The Homecoming

by Alan Russell

  Maybe she could ask Michael to join her for a run on the beach or a walk in the Torrey Pines Reserve. As she entered their home, though, her brother’s greeting made it clear an outing wasn’t in the offing.

  He glowered at her and said, “Great job.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “Don’t play innocent,” he said. “What happened to you in biology class today?”

  As Eleanor entered the house, she saw her children staring each other down.

  “What did you hear happened?” said Stella.

  “I heard you refused to dissect a frog. I heard Dr. Rommel was upset and ordered you to go to the office.”

  “That’s true.”

  “But you didn’t go quietly,” said Michael.

  “I said nothing as I left the classroom.”

  “You didn’t need to say anything. Did you have this frog thing all planned out in advance?”

  “What are you talking about, Michael?” asked Eleanor.

  “I gave you a ride home,” Michael said to Stella, “and you never mentioned what happened.”

  “I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

  “How could I not be interested when everyone in school is talking about it?”

  “Can someone tell me what happened?” said Eleanor.

  Keeping his eyes locked on his sister, Michael said, “Stella decided to be clever and pull a switcheroo with a dead laboratory frog and a real frog. I guess she thought it would add to the legend of Space Girl.”

  “That’s not what I did.”

  “As Stella was leaving the classroom,” Michael said, “a frog started hopping around the room. And it just so happened that the frog she was supposed to be dissecting suddenly went missing.”

  Eleanor turned to her daughter. “Is that what happened?”

  Stella thought about it and said, “More or less.”

  “Ever since you came home, everything has been crazy,” said Michael. “I’m supposed to be looking after you. When you came back, it was like a redo for me, you know. But you’re not making anything easy.”

  “I’m sorry you’re upset, Michael. But my going away wasn’t your fault. It was no one’s fault. You can blame me or you can blame it on the stars, but don’t blame yourself. And the last thing I want is you thinking in terms of a redo, or having you think that you have to watch out for me.”

  “That’s enough!”

  Eleanor’s shrill command got the attention of both children.

  “Do you know how ridiculous this squabble is? I’m hearing both of you talk about a redo. What we have right now is our redo. We’re a family again. Let’s not squander the miracle that we’ve all been given.”

  “Mom’s right,” said Stella. She looked at Michael: “Truce?”

  “Truce,” said Michael. “But the next time you’re planning on pulling one on Old Man Rommel, you better tell me about it in advance. I just wish I’d been there to see him running around trying to catch that frog. Everyone said the more he exerted himself, the more his glasses fogged up. And when he thought he had the frog cornered, and made this sudden move to catch him, the only thing he managed to do was split his pants.”

  “I wasn’t around to see that either,” said Stella.

  “A few kids caught it on video,” said Michael, “but it’s not something I think you should watch.”

  “Why not?” asked Stella.

  “Because when Rommel split his pants, it wasn’t a pretty sight. Apparently he was going commando. Talk about disgusting.”

  Michael raced through his dinner, explaining that he had a lot of homework to get to. Stella wasn’t sure, though, if his speed-eating might not have something to do with their tiff earlier. It didn’t take much, she thought, for him to get mad at her.

  After she and her mother finished eating, Stella made some buttered popcorn and brought a tub of it upstairs. She knocked lightly on Michael’s door and heard him say, “Come in.”

  Since returning home, she hadn’t really spent any time in her brother’s room. That’s how Michael seemed to want it. She opened the door and said, “I thought you might like some popcorn.”

  “Did you put lots of butter on it?” he asked.

  “Gobs,” she said.

  “Then you may enter.”

  If he was as swamped with studies as he’d indicated, she didn’t see any sign of opened books or lesson plans. Instead, he seemed to be listening to music. Stella handed him the tub of popcorn, and without asking, she took a seat and began looking around the room.

  There were a lot of posters taped up on the walls and even the ceiling. Michael’s interests could be seen in the pictures. There were athletes Stella didn’t know, mostly football players, and glam shots of young actresses, along with musical paraphernalia of bands he followed. Michael’s love of aircraft and flying were everywhere; there were posters showing the US Air Force Thunderbirds in flight, as well as some of the US Navy’s Blue Angels. The jets were in tight formation; one of the shots showed a Thunderbird flying upside down right above another flying right side up.

  Taking up one wall were framed pictures of Michael soaring in a glider, and a shot of him in a single-engine plane that was captioned FIRST SOLO FLIGHT! He had even managed to get his picture taken while sitting in the cockpit of a Thunderbird. There were family and personal pictures as well: in one, he and Luke were kayaking through churning white water; another showed the two of them carrying surfboards. His high school history was documented with a shot of him making a tackle during a game, and a picture of him in a tux with his arm around Courtney, his junior prom date.

  There was a picture of their father standing with the president, and a shot of their mom helping a young Michael at the beach. She had been remembered as well. There was a picture of her holding up six fingers and smiling. In the shot, she had a missing front tooth, and a second tooth that was only halfway in.

  Caught in time, thought Stella. She smiled at the memory, but at the same time felt bittersweet sadness.

  Michael watched her as he crunched on his popcorn. “I’m your little sister,” she finally said. “That means you have to forgive me for everything.”

  “Who made that law?”

  “The universe and our birth order,” she said.

  “Well, with all deference to the universe and our birth order, screw that.”

  “Younger sisters are supposed to be pests, aren’t they?”

  “I could deal with a pest,” he said, “but not a martyr.”

  “I don’t want to be your martyr, or anyone’s.”

  “Thus spake Space Girl. Did you know that before you showed up, a few people at school were actually calling me Spaceman? I kind of liked it, too. And I earned the nickname. I’m the one who’s going to the Air Force Academy. Me. And it wasn’t like Dad pulled strings to get me in. I applied to the Academy without even letting Mom and Dad know. That was my secret plan throughout high school. That was my motivation to study and do all the extracurricular stuff. I’m going to be the one majoring in astronautical engineering. I’m the one who’s going to be working on the Falcon Satellite Program. I’m the one who’s going to be right in the thick of space technology and aerospace avionics. But you show up, and voilà! You’re Space Girl.”

  “That name’s not exactly a compliment, you know.”

  “So says Saint Stella,” he said. “Ever since you did your vanishing act, I’ve had to grow up with Saint Stella. This house was our shrine to Saint Stella. And for a long time I bought into that. You probably don’t remember this, but the night before you disappeared, you asked if we’d miss you if you were gone. You have no idea how much I regretted saying that I wouldn’t. Every time I thought about it, my stomach hurt. I was afraid you went into this darkness not knowing I loved you, not knowing how much I really missed you. I kept wishing I could take back those words. That’s why I went along with Mom’s program for years. I was carrying so much shame I couldn’t refuse.

  “You w
ant to know why I jumped off that cliff? You do those kinds of things when you have a perfect sister. That’s what you were. Forever perfect. How could I compete with that? I couldn’t. But I could drive fast, and do stupid things, and convince myself that I was my own person and no one was pulling my strings. That was how I got out from under your shadow. Or at least that seemed to work until you returned. And now I have to deal with the second coming of Saint Stella.”

  “Given a choice, I think I prefer Space Girl.”

  Michael tried not to smile, but he did. Then he shook his head. “In less than a week’s time, you’ve managed to be on the national news, get everyone in school talking about you, make my best friend fall for you, and return the old mom to me who hasn’t been there for seven years. What are you going to do for an encore?”

  “I didn’t plan any of this,” she said. “Everything just sort of happened. And I never wanted to get between you and Luke.”

  Michael waved her last comment away with a sweep of his hand. “I’m glad he’s happy. I never saw him like this before. I didn’t even think he was capable of falling hard for anyone. I guess we can chalk up another miracle to you.”

  “I’m no miracle worker.”

  “You promise?”

  “Scout’s honor,” she said.

  “I thought you only went as far as being a Brownie.”

  “Don’t tell anyone.”

  “Were you really in space?” he asked.

  “If you believe what everyone else says, that’s impossible.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Was it as fucking awesome as I think it would be?”

  “It was that awesome and more.”

  “Maybe you really are my sister.”

  “Maybe?”

  “Maybe I’m glad you’re home.”

  “I love you, Michael.”

  He tried to hide the tears forming in his eyes. “Thanks for the popcorn,” he said.

  From her bed, Stella stared out at the stars. The view of the night sky was her favorite thing about her room. At night she liked to listen to music while looking out the window. The last time her mother had checked in on her had been an hour ago. Her mother was still looking in on her a few times each night.

  It was to be expected, thought Stella. And at least it gave Michael some breathing room.

  Stella felt the vibration of her phone, and saw that Luke was calling.

  “You’re not canceling for the morning, are you?” she asked.

  “No way,” he said. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

  “I made you call,” she said, “because I wanted to hear yours.”

  “I almost believe that,” said Luke.

  “I am afraid it’s true.”

  “Did you bewitch me?”

  “You called, didn’t you?”

  “Sorceress.”

  “Michael and I talked earlier,” she said. “I think he’s okay with us now.”

  “For real?” he said, sounding relieved.

  “For real,” she said.

  “That’s good to hear. I hated feeling like I was sneaking around with you.”

  “We’ll sneak no more. Michael and I hashed a lot of things out.”

  “Sounds like you had a constructive evening.”

  “I even had time to research frogs just in case Rommel throws a surprise quiz my way. I memorized everything there is to know about a frog’s anatomy, which is a lot more than I would have learned by dissecting one.”

  “So you’re the one I call with all things frog?”

  “I am,” she said. “Did you know that frogs don’t drink with their mouths? They actually drink through their skin.”

  “That’s something I didn’t know,” he said. “But did you know that frogs get to eat what bugs them?”

  Stella groaned.

  “On a more serious vein,” said Luke, “I’m really looking forward to tomorrow. This morning was . . .”

  He sought out the words, but couldn’t find them. Apparently he didn’t have to.

  “It was,” she said.

  “I saw and felt things I didn’t even know existed.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Did you feel the same?”

  “I did.”

  “It’s almost like I’m hearing everything that’s unsaid between us inside my head.”

  “Maybe you are.”

  “Did you clear it with your mom for us to get an early start?”

  “Yes, but she said I better not be late to class again.”

  “I’ll make sure of that.”

  Luke paused before voicing a concern. “You didn’t see your stalker today, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t see him,” she said.

  Stella wondered if she should say anything else. Earlier she’d had this sense that Guy Wilkerson wasn’t very far from her house. Because of that she’d stayed away from her window. From her bed she could look out and see the stars, and yet not be seen from the outside.

  Luke didn’t question her further, though, which spared her from having to say anything.

  “I’ll see you in my dreams,” he said.

  “It’s a date,” she said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  During her time at Torrey Pines Academy, Tiffany Milton had worked hard to have everything just so. She had played the game better than anyone, and as a result, she and her chosen Y-Girls pretty much controlled the social scene. Everyone in the school who counted wanted to be part of what they had. But now there was a threat to that order.

  The way everyone in school was talking, it was like Space Girl had kissed that frog and turned it into a prince. Stella Vanilla Winkle had gone away for seven years, come back with a fanciful story of little green men, and then pulled some sleight of hand with a little green frog. Because of that, everyone was acting like she was the Homecoming Queen. Well, she wasn’t.

  Space Girl wasn’t the only one who was good with tricks. That’s why Tiffany was up and about early that morning. It was time for her to help Space Girl get her comeuppance.

  It was time, Tiffany thought, to bring her down to earth.

  Cheever picked up his office phone and heard Mary Beth Carey ask, “You got a minute?”

  “There are physicists who would tell you time is an illusion,” he said.

  “If time is an illusion, why am I always fighting my supervisor for the overtime that’s owed me?” she asked.

  “Maybe the two of you were meant to be locked into that timeless struggle. Or maybe Thoreau was right when he said, ‘Time is but a stream I go fishing in.’”

  “Stay at your desk,” she said. “If you’ve got the time, I’ve got a fish.”

  Homicide was located on the fourth floor of San Diego’s downtown headquarters on Broadway. Mary Beth would be coming from the Forensic Science Laboratory, so Cheever knew it would take her a few minutes.

  He wondered what fish Mary Beth had caught. Then he made a mental note to himself: stop on the way home and get some tuna fish for Gumshoe.

  His calico had changed Cheever’s mind about cats. Until he had taken in the waif, he had always thought he was a dog person. The cat had come to him under awful circumstances. She had been the only survivor of a home invasion that had ended with the murder of a mother and daughter and the two family dogs. What had started as a burglary had turned into a double homicide (or quadruple murders if you included the dogs). The murderer had tried to cover up what he’d done by setting a fire. Somehow in the midst of the inferno, the cat had been able to escape.

  In the days that followed the murders and the fire, Cheever had been witness to the cat’s comings and goings from the rubble. To his eye it seemed like the feline was looking for her former life. Cheever had been moved by the plight of the creature. He’d brought her food and water, and the cat had warmed up to him, coming over every time he visited the crime scene. In those early days, she’d smelled of smoke. It so pervaded her fur t
hat whenever Cheever scratched the cat, his hands came away smelling smoky.

  During the course of his investigation, he learned the cat was named Gummy Bear. When no one else came forward to adopt the cat, Cheever took her home. He’d renamed her Gumshoe, which seemed fine with her. In the end, Cheever had honored the victims in the only way he could: he’d nailed the murderer. It wasn’t enough, of course—it never was. But after the murderer was sentenced to death, Cheever had spent a few minutes telling Gumshoe the outcome of the case. It was certainly his imagination, but the cat had seemed to purr louder than he’d ever heard her.

  As Cheever often said, the cat was the only good thing to come out of a terrible situation. During their years together, Gumshoe had mellowed the detective, and his shrink girlfriend had mellowed him a little more. He wasn’t quite as prickly, or obsessive, as he’d been as a younger detective.

  And the Stella Pierce case had taught him patience, if nothing else.

  A figure turned the corner, and Mary Beth came into view. She was carrying a folder, and there was a bounce in her step.

  Stopping just short of Cheever’s desk, she said, “I’d like to acquaint you with LeRon Rivers, or as he was called when he was a kid before he went missing, Rolling Rivers.”

  She handed Cheever the paperwork she’d printed out. The detective started sifting through old police reports, newspaper articles, and pictures. He looked at the big, smiling face of a seven-year-old boy with a large gap between his two front teeth. It was an image that made you smile. The boy had lived in an outlying area of Atlanta along the Chattahoochee River. By all accounts, Rolling was always playing on the banks of the river, and sometimes beyond. He loved to fish, and often waded in the water.

  On the day Rolling went missing, his family assumed he had gotten up early to fish before school. The police had never been able to confirm this. They had also not been able to determine whether the Rivers family was missing a fishing pole. As for LeRon’s footprints along the bank of the Chattahoochee, forensics couldn’t conclude if they’d been made the morning or the night before.