No Coming Back

by Jessie Salisbury

  Dr. Hoadley had come at mid-morning, as bluff and gruff as an old family friend could be. “You’re a damn fool,” he said, “and you were drunk.”

  Rich couldn’t counter that. Nor could he answer the doctor’s questions about last night. He remembered Tex and Gina leaving, Gina laughing at him, but nothing more. “I don’t remember anything.”

  “You’ll have a headache for a while but you didn’t do any great damage. Your head’s too hard. It may all come back, and it might not. You can never tell. I’ll set up a rehab schedule for you. You’ve got to take it easy while your knee mends, stay off it as much as possible.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “And go see your mother.”

  “You’ll tell her about this?”

  “I can’t. You have to. Or Ken.” He’d paused a moment. “You’ve got to think about her, Rich.”

  “I do.”

  “Humph.” He’d gone then, leaving Rich to think about it. For a moment, the doctor had sounded like Jim Weston, Do what I tell you. While you live here in my house, you will obey me.

  Rich recalled the first time Jim had said that, and the episode that had prompted it, soon after he had moved into the Weston house. He had systematically broken every rule Jim had listed, testing and provoking him, and prompting Ken to do the same. He didn’t know what Jim had said to Ken, but he had abided by the rules thereafter and Rich had never again been able to make him break one. Rich had soon stopped as well since peace was preferable to strife and he had to live in Jim’s house.

  Rich knew now that Jim had actually been very understanding, knew what Rich had been doing: missing his own father and resenting the move. Jim had been very tolerant during those days while he was adjusting. He didn’t want to think about that now.

  Rich had steered his resentment into other outlets: baseball, schoolwork, and continual competition with Ken, but Jim had demanded obedience. Yeah, I obeyed you, did almost everything you ever asked of me, and what did it get me? Nothing but a broken knee and no longer able to do my job. In frustrated anger, he moved, jerking his knee, and pain knifed through it.

  He found a more comfortable position, closed his eyes, and listened to the muted sounds of the hospital: voices in the hall, a TV somewhere, traffic outside his window. He tried to clear his mind of bad memories and of what might have been. He knew he was waiting for Jim to come, to gloat over him, to say I told you so. When he heard someone stop in his doorway, he steeled himself, but it was Ken who came in.

  “How’re you feeling? You looked kind of rocky last night.”

  Rich released a long breath. “I’m okay, if I don’t move too suddenly.”

  Ken leaned against the foot of the bed. “Mother said to tell you she was thinking of you and thanks for the flower.”

  Rich looked away. “How is Mother?”

  “You could come and find out, you know. She’d love to see you.”

  “I will. When I can.”

  Ken didn’t question that. “Dr. Hoadley said the X-rays were fine, you don’t need an MRI, and he would arrange some kind of home aide for you so you can leave here tomorrow morning.”

  Rich closed his eyes. “I can’t afford that kind of help.”

  “Don’t think about that now. You can owe me.”

  “I probably owe you too much now.”

  “That’s what families are for.”

  Rich couldn’t answer. Deep down, he knew that.

  “So. What happened? I never knew you to have more than a couple of beers.”

  “Wrong women. They’ll do it to you.”

  “Susan Randall?”

  Startled, Rich opened his eyes. “Susan?”

  “She’s the one who called me, the only person I saw.”

  “Oh.” After a moment, he said, “There were four other people there.”

  “I took Miss Randall home. She was a little ill.”

  “Oh.” He closed his eyes again. It was his only defense.

  “You don’t want to talk about it?”

  “Not yet. I haven’t sorted it all out yet.” He kept his eyes closed and asked what he needed to know. “Will Jim come here?”

  “No. He wasn’t home last night, and hadn’t gotten back when I left this morning. Mother said to wait until we knew more before we told him anything, when we had something to tell him.”

  “Why? Why do that for me?”

  “Why not?”

  Rich opened his eyes. “I don’t want to fight with him again.”

  “Then don’t.” Ken straightened up. “Tomorrow, when I can tell him you’re out of the hospital, then maybe I’ll tell him I saw you. And as little as possible, which isn’t much since I didn’t ask. Won’t ask.” He put one hand on Rich’s arm and squeezed lightly. “I have a couple of things to do before I go home. I’ll come around and see you in a day or two, see how you’re making out. Now that I know where you live.”

  For a moment Rich regretted having been so secretive, keeping Ken out. “That would be good.”

  Ken stopped in the doorway. “And take it easy on the knee, Rich. We all do care, you know.”

  He was gone before Rich had an answer. But his visit had melted some of the coldness around his heart.

  ~ ~ ~

  His visit with Pete Randall had been better, but Pete took a lot more responsibility for what had happened than he needed to. None of this was his fault.

  “We could have stayed,” Pete repeated. “I was getting mad and Julie thought we should go before I said something I shouldn’t. Something I’d regret.”

  Rich shook his head. “Gina and Tex would have left anyway.”

  “But I would have been there and you wouldn’t have ended up here.”

  “Forget it, Pete. She’s gone and won’t be back. I expect Tex has moved out, too, by now. Or will as soon as I get back.”

  “But I could stop by once in a while.”

  “And talk about what, baseball? You know I can’t.” He knew his hurt was showing but he couldn’t fully hide it.

  Pete pushed himself up from his chair. “There are other things to talk about, Rich. I’ll see you when you’re feeling better, okay?”

  “Thanks, Pete, for coming by, for trying to help.”

  “No problem.”

  Tomorrow is another day, he told himself firmly. I’ll just have to cope with it. By myself. There isn’t anyone else.

  But he thought again about Laura Boutelle, her friendly smile, her quiet concern, and hoped it was a little more than just being a nurse. He tried to remember her from school, but he had only a few fleeting impressions of an attractive girl, one not part of the cheerleader crowd nor one of the “in” people. She was, he thought, Honor Society and took part in community projects. But she was still a junior when he had graduated. He hadn’t seen her since.

  Maybe I can call her, when I can walk a little better, ask her out. But she’s probably engaged or something, nice and attractive as she is.

  The nurse asked if he was in pain and if he’d like a sleeping aid, and he said yes. There were too many uncomfortable thoughts tumbling around in his mind and he really needed to be able to think clearly if he was to go home tomorrow.

  18.

  On Sunday afternoon, Jewel and Jim Weston enjoyed a late lunch on the sun porch. He had arrived home shortly before noon, excited about Ned Burrough’s High Meadow Project and eager to talk about it. She was more than willing to listen and share his enthusiasm.

  “It’ll be a great way for Ken to start taking over, handle a project on his own,” he said. “Where is he, by the way?”

  “He said he was having lunch with a friend. He didn’t say who.” Somehow, during this meal, she would have to tell him about Richard. I’ll just wait for an opening. “When
will you be starting?”

  “Just as soon as we wind up a couple of other jobs. Ken has already done a lot of the preliminary work and is lining up the subcontractors.”

  She stirred honey into her herbal tea. “So tell me about all about this. Will Ken be staying up there or commuting? That’s a good two-hour drive.”

  “Both. We’ll arrange for a place for when he wants to stay over. Be easier that way and cut down on driving and gas. Best to be close to the operation.”

  She listened to his description of the proposed half mile of access road, the clearing of a broad shoulder of a small mountain for the new lodge and the accessory buildings, the parking areas, all the needed site work. She was pleased, happy for him, that he was so excited, although she knew little about the actual construction process. It had been some time since he had been so enthusiastic about a project. “It sounds huge, Jim.”

  “It is, one of the biggest projects I’ve ever taken on. When we get to a good point, when you can see what is being done, how it will look, I’ll take you up there to see it all. Great scenery. We can stay at his lodge there above Plymouth. We have a standing invite.”

  She thought about that, not answering. She rarely made overnight trips, preferring to avoid all the hassle, even when there were adequate facilities for wheelchair bound patrons. “Ben tells me I should do more of that, get out more.”

  “You should.”

  She remembered all the trips they had made when they were first married, camping, canoeing, and horseback riding. She didn’t like to think about the things she could no longer do, and tried to find less strenuous things she could handle. Most days she found it easiest to just stay home. She had her gardens to enjoy and to tempt her outside in nice weather. Jim had found an excellent gardener who was willing to work with her.

  “So,” he said into a lengthening silence, “what’s keeping you so quiet? Everything was fine while I was gone?”

  She took a deep breath. “Richard had some kind of accident last night. He’s in the hospital.”

  Jim swore. “How bad? His leg again? Damn!”

  She put her hand on his arm. “Ken was here and took care of everything for him, everything he could at the emergency room. Somebody called. I don’t know who. Somebody Ken didn’t know. He said Richard was admitted for observation, at least overnight, possible concussion, maybe a re-injury to his leg. I don’t know any more than that. Ken said he’d stop in again sometime today and find out more. I guess he talked to Ben Hoadley.”

  “I’ll call . . .”

  “Don’t, Jim. Let Ken handle this, if anything needs handling. Please.”

  He didn’t answer for a long moment, kept his eyes on his plate, and stirred his coffee. “All right,” he said. “For now.”

  She could feel his anger, saw it in his clenched jaw, the way he gripped his spoon. She knew it was caused partly by his concern for Richard, but mostly by his inability to take charge of the situation. He had to be in charge, felt helpless if he wasn’t. “Ken will let us know if Richard needs something, if there is something we can do. You know that.”

  “Yeah.”

  She closed her fingers lightly on his wrist. “You are letting Ken go out on his own, do his own thing. Let Richard do the same. He needs to handle this himself.”

  He kept his attention on his lunch. “That’s different.”

  “Not really. They are different people.”

  He sighed heavily. “All right. I won’t talk to anybody. Ben’ll be here on Thursday for cards.”

  She smiled at him. “By then, everything should be all right.”

  She fervently hoped it would be. She had to keep her doubts and fears to herself. If only Richard would come home, at least come here to talk to me.

  Jim smiled at her, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “He has to come back, you know, for your sake.”

  She squeezed his hand, reassuring him. “He will, Jim, as soon as he has everything straight in his own mind.” She had to keep believing that.

  19.

  As usual on Thursday evening, as soon as the poker players were intent on their game, Ken Weston went to the city library, the one night a week it was open late. He had no interest in poker, but since he had known the players much of his life, he stayed long enough to exchange small talk. He had not heard from Wendy so he did not expect to see her there, and fervently hoped he wouldn’t. He loved her, he would always love her, but she was his sister, by law if not by birth, and he must accept that. Finally. And now he had met Susan. He had seen her only twice, but he could not stop thinking about her, and he had a date with her for dinner and a movie tomorrow. I never believed in love at first sight, but here I am.

  But, unexpectedly, Susan was at the library, standing by the circulation desk talking with the assistant librarian as he came in. He said, “Hello,” and could think of nothing else.

  She smiled shyly at him, met his eyes fleetingly and causing his heart to miss a beat. “Just returning some books for my mother and picking up one she had reserved. She couldn’t come tonight and she really wants it.” She accepted the book from the librarian with a smile. “Thanks.”

  Wondering if this could be a meeting place, he asked, “Do you come here often?”

  She shook her head. “No. I pick up a paperback romance once in a while, but usually I read the electronic ones.”

  “I haven’t done that yet. I like to hold a book in my hands, a real book.” He added, lamely he thought, “Thursday is my library night.”

  She laughed. “My Kindle is a lot lighter and I can carry a dozen books to your one.” She pointed at the three books in his hands.

  He looked at his books without answering. She was having the same effect on him as she had before, leaving him practically tongue-tied.

  “I have to run. I’ll be ready tomorrow. You said about six?”

  He nodded, met her smiling eyes, wondered for a moment at the sparkle in their dark depths, then said, “I have reservations at that new Mexican place. If that’s okay?”

  “Wonderful. I can’t wait. I love chicken fajitas.”

  He watched her go, wishing he had found a way to prolong the conversation. But there is tomorrow.

  He saw Wendy then, standing by the magazine racks watching them and frowning. He put his books on the return counter with a hard knot forming in his stomach. Now is the time to tell her I won’t, can’t, meet her here again . . . I have to.

  She walked toward him. “When did you meet Sue Randall?”

  “I didn’t know you knew her.”

  “Pete’s little sister. I’ve known her a long time and she was in one of my classes at the Voc-Tech.”

  He had forgotten that Wendy had taken several classes there thinking maybe she should try out a few areas before going on to college, once she had decided on a career path. She never did. She met Frank Powers first. Ken sought an answer, a noncommittal comment and found none.

  “You seem to know her quite well.”

  He heard resentment in her voice and her anger steeled his resolve. “No. I met her last week. Rich fell somehow in his apartment and she happened to be there with Pete. Dad was gone so I got her call.”

  “Rich is hurt? Bad? Is he in the hospital again?” Her concern was real.

  “No. He was but he’s home again now, back at his job, but he’s getting some more physical therapy.”

  “Where does he work?”

  Ken shrugged. “He didn’t tell me. Some assembly place. An easy sit-down kind of job.”

  She didn’t comment.

  “Something he can do. He has to work at something. Partial disability payments only last so long and go so far.” He paused. “And he was probably bored.”

  “Yeah.”

  There were other people nearing
the desk and he stepped away toward the stacks, seeking the right words to tell her what he had to say.

  Wendy followed but stopped after a few steps. “Ken?”

  He faced her but didn’t answer.

  “On Thursday, Frank will be away for the evening. He won’t be getting home until after midnight . . .”

  “No. I can’t meet you again. Ever.”

  She stared at him and he saw tears in her eyes.

  He had said it and tightened his resolve against her tears and pleading. “No more meetings. This is wrong and you know it as well as I do.”

  “Just once more, Ken? Go to the movie on Tuesday? I really need to talk to you.”

  He kept his mind’s eye on Susan’s smiling face and her inviting smile. His hope was there, not on this dead-end, totally wrong liaison, however much he might want it. It was over when she married Frank. “Talk about what?”

  “What I should do?”

  “You know what you have to do, Wendy. I can’t help you. If you think things are that bad, go talk to Mother.”

  “I can’t, Ken. I can’t admit to her how awful things are.”

  “Then find a counselor or something. There is nothing I can do.”

  Her tears spilled over and slid down her cheeks. “Ken, please, just on Tuesday.”

  “No.”

  She turned on him. “You’ve found somebody else?”

  He nodded. “I hope so.”

  “So it’s Susan Randall, is it?”