A Long Way Home

by Becky Doughty

  I knew Dad was anxious to get back to preaching, so I offered to spend Sunday with Mom. Stella would keep Killian with her all day. He’d go to church with the Ransomes and then spend the afternoon with LB and Gina. I knew it would be easier for Tish if I weren’t there anyway.

  Jordan came with me to the hospital. Although I worried it might be a long day for him, and even a little awkward for both of us without Dad as a buffer, Mom seemed happy to have his company. She asked him about his work and I sat back and listened, learning new things about this man I loved. The drama department at the university had performed their last show of the season two weeks ago, so he’d been dismantling props and organizing storage for the end of the school year. He was also in the middle of a huge set design for the Midtown Players’ Summer of the Arts Festival, a local community theater backed by some hefty financial donations who could apparently afford to pay for extravagance. “That’s why I was at the Faire,” he said, turning to me. “They’re doing twelve weeks of Twelfth Night, and I figured the Renaissance Faire would be a good source for inspiration.” He winked at me from across Mom’s bed. “I got so inspired that I brought my muse home with me.”

  After lunch, Mom took something for her pain and told us she wanted to sleep for a bit. We promised to come back in an hour or so.

  “How about some coffee?” Jordan asked. “If you want to stay close, we can go down to the cafeteria, or we can head over to the Sienna Cafe. Mama Doss always has a fresh pot brewing and too many good pastries to choose just one.”

  “Sienna Cafe, it is.” But just as we reached the elevator, Jordan’s phone buzzed. He hesitated briefly, but I saw it. “Is he still texting you?”

  “No,” Jordan assured me. “I haven’t heard from him in days.” His smile was sheepish. “I just didn’t want to be interrupted right now, that’s all. You and me alone doesn’t happen very often.”

  I nodded, but gestured at the phone. “Check it. It might be about Killian.”

  It was Tish. She was on her way over to meet us.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  From the expression on Jordan’s face, I got the feeling he wasn’t any more excited to see her than I was. And then I remembered what he’d said the other night about Tish being angry, and I wondered if they’d fought about me. He’d been upset when he came to my room.

  We stood at the elevators for a few minutes, trying to decide whether we should go get coffee or wait. “I get the feeling she’s not coming just to hang out, Savannah. Maybe we should wait and go someplace with her when she gets here.”

  “Makes sense. We wait.”

  “Want to sit down?” He waved a hand at the alcove where I’d been sitting when Marek found me. I started to shake my head, but then I stopped.

  No. I would not let that man continue to control every aspect of my life. I knew there were battles ahead, much larger than this one, and they were all going to be tough, hard won. But today, I had Jordan with me, a man who had waited patiently for me to come back to him, who stood by me now, who was asking me to let him face my demons with me. I lifted my chin and strode toward the two chairs that still sat in front of the window, just as I’d left them.

  Jordan turned them so they both faced the window, and we sat. After a few minutes of silence, Jordan asked, “What is it, Savannah?”

  “This is where I was sitting when he found me last Tuesday.”

  To my surprise—and relief—Jordan said nothing. He didn’t leap out of his chair and pull me up into his arms, or kneel on the ground in front of me and ask if I was okay. I needed the space to process what I was feeling as much as I needed to know he was there beside me. It occurred to me that he might be feeling the same way, needing the same thing from me. Or maybe he was waiting for me to make the first move so he’d know how best to help me. I reached over and touched the back of his hand; he folded both of his around mine and just held it. It was the most we’d touched since Tuesday night when he’d kissed me so sweetly.

  I felt the words building in my chest. So much had happened in the last few days, and the bird that had been caged inside of me, the feathered creature that had been set free, wanted to fly everywhere at once. But I knew I had to heal first before I could really take wing. Something about this sterile environment seemed fitting for the task of opening old wounds. And knowing Killian was safe, that we were home, and that we were eventually going to be okay, made the desire to purge myself all the more urgent.

  I knew, too, that there was more to this than what I wanted or needed. I had abandoned Jordan. I had left him for another man. Yes, I’d believed my hands were tied, and I’d believed I’d had no other options, but I hadn’t treated the man I loved… well, like a man I loved. I hadn’t trusted him with my heart, or my body, for that matter. I’d been the one who made love conditional—no one else.

  “Jordan,” I began, waiting for my heart to start racing, for sweaty palms and dry mouth. None of it came. Instead, I felt peace wash over me. I wondered if my daddy was praying for me at that moment. “I’m sorry for running away. I’m sorry for leaving you the way I did. For not trusting you enough to tell you what I was going through.” I turned and studied our hands, the way mine all but disappeared inside both of his. His fingers were blunt-tipped, his nails square and evenly trimmed. He had a large C-shaped scar at the base of his index finger—was that new?—and one of his ring finger nails was painted midnight blue with three white dots in a row slanting across the middle of it.

  He must have noticed me looking at it. “Polished Man,” he said by way of explanation. “Do you know what that is?”

  He explained to me the movement that was challenging men to take a stand against violence against children, sexual and otherwise. He didn’t let go of my hand, but he straightened his fingers so I could see it better. “The color is called Midnight Sky and the white dots are stars.” He paused, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he should say more. Then he turned and met my eyes, the emotion in his sending a jolt of warmth through me. “The middle one is the center of my universe.” He curled his hand back around mine, and then brought my fingers up to kiss the tips of them. “I forgive you, Savannah. And I’ll wait for as long as you need. I want to know what happened—I need to know what happened, if I’m being honest—but I’m willing to wait until you’re ready to tell me. I want to be worthy of your trust.”

  I looked over at him and didn’t speak until he met my eyes. “If you mean it, if you’re really ready to hear it, then I’m ready to tell you. Because I trust you, of all people, not to run away. You’ve more than proved yourself, and I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”

  So I told him. And this time, I didn’t cry. Not because I’d shut down, but because I was no longer alone in the dark. Each time I told my story—this was the third time in less than a week—I felt myself grow in courage, empowered by my story, not buried beneath it.

  But someone else was crying. A sniffle behind us alerted us we were no longer alone. I hadn’t heard the elevator emit anyone, but then, I’d forgotten to listen for it, and I assumed Jordan was focusing on what I was telling him, too.

  Tish Ransome perched on the edge of the chair still sitting against the wall several feet away, her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands. I rose slowly, but Jordan touched my arm to stay me. Getting up, he hurried to her side.

  “Hey, Squeak.” He rested his palm on top of her head like a blessing.

  “I’m so tired of people I care about being hurt,” she ground out between sniffs. “My heart can’t bear anymore, and I’m not even the one taking the blows.” Tish lifted her head and Jordan shifted his hand to her shoulder, offering silent comfort. She swiped at the tears on her cheeks, leaving faint streaks of black mascara from the corners of her eyes to her hairline, and turned wretched eyes on me. “Forgive me, Savannah. I totally suck at being a sister and friend—all high-falutin and self-righteous. It’s because of people like me—like me!—that you ran. Forgive me.”

  I
crossed the few feet that separated us. Without warning, Tish stood and wrapped her arms around my waist, hugging me tight to her. She was so petite I could rest my chin on top of her head. And then Jordan stepped into the huddle and wrapped his arms around both of us, squishing the tiny Tish between us. She grunted and called him a perv, but she didn’t try to squirm away.

  A few moments later, I felt her take a deep breath. As she let it out, she said, “‘And at last, after traveling an eternity of miles and sailing endless seas, they finally found their way home again where they lived happily ever after.’”

  Jordan chuckled. “I salute you, Captain Julius Cramer.” Then he kissed me over the top of Tish’s head, and I forgot to ask who Captain Julius Cramer was.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  The last Saturday in June presented us with the perfect weather for a wedding. It was unusually cool for that time of year, even though the sun was out and smiling down on us. Ani and Paulo had returned from Italy in time to attend Tish’s graduation, and then the wedding frenzy had begun. The wedding was held in a converted train depot downtown, and my father had the honor of performing the ceremony. Ani wore the most amazing Italian wedding dress—the girl had connections—and Paulo, in a sharp, black tux, took everything in stride, steady and sure. I loved watching him watch Ani; the whole day, he’d only had eyes for her.

  A week ago, Ani had come to me and asked if I’d let Killian be in the wedding. Instead of a ring-bearer, she wanted LB and Killian to carry a banner down the aisle, one holding each end of the pole from which it hung. Of course, I agreed, but I warned her that giving little boys sticks was a recipe for disaster. She only laughed and said she hoped some good stories would come out of her wedding day. Needless to say, because Ani and Paulo were so not worried about things, nothing went wrong. LB and Killian walked carefully down the aisle in their matching bowties and suspenders, foreheads furrowed in great concentration, the banner between them straight and steady so everyone could read the words printed in an elegant hand, “All the way to heaven is heaven with you by my side.” Behind them, head held high, wearing an emerald-green tulle masterpiece, came Gina, liberally sprinkling handfuls of pale pink rose petals up the aisle while paying close attention to keeping the boys from getting too far ahead of her.

  Ani and Paulo said their vows, first in English, and then in Italian for the benefit of his family members who’d traveled such a long way to celebrate this day. There was a short reception following the ceremony, but the real celebration didn’t start until we all headed back to Maple Avenue where Stella hosted a potluck-style party for close friends and family. Half of Paulo’s family was staying with the Ransomes anyway, so the food was an amazing combination of home-cooked American and authentic Italian cuisine. After everyone had eaten their fill, we sent the newlyweds off into the copper and golden sunset, accompanied by whistles, catcalls, and blaring horns.

  The party went late, and Dad had taken Mom home hours ago. She’d progressed such a long way since first coming home from the hospital six weeks ago, and although she was quite independent with her daily activities, she still wore down quickly. Pain was her constant companion. Killian and I had moved back home from the Ransomes’ the day before Mom came home from the hospital. In spite of her worry that she’d scare Killian, he didn’t even seem to notice the halo brace, except when it got in his way. “He’s been around costumed characters his whole life. I suppose to him, you’re normal, Mom. He might actually have a hard time adjusting to you after you get the brace taken off.”

  My parents had insisted Killian and I stay and enjoy the celebration, and Jordan assured them he would see us safely home when the party wound down. Killian, however, was now on his second emotional meltdown, a sure sign it was time for us to call it a night. Jordan scooped him up and we said our farewells before heading down the block toward home.

  Earlier that month, Dad had shown me where he’d stored my fairy boat swing up in the crawl space above the garage, and he and Jordan had put it up while Killian and I perched on one of branches in the tree and heckled them—Killian had learned his heckling skills from Captain Francis Drake himself. Now Jordan, Killian, and I clambered into it, Jordan hanging one leg out so he could keep us swinging. I lay beside him, my head resting on his shoulder. Killian burrowed in between us but couldn’t get comfortable, so he crawled across me to my other side. He sighed contently, his back against me, and released a little belch.

  “Good man,” Jordan chuckled. Killian giggled, but said nothing more. Within minutes, he was fast asleep.

  The sycamore was in full leaf, spreading its umbrella of shade over most of the front yard and house during the day, but blocking a clear view of the sky at night. Even so, through the branches overhead, I could see the stars twinkling brightly. I knew our three stars were there, lined up across Orion’s torso.

  Jordan drew his leg inside the nest and turned onto his side so he was facing me, my head still resting on his bicep. Our noses nearly touched. “I love you, Savannah Clark.”

  “I love you, Jordan Ransome.” I whispered the words to him, reveling in the afterglow of a day spent celebrating love.

  We’d come a long way in almost two months, and we both knew we still had a long way to go. I often woke up at night in tears, sobbing uncontrollably without knowing why—I never remembered what I dreamed when it happened—but it was almost like I was making up for lost time, grieving for the lost years. Sometimes, I still had episodes of feeling completely at odds with Jordan, like those same-pole magnets that repelled each other, and I’d need a break from him. I knew those times were the hardest for him—having to stand aside and let me wage war without him—but he’d gotten better at trusting that I’d always come back to him. I still talked more to Jim and Stella than my parents about the whole ordeal; the truth was, my dad and mom, as wonderful as they were, had a difficult time talking about it. I had to learn to be okay with that, but it motivated me to pay attention to Stella and Jim and the way they handled tough issues, tough love, and tough times in their family, because I wanted to do better by my own children.

  By our children. The children I would one day have with Jordan Ransome. Just as soon as he got off his backside and moved out of his parents’ house so he could marry me.

  “Kiss me, Savannah Clark,” Jordan whispered, his words a command, his voice a caress.

  I shifted my body so I could feel the whole length of him, nuzzled my face into his neck, and murmured, “Hold still and I will.”

  Then I did exactly what he told me to do.

  I kissed him. I pressed my lips to the hollow at the base of his neck, nibbled my way up to the underside of his jaw and over to his ear, where I stopped kissing him long enough to tell him I loved him again. Then I trailed kisses along the curve of his jaw to his chin. When he tried to dip his head to meet my mouth with his own, I pulled back. “I told you to hold still.”

  He smiled and did exactly what I told him to do.

  I continued my slow assault up the other side of his neck, told his other ear that I loved Jordan Ransome, and then followed the curve of his jaw back to his chin. Planting slow, soft kisses into each corner of his mouth, and in a line following the curve below his bottom lip, I finally pressed my lips fully to his. Once, twice, three times.

  “Give me your hand so I have something to hold on to,” I whispered against his mouth. “And then kiss me back, Jordan Ransome.”

  Once again, he did exactly what I told him to do.

  Sometime later, Jordan sighed and rolled onto his back. I lay my head on his chest, listening to his heart pound out its love song to me. “You are all that is home to me, Savannah Clark.”

  “And you are all that is home to me, Jordan Ransome.”

  He kissed the top of my head and I sighed contentedly, reaching behind me to lay a hand on Killian’s back. After a few moments, Jordan spoke again. “‘And at last, after traveling an eternity of miles and sailing endless seas, they finally found their
way home again where they lived happily ever after.’”

  “That’s so beautiful,” I said, remembering that Tish had quoted the same thing that day in the hospital. “Where’s that from?”

  Jordan grinned, and in a deep voice, complete with a proper British accent, he declared, “The Adventures of Captain Julius Cramer.”

  He reached around me to pull a hardcover book from under a cushion behind my head. “I stashed this here earlier so I wouldn’t forget to give it to you. This is for Killian. And you, if you’ve never read it before,” he murmured, his voice rumbling pleasantly in my ear pressed to his chest. He handed it to me. In the light from the front porch, I could just make out a picture of a man in a top hat decorated with brass goggles, dressed in black leather from head to toe, one gloved hand wrapped around the hilt of a curved scabbard at his side. He stood with his feet planted wide on the deck of a pirate ship like none other I’d seen before, the rigging and lines made from cylinders sparking with electricity, pipes bursting with plumes of steam and smoke, and cables wound through intricate pulley systems. The skull on the red Jolly Roger flag wore a top hat as well. “Captain Julius Cramer. Inventor. Investigator. Adventurer. Pirate,” Jordan expounded. “This is old-school steampunk at its finest.”

  I laughed and pressed the book to my chest. “Isn’t Killian a little young for Captain Julius Cramer?”

  “One is never too young for Captain Julius Cramer. One can only be too old for Captain Julius Cramer, and that curse is reserved for the blackest of souls.” Jordan turned so he could look at me, and then he took the book back, holding it aloft in admiration. “I grew up on this guy. He’s everything a man should be and more. He works hard, he goes after the bad guy, and he treats his women right.”

  “His women? As in more than one woman?” I tipped my face up and kissed his chin.