No Coming Back

by Jessie Salisbury

  Taken by surprise, he protested, “He can come back anytime he wants to. I practically begged him to leave rehab with me.”

  “If you begged him, you’ve changed some.” She smiled at him. “Jim, let’s not fight about Richard. I love you like you are, and I love him the way he is. I only pray that someday the two of you will get together again.”

  “We will.” He thought that sounded like he was going to force the issue. “It’s inevitable. Rich belongs here and he knows it. He can’t go it alone and he has nowhere else to go.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why can’t he go it alone, as you put it?”

  He watched her face while he tried to think of the right words to say, words that would spare her pain and not make her worry. He saw her puzzlement, her devotion to her son, and he approved. Before he had formulated an answer, she said, “Ben Hoadly said he could walk, that he could earn a living if he had the right job, that he will get stronger as long as he takes it easy and works at it. He could even go back to teaching as soon as this fall. Don’t tell me Ben was lying.”

  “No, Ben wasn’t lying.”

  “Then, why will Richard have to come back?”

  He was still without the right words. His own conviction that Rich couldn’t make it seemed inadequate when put into words. He was simply sure, certain and positive, that Rich would eventually beg for help, ask Jim to take him back. He couldn’t say that to Jewel. “What else can he do?”

  “He seems to have been doing all right for a couple of months now, hasn’t he?”

  “As far as I know.” He didn’t really know, not for sure, but he wasn’t going to say so. Not knowing bothered him. If Rich really needs help, if he’s too stubborn to ask . . . “Ben says he hasn’t shown up in the emergency room, so he must be okay.”

  “Of course he’s all right.”

  He wondered if she were really as confident as she sounded. Maybe she knew more than he did, but he couldn’t ask. “Since I have to be gone tomorrow night, I thought you might like to go for a ride. It’s a beautiful day and there are a lot of flowers in bloom.”

  “I’d love to.”

  “I’ll tell Vi we won’t be here for supper. I’ll get you some fried clams at that stand you like. It’s open for the summer.”

  “Wonderful.” Her smile was genuine and there were lights in her eyes. “I’ll go change into something else.”

  He watched her go, conscious of the satisfaction he always felt when he was with her. She completed him, made him what he was, fulfilled his potential. He reflected that twenty years ago he had been the owner of an unpretentious construction company, doing practically nothing but jobs too small for the established outfits to bother with. He had made a comfortable living, but he had seen no future, and had no ambition to do or be anything else.

  He recalled, too, that Phil Summers had worked with him off and on during those days. Phil and a partner, Sandy Smith, had owned a fleet of trucks and would haul anything for anybody. He and Phil had gotten along fine, and he always called him when he needed an extra truck.

  But Philip Summers had died under a load of logs when a chain broke. Jewel had continued with the business, running it with Smith, and he continued to do business with them. In fact, Smith was still running the company and, for some unknown reason still called it Summers and Smith. Jim still hired him on occasion.

  He had known Jewel back then, too, but not well. She was an attractive, vitally alive young woman and he had admired her, but he had buried his heart with Janet and no woman could arouse more than a passing interest.

  But over time, seeing her, working with her, he knew he loved her. Twelve years now. It isn’t possible.

  His business was now as big as any in the county as he had expanded under Jewel’s encouragement. It was still basically a one-man company, and probably always would be, his and then Ken’s. Ken’s and Archie’s. He had included Rich in that future, too, but Rich was too much like Phil: independent, going his own way. He admitted, sometimes to himself, that he admired Rich’s spirit even when it ran counter to his own ideas, but damn that boy! Everything had been so good before.

  Jewel came back with her face freshly made up and wearing the blue Irish cable knit sweater he had given her for her birthday. She was smiling, her eyes sparkled, and he wondered why he didn’t take her out more often. I don’t really have to work so late, so often, do I?

  12.

  Saturday afternoon, Ken Weston finished the work his father had left for him, cleared off his desk, checked all the equipment in the yard, spoke briefly with old Joe Davenport who was still sweeping out the garage, and went home for an early supper. He felt a little guilty, although he knew Jewel would not object to his going out, and his father would never know that he had, not that it made any difference. His father had asked him to stay home and Wendy had asked him to meet her. The choice was simple. He would go.

  He had wondered, a while ago, what his father would have to say about his meeting her, sneaking around he would call it, and he had not liked the possibilities. As much as Jim disliked Frank Powers, he held that marriage was inviolable. Wendy had made her choice and she, and everyone else, must abide by it unless, or until, Wendy herself decided to change it. Even Jim, who disliked the idea of divorce, agreed it was sometimes the best course.

  Ken knew, from everything he had been taught since childhood, that this meeting with her was wrong, totally wrong, no matter how he felt, but he could not stop. Being with her was such sheer pleasure. He justified it to himself, and her, to try to convince himself that it was right, that she was hurting and needed him. But only as long as they were together. Alone, he suffered pangs of conscience and could not excuse himself.

  ~ ~ ~

  Ken found the table set for two and Jewel in the dining room waiting for him. She smiled brightly at him. “We’re all alone tonight. Archie’s off visiting a friend and Vi fixed us something special.”

  He wondered how he could leave when she so obviously expected him to spend the evening with her. He decided to wait and see what happened. Vi had fried chicken, which Jim detested, whipped the potatoes into fluffiness, and tossed a salad. Ken grinned. “You’re pretty sneaky,” he told Vi. “Do you keep it for whenever Dad’s gone?”

  “Everyone else likes it.” But she looked pleased.

  He found it hard to keep up the small talk, chatter about work and weather, and lapsed into silence. He didn’t notice when Jewel stopped talking.

  She asked suddenly, quietly, “You were planning to go out tonight, weren’t you?”

  He looked up at her. “I didn’t say I was.”

  “I know. And you haven’t told us who she is, either.”

  He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

  “What’s wrong, Ken?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Either the girl is someone your father wouldn’t like, or she is someone you have no business seeing.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  She rested her fingers on his wrist. “It’s easy to tell a man in love and I could tell from the beginning. It was also plain that there was something wrong. What is it?”

  He kept his gaze on his plate. “Was it that obvious?

  “It was to me.”

  “And Dad?”

  “I don’t think he’s noticed. He hasn’t said anything. It must not be affecting your work.”

  Ken took a deep breath. “Yes, I was planning to go out.”

  “Ken, don’t. I won’t ask you about it, but don’t go. Call her and tell her.”

  “Why?”

  “The first thing your father will ask is what I did tonight. I can’t lie to him for you. I will keep your secret, as much as I know, and I’ll help you any way I can, short of lying. If I tell him yo
u went out, he’ll want to know where and why.”

  He swallowed hard and tried to keep his annoyance out of his voice. “I have my own life.”

  “Of course you do. No one will deny you that.”

  “Then whose business is it where I go or who I go with?”

  “No one but yours.”

  “Then why all the questions?” He knew irritation was creeping into his voice, but also knew that what she said was true. His personal life had rarely been questioned.

  “Ken, don’t get mad. With things so wrong with Richard, I want things to go well for you.”

  He saw an outlet for his annoyance that would appear honest. “Why bring Rich up?”

  She sighed. “I always bring Richard up, as you put it. I don’t want you doing anything like he did.”

  “No danger.”

  “I hope not. Your father has a lot of faith in you.”

  “But not much trust, I take it.” Ken knew that was untrue.

  “A lot of trust.”

  He shoved his almost empty plate away. “What has this to do with my going out tonight?”

  “Maybe nothing. I told you I wouldn’t ask.”

  “Thanks.” He pushed his chair back and stood up. “Tell Vi I don’t want any dessert.” He stopped in the doorway and met her eyes for a moment, but she didn’t speak and he went upstairs.

  He took a shower and stayed in the steam long enough to make the decisions that would hurt the least. In the library he picked up a book he had been reading and when Jewel came in a little later he asked if she’d like a game of Scrabble. It was not how he had planned to spend the evening.

  He couldn’t call Wendy. He didn’t know if she was alone.

  13.

  At eight o’clock on Saturday night, Rich Summers finished his meager preparations for his party, collapsed into the only comfortable chair in the apartment, and grinned at Tex. “I guess we made it.” He poured half of his can of Budweiser into a paper cup and put it on the small table beside his chair.

  “You made it, and you’ve worried yourself into a stew. Calm down.”

  “This is my first soiree, so to speak. It has to go over big.”

  “It’ll go over like a lead balloon if you’re too frazzled to enjoy it. Besides, Gina doesn’t like the idea and she’ll probably blow it.”

  “This was for her.” He sipped at his beer.

  “I know.” Tex straddled one of the wooden kitchen chairs and gazed somberly over the back of it to somewhere beyond Rich. “Bud, let her go. You don’t need her now.”

  “So, that’s how it is?”

  “I’m sorry, Rich. I mean, we didn’t plan it this way, it just happened. You know how it is.”

  “I know how it is.” He wondered if he was relieved or just sad. One more thing gone wrong. “Just wait until after this party. Okay? I mean, some friends of mine will be here and . . .”

  “Sure. I wasn’t supposed to say anything anyway. It’ll be a real smash, Rich. Cheer up.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He heard Gina coming up the stairs, knew her by her quick light steps, but he didn’t move and barely answered her cheery greeting.

  Gina was sparkling. Her recently acquired auburn hair was caught back into a cascade of curls with a shiny black comb. The glittering bodice of her golden yellow dress hugged and accented her small waist, and then billowed out into huge soft folds around her very shapely knees. Her satin ballerina slippers matched the dress. Rich drew in a deep awed breath but Tex was openly appreciative of the picture she made in the doorway and whistled softly.

  Gina waltzed into the kitchen, sampled the chips and the two bowls of dip on the counter, and opened the refrigerator door to peer inside. She floated back into the living room with a corn chip topped with salsa in her hand. “Looks good, Dickie. Tastes good, too.”

  He smiled but couldn’t answer. He knew, surely, that she had not dressed for him.

  She glanced sideways at Tex, who shrugged, then settled herself on the arm of Rich’s chair. She rested one hand on the top of his head and leaned over to peer into his face. “You didn’t overdo it, did you, Dick?”

  “No, I didn’t overdo it.” He knew he sounded cross and refrained from adding, you were supposed to be here to help set up. “I’m fine.”

  “Such a grouch. Tex, what have you been doing to him?”

  “Not a thing. Put on some music, woman, then get us a beer and we’ll liven things up before the others get here.”

  She looked through a handful of CDs and put one into the boom box on a bookcase in the corner of the room. Tex grabbed Gina’s hand, pulled her into his arms, then whirled her around, nearly filling the small space between the door and the counter. The dance was something outlandish that Rich had never seen before. The music had a good, danceable beat and his inability to join in added to his growing misery. The beer wasn’t helping as much as he had hoped, and he poured another.

  He watched Tex guiding Gina through the intricate steps and wondered for a moment how he was able to do it. Hadn’t they been in rehab together, Tex recovering from a broken leg? But Tex’s injury had been a simple break, the damage was as much to tendons as it was to bones, and it had been two months since he left rehab. And those steps could be part of the prescribed exercise program since the dance was as much arms as it was feet.

  Rich was on his third beer when he again heard footsteps on the stairs.

  Rich made the introductions: Peter Randall, muscular from sports and his work as a rough carpenter, was darkly tanned with almost black curly hair, dark eyes, and a ready grin. His sister Susan was much the same, although her hair was lighter, and she was as he remembered her, quietly pretty, her smile shy, her dark eyes wide and innocent. She was wearing a simple blue shirtwaist that hinted at a full figure but did not accent it. She looked as out of place as he was feeling.

  Julie Harris was Susan’s opposite: tall and willowy, her skin creamy, her light makeup expertly applied, and she had twisted her blonde hair into an elaborate French braid. Her long blossom strewn skirt was modestly slit revealing a shapely leg. She moved with the easy grace of a dancer, reflecting her years of ballet lessons as a teenager. She had decided a professional dance future was not for her, and she worked now as the director of a local art gallery. She stayed beside Pete.

  Tex had replaced the old sagging couch with a narrow steel cot. At night it served as Tex’s bed, but now it was covered with a soft green chenille throw Gina had found somewhere. She had also added a few bright toss pillows. Pete sat down on it, Julie close beside him. Gina went into the kitchen and Susan followed her.

  Gina thrust a large bowl of corn chips into her hands. “Take this and the dip.”

  Susan carried the bowl into the living room and passed it to Rich.

  He smiled at her and took a handful. “Thanks.”

  She handed the chips to Pete, went back for the bowls of salsa and onion dip.

  Gina’s round metal tray held paper cups, napkins and both beer and sodas. Rich took another Bud and poured half of it into a cup. He had never liked drinking out of a can.

  Silence settled like a stifling blanket. After a long, uncomfortable minute, Tex said, “More music, Gina.” While she stepped toward the boom box, he said, heartily, “So, how’s the baseball business, Pete? I saw you guys play last week against that team from Pepperell. Friend of mine works there.”

  “So-so. I wish we were in a stronger league. We need more competition.”

  There was silence again.

  Gina found a CD she liked and sat down beside Tex, leaving Susan no place to sit but the arm of Rich’s chair.

  Tex stood up, pulled Gina to her feet, and swung her around in the space in front of the door. “Too bad this place is so small.”

  “A good thing we don’t ha
ve complaining neighbors in this building,” Rich said.

  Gina laughed at him and moved closer to Tex.

  Rich winced and looked away.

  Pete twitched around uncomfortably. “Rich . . .”

  Rich glanced sideways at him.

  “Is your leg bothering you? Is all this too much?”

  “I’ll be all right, Pete. This is all of my own making.” To his way of thinking, Tex and Gina were much too close together.

  “Well, okay then. If you say so.”

  Tex turned their way, spun Gina expertly toward Pete, and caught Susan smoothly into his twirl. Pete took Gina’s hand and Julie moved closer to Rich. He took a handful of the potato chips she offered him.

  “It’s been a long time, Rich,” she said. “Too long for Pete. You need to come back to us.” Her eyes were on Pete and Gina adjusting their steps to each other. “So why are you living here like this?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Pete told me how you had a fight with your family.”

  “Chatty, isn’t he?” Rich said, and instantly regretted it. Pete and Julie had nothing to do with any of this and he didn’t want to alienate them further.

  She regarded him over the top of her Pepsi. “You weren’t always so bitter, Rich. I remember you with Pete and the other guys after a game . . .”

  “I can’t play anymore, remember?”

  “I know, but your life didn’t end, did it? There are still a lot of things you can do.”

  He couldn’t answer. He knew she was right. Just not the things I want to do.

  She held the bowl of chips toward him. “Maybe you should eat something.”

  He took a couple to please her and sipped at his beer.