No Coming Back

by Jessie Salisbury

She shook her head, but kept her eyes on his.

  He knew then, for certain, that no one had told her. “Then ask him, ask him why I left.” He stood up, eased his hands from hers. His resentment was returning and he didn’t want to hurt her. She had had no part in it. “I think I’d better go. Before someone comes.”

  She reached for his hand again. “Richard, please, don’t leave angry. I’ve wanted so much to see you, to know where you live, how you live.”

  He forced a smile for her. “I’m not angry with you. And Ken knows where I live, where I just moved. And I will come back to see you.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.” He kissed her cheek again and avoided the pleas in her eyes.

  He went out the way he had come in and encountered Archie in the side yard. He looked at his young half-brother with annoyance, but surprised that he felt so little animosity toward him. “Hi, Arch, how’s things?”

  “Fine.”

  “I won’t ask if you’ve been good, that would be expecting too much.” Jim had spent little time correcting and disciplining Archie, and for some reason had not set the limits for him that he had for Rich and Ken. He’s a holy terror sometimes. Maybe it isn’t totally Archie’s fault.

  The boy was staring at him. “Rich?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Rich, are you still mad at me, I mean about . . .”

  Rich stopped, considered his brother for a long moment, and decided. “No, Arch, I’m not mad. I’d like to see your father tan your hide, but I’m not mad at you.”

  Archie grinned. “He’d never do that.”

  “I know. And it’s too bad.” He walked toward the street again but Archie caught up with him. “Aren’t you going to live here anymore?”

  “No, this house isn’t big enough for both of us.” He actually meant Jim, not Archie, but kept on walking, not looking back. Archie didn’t follow him.

  But back on the street he again had a dilemma. How do I get home from here? What is the shortest way? He was tired. The strain of the past hour was creeping into his joints, weighing him down, and he was getting hungry since he had skipped lunch. I should have driven here instead of walking. He knew the general direction he had to go and started that way, strolling so as to not cause more stress on his leg. He stayed on back streets, found a convenience store, bought a sandwich and a soda, which eased the hunger but didn’t help the knee.

  Eventually, he didn’t know exactly where he was although he knew he was in the right section of the city. The houses around him were much like his own neighborhood but the street names meant nothing. He stopped, perplexed.

  “Rich!” Somebody behind him yelled his name. “Watch out!”

  He stepped backward as a baseball landed in front of him. He recognized the young voice, and stopped to watch a boy about twelve trudging toward him. Willie Boutelle, Laura’s younger brother.

  What is he doing here? Where am I?

  “Did you just hit a homer?” Rich picked up the ball and held it, remembering the feel, the joy of baseball.

  “Nah. Me ‘n’ Andy’re just fooling around.” He looked quizzically at Rich. “How come you’re walking here? Laura says you can’t walk very good or very far.”

  “I need the exercise.”

  Another boy was coming toward them. Willie waved at him. “Andy, this is Rich Summers, used to play on the Wolfs with my cousin Pete.” He looked back at Rich. “Can you help us, Rich? Me and Andy didn’t make Little League, too small and too slow or something. Laura says you’re a teacher, and a coach, and we really need some help.”

  “I don’t know, Willie . . .”

  Andy was a little younger, short, and chubby.

  Doesn’t look at all like a ball player. But what does a ball player look like? I’ve had students like him, all eager and all left feet.

  “Please?”

  Rich still held the ball, tossed it lightly from hand to hand, not wanting to get involved again, trying to avoid further pain. “Where were you playing?”

  “Over there.”

  Rich followed his point toward the small weedy lot across the street. Not a very good place to play anything. “I don’t know if I can.”

  Willie scuffed his toe on the sidewalk. “That’s what everybody says. Even Pete. They don’t have time for us.”

  Rich could feel his frustration. He knew how it hurt when you thought no one cared, and reluctantly relented. “Let’s see what you can do, but I have to sit down. I’ve walked too far.”

  “We’ll find something for you to sit on.”

  Rich slowly followed Willie and Andy. His knee was throbbing and stiffening painfully. They found a not too sturdy box for him to sit on, brought the bat and ball for him to see. He watched for a moment while Willie threw the ball and Andy tried to hit it. They’ll never get anyplace that way. He got up. “Let me show how to hold that bat.”

  In the doing, he discovered that it wasn’t quite as bad as he had feared, showing them how to hold the bat, where to place their hands, and how to swing and follow through. He hit a few gentle loopers to them, and silently evaluated their lack of fielding skills. It would take a long time and a lot of practice for them to meet Little League standards. But they’re young and there’s next year . . .

  But he was tired, too tired, and he needed to get home and rest his knee. This was not at all what he had planned to do. “Do you live near here, Willie?”

  Willie waved his hand, pointing. “Couple of blocks that way.”

  Rich nodded. He knew his way home from there. It was a long walk, but he could take it easy. “I have to go.”

  “Will you help us again, Rich? Please?”

  “I don’t know.” He couldn’t ignore the plea in Willie’s voice. He is Laura’s brother, will be my brother-in-law someday. He sighed. “Saturday morning when I’m not working. If it isn’t raining.”

  Willie grinned. “We’ll be waiting at my house. I’ll tell Laura you helped us.”

  “Do that.” That will please her. It’s what she’s been telling me to do.

  ~ ~ ~

  He arrived home exhausted, mentally and physically, but there was a small warm spot somewhere inside, maybe a glimmer of hope. His knee hurt. He needed a good cup of coffee and a long hot soak. And Laura. But she’s working today. She said she’d come by afterward to see how I made out.

  He made his coffee, took a long bath to soak his knee, and considered his afternoon. Was working with Willie and his friend what his father would have done, encouraged him to do? Was he really following what his father had always told him by turning away from baseball, what he had always lived for? It was what Laura wanted him to do, what she kept hinting at. And then there was Willie’s exuberant gratitude and how it had made him feel wanted and appreciated. He would have to talk about it with Laura when she came home. He liked that concept – Laura coming home. Even seeing his mother had not made that other house comfortable.

  He had another cup of coffee while he waited, found a book, but fell asleep before the end of the chapter.

  30.

  Jim Weston left work early in a black mood. That Rich had refused to talk to him hurt a lot more than he cared to admit, even to himself. And why did he want to talk to Ken? Does he need some help and won’t ask me for it? Is he in some kind of trouble?

  Ken had been no help, either. “As far as I know, Rich is fine,” he’d said when Jim finally reached him at High Meadow. “I haven’t seen him for a while.”

  Jim hadn’t asked any more than that, although there was a lot that he wanted to know. He had implied that he had about written Rich off and he wanted to maintain that impression. No one was to know that he cared, or how much.

  And not being able to contact Ken for several hours hadn’t helped his mood.


  “I guess I was busy and didn’t notice my cell was off,” he’d said. No real apology.

  But sometimes, like now, Jim had to give vent to his suppressed feelings. He swore loudly as he drove home, cursing all the unknown and uncaring faces he passed on the streets, venting his frustrations on all those unhearing others. He reached home feeling better, but he fixed himself a stiff drink before he went to the sun porch to find Jewel.

  She returned his kiss and looked at the glass in his hand. “Tired? A bad day? Something go wrong?”

  “I don’t know. Rich called the office, asked for Ken, but he wouldn’t talk to me . . .”

  Archie came in then, bouncing a basketball, his face dirty and his Patriots tee shirt smudged with mud. “Hi, Dad. Rich was here today and he talked to me and said he isn’t mad at me anymore.”

  “Archie . . .” Jewel said.

  “What?” Jim said.

  Archie grinned and repeated, “Rich was here this afternoon to see Mom.”

  Jewel held up her hand to stop him. “Archie, go put the ball away, wash your face and hands and put on a clean shirt.”

  “Sure.” He tossed the ball into the air, caught it again. “I just thought Dad wanted to know about Rich.”

  “Thanks, son, now run on. How many times have I told you, don’t throw the ball in the house?”

  Jim watched him leave, gained control of himself, so he could say evenly, “That was nice of Rich, to stop in and see you.” He stared into the drink in his hand, gently swirling the ice, and tried to ask casually, “How did he look? Is he all right?”

  “A little thin and pale.”

  “That’s to be expected.” It wasn’t what he wanted to know. Rich’s physical condition was secondary and would improve. But what is he thinking?

  “Why did Archie say Rich wasn’t mad at him anymore?” Jewel asked. “What happened?”

  “I guess they had an argument before Rich left.” He mentally crossed his fingers. It was the only untruth, half-truth, he had ever told her, but now was not the time to tell her why Rich had gone, and his own part in it. It was too late and he didn’t think he could ever tell her. “I’m glad he came to see you. You’ve wanted that so much.”

  “Things will work out.” She put her hand on his. “Every little step he takes back in our direction brings him that much closer to home.”

  “True.” But I burned one hell of a long bridge behind him when he left and he’s built a pretty strong wall on the other side. “It might take a while, Jewel. He’s pretty stubborn.”

  “And I am patient and he is young.”

  31.

  It was Friday evening again. Rich put the teapot on the stove and was wondering what else to have, cookies, or maybe something more substantial. It would depend on how tired Laura was when she arrived. She had called from the hospital to say she was on her way and to have the tea ready, and that she really needed it. Today was the last of her four twelve-hour shifts for the week and she was exhausted. He heard steps on the porch and went to the door expecting to meet her.

  Pete Randall was standing there looking embarrassed. Rich held the door open for him, inviting him in. “I’m making tea for Laura. Want some?”

  Pete shook his head. “I think I need something a little stronger.”

  “Beer? Sit down.” When he had brought a can and a glass, Rich asked, “So what’s wrong?”

  Pete grunted. “Nothing’s wrong. We’re getting married.”

  Pete had been saying for years he and Julie Harris would get married someday. He didn’t think they ever would.

  “Congratulations.”

  “Yeah. Julie just told me she’s pregnant.”

  “Then, congratulations again.”

  Pete looked at his glass. “It wasn’t something we planned. It’ll be a small, Justice of the Peace sort of thing, just family mostly.”

  Rich was not surprised.

  “We want you and Laura to stand up with us.”

  “Sure.” That didn’t surprise him, either. They had been friends since junior high school and Pete had no brothers or close adult male cousins. “I would have thought she’d like a fancier wedding.” Rich recalled the various types of ceremonies he had attended and added, “Most girls do.”

  “Maybe she did once. Now she just wants us to be legal, or something, she said, for the baby.” He paused, then sipped at his drink. “We’ve been living together for three years now. Maybe it’s about time.” He shrugged. “Kind of late to have a honeymoon. We had that a long time ago.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You know,” Pete said, “I’ve never given much thought to being a father. I get along with mine, never had any problems.”

  Rich didn’t comment. He had too many father conflicts right now.

  Pete glanced around the room. “Do you read the paper?”

  “Laura does. I look at the headlines, read the comics, see how the Sox are doing. Which one?”

  “Yesterday or the day before.”

  Rich pointed to a pile of papers on the coffee table. “I haven’t gotten them ready for recycling yet.”

  Pete riffled through several of them before he handed Rich a folded paper. “I just happened to see it.”

  Rich looked at the smiling faces of Gina and Tex, read the item: “Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Murphy announce the engagement of their daughter Gina Bridget to Terence Dana, son of . . .” He paused then slowly said, “I’m glad for them.”

  “I figured you’d want to know.”

  Rich looked at the picture without really seeing it, remembering the glittering laughing girl who had rescued him from rehab, who had, in the end, deserted him, but who had brought him Laura. I should send her a note thanking her for that. But it also brought a touch of sadness, the end of something that might have been.

  Pete put the papers back on the table. “I guess Sue will be announcing her engagement to Ken.”

  “I knew they were going out but not that it was serious. Ken has never had a serious interest in anyone, as far as I know.”

  “They spent the Fourth at Hampton Beach, and the night somewhere. And they spent last weekend on the Cape. Sue said they had a lot of fun and now Ken’s arranged for her to go and meet your parents. I’d say it’s serious.”

  Rich considered that, happy for Ken. “Well, she’s somebody Jim can’t find any fault with.”

  “And Susie, I guess, will plan that big wedding. Our mother will want that.”

  “Doesn’t that take a lot of time to plan? Does she have a date or anything?”

  “No, but I guess soon. She’s talking about an engagement party to announce everything.”

  He wondered if his mother would make the effort to attend. Of course she will. “That might offset your quickie.”

  Pete laughed. “I think they’re just happy we’re doing it. Mom’s excited about being a grandmother.”

  He heard Laura on the porch and went to open the door.

  “Pete,” she said as she came in. “How nice.”

  “The tea is ready. Pete has things to talk about.”

  32.

  Jewel Weston asked Vi to prepare a special dinner for the occasion of meeting Ken’s girlfriend. “But not too fancy. This is all informal. Ken hasn’t said very much about her so we don’t know what she likes. Just the usual, he said.”

  “It’s time he found a nice girl and settled down somewhere. He spends too much time working. Not enough time having fun.”

  Jewel laughed. Vi had thought of Ken as her son since the death of his mother over twenty years ago. “Don’t tell Jim that. But I agree. He needs to take more time off.”

  “I’ll just fix what he likes. Then she’ll know.”

  “If she doesn’t already.” Jewel knew very li
ttle about what Ken had been doing lately since he was staying at High Meadow during the week. But she knew he had been seeing Susan on weekends. And possibly during the week. He doesn’t say. She didn’t know when or how they had met, except that it might have been when Rich fell and hurt his head. She was the one who called Ken, but why did she do that? And what happened after that? she wondered, but she couldn’t ask.

  ~ ~ ~

  Susan Randall turned out to be a very pretty young woman with curling brown hair and laughing eyes. She had a nice feminine figure but did not look athletic. She was dressed casually in a mid-calf length dark green skirt and a matching, softly draped striped blouse. She was, Jewel decided, very sure of herself, and, apparently, of Ken as well. Ken seemed to be simply bemused.

  “I always wanted a Christmas wedding,” Sue told them, her bright enthusiasm bubbling over. “You know, white velvet and embroidered lace and lots of poinsettias and holly and candles. I think that is so pretty.” She glanced sideways at Ken. “And so romantic. And then a honeymoon in the Caribbean. Moonlight beaches and all that.”

  He smiled at her, met her eyes in some kind of secret intimate exchange. “Sounds okay to me.”

  “How close to Christmas?” Jewel asked. “How much time do I have to prepare whatever it is I am to do as the mother of the groom? That will be a new role for me.”

  They were almost through the roast beef and trimmings by then. Susan had answered all their casual questions charmingly, seemingly fully, and Jewel was enchanted. She is just what Ken needs. Somebody entirely new, somebody outgoing, warm, and enthusiastic. He really needs to be on his own somewhere, away from the company when he’s not working so he can think about something else, be himself. Jim depends too much on him.

  “Oh, not that close,” Sue assured her. “More like two weeks before. But still in the season. But after Thanksgiving.”

  Jewel thought that was too soon, and much too close to the holiday.