for a hug before setting her down and giving her a little push away, saying, “Papa needs to talk to Mama now.” His gaze locked on Holly, and he strode toward her again.

  When she saw the stricken look on Kayleigh’s face, Claire could have strangled Frank. She jogged over to where he had left his daughter and scooped the little girl up in her arms. “Hey, Dr. Tim has a fudgie for you.”

  Kayleigh hid her face against Claire’s shoulder, saying in a muffled and tearful voice, “I can’t have it till after dinner.”

  “We can make an exception this time,” she said as Tim came up beside her. “Kayleigh needs one of the brownies now.”

  He ripped the baggie open and handed the brownie to Claire. “I’d better go see what I can do to help.”

  “Could you find Brianna and bring her to me?” She didn’t want the children to be involved in what might be an ugly scene.

  Tim nodded, his gaze meeting hers with understanding. Claire kept Kayleigh’s back to her parents and prayed Frank didn’t start yelling. She was relieved that Robbie was still at the table; he could handle any physical threats Frank might make.

  So far, Holly was unaware that her husband was bearing down on her, and Claire debated whether she should call out. Deciding it might set off Frank’s temper if she brought attention to the situation, she bit her tongue and hoped Tim would find Brianna quickly.

  She took an involuntary step forward when she saw Holly shrink back as Frank came up beside her. Remembering the little girl in her arms, she stopped herself and made sure Kayleigh was still engrossed in the brownie.

  Frank had his hand braced on the table and was leaning down over Holly, but his voice was low enough that Claire couldn’t hear what he was saying. She saw her sister put her hand on Frank’s arm. She felt anger and nerves tighten the muscles in her shoulders when he threw Holly’s hand off.

  “Look who I found,” Tim said, striding up to her with Brianna riding piggyback and Estelle Wilson trotting along beside them. He swung Brianna down off his back with a flourish that made her squeal with delight. “Mrs. Wilson here says she’d like to take the girls to see the draft horse foal in the barn next door.”

  “I think that’s a great idea,” Claire said, putting Kayleigh down gently. “You all would like that, wouldn’t you?”

  Brianna looked confused, but she said, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I believe there might be kittens too,” Estelle said, taking each girl’s hand and leading them away from the scene developing by the tables.

  As Claire hurried toward her sister, Tim easily matched her pace. “I thought you’d want to be with your sister now, and I knew Estelle would understand what needed to be done with the girls.”

  “Exactly right,” she said, wincing as Frank’s voice rang out.

  “My wife claims she’s too ill to even fix me dinner, and now I find her here, all dressed up to go dancing. I’d say she’s been lying to me.”

  As Claire and Tim came up behind Holly, Robbie stood as well. A few seconds later, Paul pushed through the gathering crowd to add to the ranks around Holly.

  “Now, Frank—” Paul began.

  “I see you’ve joined her goon squad, Taggart,” Frank interrupted. “I guess you’ve swallowed all her lies too.”

  With Frank’s attention on Paul, Claire put her hand on her sister’s shoulder; she could feel her shaking. She leaned down to whisper, “Estelle Wilson took the girls to the next barn. Let’s get you out of here.”

  “No,” Holly said, her voice cracking slightly. Then she stood up and said more firmly, “No! I’m tired of hiding and covering things up. I need to deal with Frank right here and now so everyone knows the truth.”

  Frank’s gaze came back to his wife, and he raised his voice so the crowd could hear. “I tried to go to my own goddamned house, and two cops blocked me in front of my own front door. What kind of a wife won’t let her husband in his own goddamned house?”

  “An abused wife,” Holly said, a slight quaver in her voice. “A wife you’ve thrown things at. A wife you’ve left bruises on with your bare hands. A wife whose children you’ve kidnapped.”

  Holly’s voice grew stronger with every sentence, sounding clear above the gasps and murmurs of t
he crowd. Claire noticed that several people made a point of putting distance between themselves and Frank.

  “Now, honey, you know the Lyme’s makes your brain all fuzzy. You told me that yourself.” Frank’s voice became conciliatory as he scanned the crowd. “She’s just ill and imagining things.”

  Holly swiped a napkin off the table and dipped it in the glass of water she’d been sipping. She scrubbed the damp paper across her cheek, wiping the carefully applied concealer off the ugly-colored bruise Frank’s hand had left on her face. “Is this bruise my imagination, Frank? Are you going to expect me to tell these folks I ran into a door like you did the first time you hit me?”

  Suddenly, Frank was standing alone in a circle at least ten feet in diameter. No one wanted to be anywhere near a man who beat his wife.

  Claire’s heart swelled with pride at her sister’s courage, even as tears blurred her eyes for Holly’s pain.

  Robbie stepped forward, looking every inch a cop despite his jeans and Caterpillar T-shirt. “Mrs. Snedegar, would you like to press charges?”

  Holly shook her head, her gaze still locked on her husband. When she spoke, her voice was low, as though she’d exhausted all her strength. “Just go away, Frank. Don’t ever come near me again.”

  “Holly, our children—” Frank began.

  “Paul will work something out with you about visitation,” Holly said. Claire saw her start to droop and quickly put her arm around her sister’s waist, bracing as Holly leaned into her.

  Frank looked around at the stony faces staring back at him, opened his mouth and closed it, then turned to slink away.

  Holly waited until Frank was out of sight before she spoke. “I’m sorry for that, everyone, but it needed to be done. Let’s get back to having fun.”

  Then her sister sagged into Claire’s arms, making her stagger. Almost instantly, Holly’s weight was lifted, and Claire released her into Tim’s strong grasp and helped him settle her onto the folding chair.

  Claire dropped to her knees in front of her sister and looked up at her. “That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

  Holly managed a wavering smile. “I couldn’t have done it if you hadn’t been standing right beside me.”

  Claire gathered Holly’s trembling hands in hers. “I’m proud to have been with you. I love you, Holl.”

  “Same here, sis.”

  Claire laid her cheek against Holly’s hands before she let go and stood up. Arrayed in a protective phalanx around Holly’s chair were Tim, Paul, and Robbie, all looking both concerned and formidable. Beyond them, the noise of multiple conversations was beginning to reach normal volume again. Suddenly, a fiddle struck up a country tune, and Claire blessed the musician for turning the partygoers’ attention toward the temporary stage set up at the far end of the show ring.

  Robbie leaned over so only Claire could hear him. “Ma’am, I’d like to go make sure Snedegar has left the premises.”

  “That would be great,” Claire said. “You might check on the children in the draft horse barn too. They’re with Estelle Wilson, so I’m sure they’re fine, but just in case.

  “Yes, ma’am, although I’d bet on Mrs. Wilson against Snedegar any day,” he said with a hint of a smile as he moved off.

  Paul watched Robbie jog across the expanse of wood shavings. “I have a feeling this is one restraining order that will be enforced.”

  Tim had been kneeling beside Holly, talking with her in a low voice. He straightened and said, “Holly wants to stay a few more minutes, to show she’s not going to let Frank chase her away. Then we’ll make a quiet exit and collect the girls.”

  “I’ll go make sure the biggest gossips have the story straight,” Paul volunteered. “We want the right version spread around town.”

  Claire sat down on one side of her sister while Tim hooked a chair over to sit on the other. A steady stream of friends and neighbors came by to chat with Holly, some offering oblique comfort in the form of a warm hug or a playdate with the children, while others flat-out said they were sorry for her situation and asked what they could do to help. Tim took on the task of deflecting any overly personal comments and questions with an easy joke and his unhurried smile.

  As Claire watched the flow of support toward her sister, a glow of warmth bloomed in her chest, and tears brimmed in her eyes. This was her hometown the way she had always wanted it to be.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” Holly said when there was a lull in the procession. “Claire, I’m a little shaky, so can you give me your arm?”

  “Why don’t you let me do that job?” Tim said. “I’ll have a beautiful lady on each side of me, and no one will think anything about it.”

  Holly cast him a grateful glance as he held out his hand and helped her up from her chair.

  “Lean all you want,” he said.

  “He’s used to wrestling six-hundred-pound sows,” Claire said, tucking her hand under his other elbow.

  “Are you calling me a sow?” Holly asked, leaning around Tim to make a face at her.

  Relief flooded Claire. After all the drama, her sister could still make a joke. Claire started to giggle. She heard Holly snickering, which made her giggle harder.

  “Care to let me in on the joke?” Tim said as he looked back and forth between the two convulsed women on either side of him.

  “I have...no idea...what’s...” Claire ran out of breath and had to stop.

  “It’s just...” Holly broke off as another fit of laughter bent her over.

  “People will think I’m the funniest man alive.” Tim gently led them toward the exit.

  Claire sobered up first, taking several deep breaths. “The truth is, it’s better than crying.”

  WHEN HER CELL phone’s alarm went off, Claire bolted upright. Realizing it was morning and there had been no nocturnal visitations from Frank, she flopped back down with a sigh of relief.

  “Ow!” she muttered as her weight flattened the flimsy mattress of Holly’s sofa bed over the metal frame.

  Last night, they had all been worried about Frank’s reaction to his public humiliation, but evidently, he had gotten the message that Holly wasn’t going to let him push her around anymore. Of course, having a police car parked outside the house all night didn’t hurt. That was the only reason Tim had been persuaded to go home to his own bed.

  “Hey, sleepyhead!” Holly walked into the living room sporting a denim skirt and a blouse touched with lace at the collar. Her hair was styled in soft waves, and she wore a splash of rose lipstick.

  “Holly?” Claire sat up again. “You blow-dried your hair!”

  “I know,” her sister said, giving her head a flirtatious little shake. “I woke up this morning and felt like making myself look nice.”

  “It didn’t exhaust you?” Claire swung her bare feet to the floor. “You should take it easy. You don’t want to use up all your strength first thing.”

  “Well, I might have overdone it a bit.” Holly sank into an upholstered chair. “But I feel so much better.” She leaned forward. “I think Frank was keeping me from getting better. I mean, being scared of him and constantly worrying about doing something that would make him blow up. The worst part was I couldn’t predict what would set him off, so I couldn’t avoid it.”

  “It must have been awful,” Claire said, perching on the chair arm. “Well, you’ve got guts, sis.”

  “I meant what I said. If you hadn’t been there last night, if you hadn’t gotten the children away from Frank’s ugliness”—Holly’s eyes brimmed with tears—“I couldn’t have done it.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who stood up to him where everyone could see and hear.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but I couldn’t hide anymore.”

  “Not smart? You have the whole town protecting you and the girls now.” She sighed. “I wish I’d had the courage to confront Milo like that.”

  “He didn’t hit you, did he?” Holly looked stricken.


  “No, no, nothing like that. He just undermined me at every opportunity. He’d do it at parties, at work, in front of our friends. And I would pretend to laugh it off.”

  “He was jealous of you.”

  “Jealous? Why would he be jealous of me?”

  “Because you knew so much more about art than he did.”

  “Are you kidding? Milo was much more knowledgeable than I was.”

  “Maybe book knowledgeable, but you could pick out what was good, even when no one else knew it. I don’t think he could.”

  Claire moved over to the chair facing her sister. “Why do you say that?”

  “Remember when you came to visit that weekend?”

  “Oh God, yes. Milo was horrible. I was so embarrassed.”

  “We went to the Gallery at Sanctuary before dinner. You wanted to see if there were any artists you could show in New York.”

  “And Milo said it would be a waste of time.”

  “But when we got there, he followed you around and waited to see what you said about each picture. He never gave his opinion first.”

  “But that was because he didn’t want to impose his views on me. He wanted to give me the chance to develop my taste independently of his.” That’s what he’d always told her.

  “No, sis. I watched him. He would wait until you said whether the picture was good or bad, and then he’d put on the right expression to go with your opinion. When you asked him what he thought, he’d sort of jumble your words around to make it sound like he knew that all along.”

  “Really? But he hated the Castillos, and I thought they were great.” Claire was trying to readjust all her ideas about Milo.

  “Did he turn down the Castillos first?”

  “No, he wasn’t in the gallery when they came in. I bought them on the spot because I didn’t want them to go to another dealer.”

  Holly sat back with a triumphant look. “That’s it. You made a decision about art without him. He couldn’t have that.”

  “But all the profit he lost when he made me get rid of them!”

  “Doesn’t matter. His ego was more important than money.”

  Claire shook her head. She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around this new perspective. She was too used to thinking of herself as Milo’s protégée, the unworthy student sitting at the master’s feet. She scanned back through her memories of the decisions she and Milo had made at his gallery. She had always assumed he was being the generous teacher when he insisted she state her opinion first. When he endorsed it, she would glow with pleasure.