No Coming Back

by Jessie Salisbury

  “Wendy . . .”

  She snorted. “She’s such a mousy little thing. She’ll never satisfy you.”

  He hadn’t thought about being satisfied, just that he had found her very attractive and she was arousing feelings he thought Wendy’s marriage had killed. He had some hope again, hope that he could be alive again. He didn’t answer her.

  She sniffed and turned away. “On Thursday, that new adventure film, the one with Russell Crowe. I’ll be there.”

  She knew he liked that kind of picture. She knew way too much about him. He said as firmly as he could, “No.”

  “I will be there. In case you change your mind.”

  He watched her walk slowly away and went home without picking out a new book to read. I will end it. No matter how much it hurts.

  20.

  On Tuesday, Rich Summers decided to go to a movie. He was tired of reading, nothing on television held his interest, and there was a new film at the multiplex, one of the action things that usually distracted him enough to take his mind off his problems for a few hours. He could get to the mall on the city bus and walk the block to the theater with little problem. The evening was warm and he was feeling much better. The gash on his forehead had healed and there would be no scar. The intermittent headaches had faded away. His knee was no worse than it had been as long as he was careful. He doubted the therapy was helping, but he was doing as the therapists directed, just in case it might.

  Thoughts of driving a car sometimes left him clammy, and he occasionally still had nightmares, but I have to drive again! He had begun checking into used cars, anxious to be mobile and independent, and he had the insurance adjustment from the accident. Not that I can afford anything new. I guess I’m back to a used Ford or something. I’ll have to ask Ken for help looking around . . .

  The matronly home aide Ken had hired came in the mornings to clean the apartment. He had needed her help on the first few days but not now. Ken had contracted with the agency for two weeks and she did his laundry, washed the dishes, and left a meal in the refrigerator for him to heat. He was grateful and would tell Ken so the next time he saw him.

  He discovered that his brother had also paid his rent for the next two months, since he no longer had a roommate to help with it, but that was something that Ken would not want mentioned.

  He had gone back to work, missing only a week because of his fall. Tex had come by, picked up his few belongings, and gone. Rich accepted his abject apologies, knew they were sincere, and knew, too, that it was Gina who had instigated the whole thing. She wanted out of their relationship. He understood her desire for more action, and Tex could provide a lot more excitement than he did. But it hurt. Terribly.

  “I’m sorry,” Tex said. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but . . .”

  “She can do that to a guy,” Rich told him. “I know.”

  He hoped they would be happy, for however long Gina chose to stay with him, before someone else attracted her interest. He didn’t say that, however. “Good luck, Tex. You were a good roommate, lots of fun. And thanks.”

  “For nothing. Take it easy, Rich. And get back to teaching as soon as you can. That’s your life.”

  He didn’t see any way he could go back to gym class. “I’ll try.”

  He was, in a way, relieved that Tex was gone, taking Gina with him, but it left a big, empty, aching place that he needed to fill. His apartment alternately closed in around him, suffocating him, or echoed with the memories he tried to stifle. He tuned his radio to an oldies station, as much for background noise as anything, and it helped. But tonight, he needed to get out.

  ~ ~ ~

  He arrived at the theater during the trailers, found a seat toward the back, and settled down with his tub of buttered popcorn. The movie was all he hoped it would be: the action wild and gory, the women exotically attractive, the special effects superb, and the plot a bit far-fetched. It was just what he needed for an evening’s escape.

  But toward the end of the picture he became aware of a couple two rows in front of him who seemed to be arguing. They were quiet and disturbing no one, but something about them caught his attention. The man turned and in the light from the screen Rich recognized Ken. Then he realized the woman was his sister Wendy.

  Intrigued and disturbed, he could no longer concentrate on the movie.

  Now, why are they here together? They probably shouldn’t be. And what are they fighting about? Ken never fights with anyone.

  He knew, of course, that Ken had always liked Wendy, probably a lot more and in ways other than a brother should, but Wendy had never returned that affection. As far as Rich knew, Ken had never had a steady girlfriend, had seldom dated when they were in high school, and he had heard of only one brief relationship while Ken was at college. He was apparently content to live at home and work in the family business.

  During the credits Ken and Wendy rose to leave. Rich waited until they had passed his row, followed them out, and caught up with them as they left the lobby.

  As ingenuously as he could, he said, “Hey, imagine meeting you two here.”

  They spun around together to gape at him. Ken did not meet his eyes.

  “Hi, Rich,” Wendy said too quickly. “Good to see you out and about again. Sorry I’ve got to run but Frank will be home any minute.”

  Rich watched her leave, almost running toward the parking lot. He waited a long minute for Ken to say something, anything. When Ken said nothing, he asked, “Did I interrupt something?”

  Ken shook his head. “The end of something. I told her it was over.”

  “What’s over? There should be nothing to get over. Talk about some divided loyalties here. She’s my sister, you’re my brother.”

  “There isn’t anything. There never really was. As much I wanted that back in the beginning, before she met Frank.” His gaze moved to where Wendy had gone. “She called me a while ago. To talk about her problems. Frank is impossible, she said. She doesn’t know what to do. I told her to talk to Mother, but she said she couldn’t, couldn’t admit what a mess she’d made of her life. And I guess she didn’t want Dad to know.” He kept his attention on the parking lot. “I’ve loved her a long time. I couldn’t seem to get over that, and she knew it.”

  “I knew that. I hoped once that it would work out.”

  “Wendy says marrying Frank was a mistake.”

  “I always thought so.” He paused. “So she turned to you, good, old, reliable Ken?”

  Ken laughed shortly. “I guess that’s what she had in mind, but now I’ve I met Susan Randall. I told Wendy I wouldn’t meet her again.”

  “Susan?”

  “That night you fell and hit your head. I guess it’s what you call love at first sight. For both of us. I never thought it would happen to me.” He glanced at Rich. “We’ve had a couple of dates. I’ve never known anyone like her.”

  Rich smiled. “I’m glad for you. And Sue. She’s always been like a little sister, tagging along after Pete and me.”

  “Maybe she will be a sister, one of these days.” After a moment, he asked in a totally different tone of voice, “So how did you get here? You haven’t been okayed to drive yet.”

  “City bus.”

  “Come on then and I’ll drive you home.”

  “I never turn down a ride.”

  “Stop for coffee?”

  “Sure. There are some things I want to ask you.”

  “I’m not talking about some things, but I’ll listen.”

  “Just catch up on the other family doings.”

  “You should go talk to Mother. She’d love to see you, talk to you.”

  Rich sighed. “And I want to see her, but not yet. When I can drive, when I’m not so dependent on other people, maybe.” He added, “I get re-evaluated next wee
k and should be able to drive again.”

  Ken unlocked his car.

  “There’s been too much said and done for me to go back,” Rich said.

  Ken didn’t answer.

  Rich climbed awkwardly into the car, favoring his left knee. “I had a girlfriend a while ago but she left me for someone else. I don’t want Wendy hurt, or you, and you will be if this gets out.”

  After a pause during which Ken started the car and backed out of the parking space, Rich said, “Especially if Jim hears of it. He’ll raise holy hell. Sanctity of marriage and all that. Hadn’t you thought of that?”

  “I’ve thought of it.”

  “So we can talk about Mother and how she’s doing, and charming little Archie, and what you’re doing for work these days . . .”

  21.

  Ken Weston tidied his desk on Wednesday afternoon. He had a growing headache, a dull pain behind his right eye, and decided to quit early. It had been a long frustrating day in which he had accomplished very little. He couldn’t concentrate on the paper work he needed to deal with. He kept remembering last night, Wendy’s hurt tears and Rich’s obvious displeasure. And there was the nagging guilt at being discovered. I knew somebody would find out sometime but why did it have to be Rich? Not that he’d ever tell anyone.

  He could do nothing about any of it. It was done and the past can’t be changed. All I can do is go on from here. Me and Sue. If she’ll really have me. She’s the only good thing in all of this.

  He was sorting the reports he would ask Anita to file when his father strode into the office carrying a file folder and a handful of papers.

  “Here, these are yours,” Jim said and dropped them on his desk.

  Ken looked at them with resignation, not relishing the thought of more work, and picked up the folder. When he realized what it was, he looked up with surprise. “This is all the preliminary stuff on the High Meadow job.”

  “That’s right.” Jim sat down on the edge of Ken’s desk. “I’m giving it to you. All of it. You’ve done a good job on the survey, getting the estimates, and your crew has the brush all cleared ready for us to start. So now it’s all up to you to build it.”

  Ken kept his gaze on the papers in his hand gradually absorbing what his father had said, what it meant. He had long wanted to do a big job on his own but had not quite dared ask. “Thanks, but why? You’ve always wanted to be in on everything, always run the show.”

  “I won’t always be here to run things. I want to make sure you can handle the company without me. I want this business to be in good shape when Archie gets old enough to join it, even if I’m not here.”

  “Oh.” Ken riffled the sheaf of papers, not seeing them or looking at his father. The old annoyance gripped him, his usually deep buried resentment of his young brother and how he was treated. “I thought maybe you were doing it for me.”

  “I am. This job is all yours.”

  Ken still did not look directly at him. “So you said. Well, don’t worry, I know how. You taught me, remember?”

  Jim stood up. “I taught you, but I will be keeping an eye on your progress.”

  “I thought you would.” That was part of the problem. Jim was always there, keeping an eye on him.

  His father stopped in the doorway. “Is something wrong, Ken?”

  “No, just a little headache.”

  “Go home and take a couple of aspirin.” He turned away again. “Well, I expect it to be a good job.”

  “It will be. And thanks for giving me the chance to prove it to you.”

  Ken sat down after his father had gone. The proposal had caught him totally by surprise, but he did not doubt his ability to do it. He had spent much of his life doing such work and the only difference between this project and others he had handled was the size. He had never overseen anything this large, nor, he reflected, had his father. It felt good to be given the responsibility he had desired for so long, to have the opportunity to prove himself, but it hurt a little, too. Keep the company strong for Archie. What about me?

  He laughed at himself. I’m getting to be as bad as Rich.

  But, in spite of his misgivings about his father’s motives, there was the thrill of excitement, doing what he had long wanted to do, an important job on his own. He picked up the sheaf of papers. If this is my job, I’d better get going so we can start the actual work right after Memorial Day. I do have to consider weather.

  22.

  Jim Weston spent an hour most evenings doing bookwork, going over the day’s transactions, and on Friday he checked everything for the week. Even though Anita Fontaine was as good a bookkeeper as anyone he knew, and she certainly knew the business as well as he did since she had been managing his office efficiently for over ten years, he insisted on checking it himself. He claimed it was from habit, from his younger days when he had done it all, but it’s just to be sure and for my peace of mind.

  Anita just shrugged and said, “Be my guest.” She had worked for him too long, and knew him too well, to take it as criticism. Theirs was a strictly professional relationship, but one that worked well and comfortably.

  Jim didn’t like having his hour interrupted and his family acted accordingly. He was therefore both surprised, and annoyed, to see Frank Powers standing in the library doorway. But he was also curious. Frank hadn’t come here alone since marrying Wendy.

  Jim pushed his books aside and gestured toward a chair. “Come on in, Frank. What’s up?”

  Frank came toward him slowly, keeping his gaze on the floor, appearing more nervous than Jim had ever seen him. He generally projected smug self-assurance to the point of arrogance. He sat cautiously on the edge of the indicated seat and clasped his hands in his lap.

  Jim leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his stomach. “Got a problem, Frank? Something I can help you with? Financial question maybe?”

  “Oh, no nothing like that.” He fidgeted as if the chair were uncomfortable. “I have a sort of a problem, I think, maybe with Wendy. I really don’t know how to put it.”

  Startled, Jim said, “Wendy? Something’s wrong with her? Is she sick?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  Jim started to get up, his hands on the arms of his chair. “Maybe we should go talk to her mother . . .”

  “Oh, no, please.” Frank hesitated and caught his lip in his teeth for a moment. “I’d rather talk to you, man to man.”

  Jim sat down again. “Well, then what seems to be the problem? If she isn’t sick.”

  Frank shook his head, avoiding Jim’s eyes by staring at the picture of Jewel and a toddler Archie on the desk. “I think maybe she’s stepping out on me.” He hurried on, interrupting Jim’s protest. “I can’t prove it, of course. It’s just little things she says and does. Nothing definite. Mr. Weston . . . Dad . . . I don’t know who else I can talk to about it. I mean, I love her. I don’t want to think she doesn’t want me.” He stopped, his face flushing. “She’s always seemed so happy.”

  Jim didn’t like Frank calling him Dad, but had never said so. “Really, Frank, I don’t think you should get upset without a cause. I don’t believe Wendy would sneak around with someone else. She wasn’t brought up like that.”

  “I know that, sir, it’s just . . .” He shrugged. “It’s a feeling I get sometimes, as if she isn’t there in the room with me or something, like she’s far away.”

  Jim could understand that perfectly. He didn’t want to be in a room with Frank, either, and certainly couldn’t carry on a reasonable conversation with him. You just listened to Frank. “Oh. So, what do you want me to do about it?”

  “I don’t know. I wanted to talk to somebody and I can’t talk to my parents about something like that.”

  Jim understood that, too. “No, I guess you can’t, seeing
they live in Florida. Maybe Jewel can talk to her, sort of hedge around a little, you know, woman talk. She should be able to say for certain that Wendy’s just as true as we think she is.”

  Frank nodded. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t what? Talk to Jewel? Or to Wendy? She’s your wife.”

  Frank bristled visibly then straightened his shoulders and raised his head. “Of course I talk to her, all the time, but my work is so technical she doesn’t understand it, and I’m working long hours right now . . .”

  Jim saw a possible problem there, but Frank’s voice had regained its note of superiority. He was back in control of his emotions, his little show of humanness gone and the technology wizard was back. Jim said carefully, “I’ll get Jewel to look into it, Frank. She is Wendy’s mother.”

  Frank heaved a big sigh of relief. “Women are much better at that sort of thing, anyway.”

  Jim smiled, mostly to himself, and pushed himself to his feet. “Let me get you a drink.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Coffee, then?”

  Frank hesitated. “Well, all right, but I must be getting home. Wendy will be worried since I didn’t tell her I was going to be this late.”

  “Of course. Vi can make us some coffee and we’ll sit with Jewel for a moment. She likes company.” Even yours.

  ~ ~ ~

  Later that evening, Jim sat beside Jewel in their bedroom and told her what Frank had said.

  Jewel smiled. “Not Wendy. Never. She’s much too honest.”

  “But considering who she’s married to . . .”

  “She’d leave him first. She wouldn’t cheat.”

  “I hope so.”

  She patted his hand. “It’s funny Frank would come to you. It’s not like him. He must really be upset.”

  “He seems to be really, honestly worried and doesn’t know what to do.”