Homecoming in November (The Calendar Girls Book 3)

by Gina Ardito

  “I looked at my son, this tiny life, dependent on me to keep him safe and fed and warm. And I swore to him I’d do better. I’d be the man my father wasn’t. And I tried.” A bitter laugh escaped, and he tilted his head to the ceiling. “God knows, I tried. I’d be sober for a few days, but something would happen at work, or Christian would have a restless night, and I’d console myself with a shot, which would lead to another and another. I refused to go to a program. I was a real man. I could do this on my own. I didn’t need steps or pins that counted out my days and years of sobriety.” His face twisted into a grim smile.

  “Then one morning, when we were out of booze, Claire and I argued over who should go get more. I won, based on the fact I was still coming down from the previous night’s bender. She climbed into the car and drove off. I dozed on the couch ‘til the sirens woke me.”

  He choked on the last word and reached for his water bottle yet again. I wept openly now, the tears streaming down my face.

  “I didn’t even get out of my seat until the police came to the door. They told me she’d skidded on a patch of ice and driven into a wall at approximately seventy miles an hour. Two blocks from our house.” He shook his head. His face was a mask of anguish. I don’t know how he managed to keep breathing. “She never stood a chance. She wasn’t wearing her seatbelt and was propelled out of the car. Her skull was fractured in six places, pieces of bone embedded in her brain. Claire was twenty-three years old when she died. She’d been a dancer, a wife, and for four short weeks, a mother. She was my best friend. She loved classic rock, chocolate ice cream with peanut butter, white Persian cats with blue eyes, and me. And like that…” He snapped his fingers again. “…she was gone.”

  His voice cracked, and it was obvious he couldn’t speak any more.

  I dropped my head into my hands and sobbed. Loud and long. Luckily, I wasn’t the only one. While I could guarantee every heart in that room broke for him, I was one of the rare few who knew the man personally, who knew his child. After hearing his story, I had the overwhelming urge to run straight to his house and pick up that little boy, grab him into an enormous hug, and promise to protect him from ever again knowing a moment’s pain or loneliness.

  In the front of the room, Gary cleared his throat. “I had two choices at that point. I could dive into a bottle and achieve a similar fate in no time at all, or I could get serious about getting sober and take care of my son. Be the father he deserved. I chose Christian and sobriety. It wasn’t easy. The first thing I did was clean out my house of everything with the slightest alcoholic content. Which, let me tell you, as a pastry chef, was a severe handicap. I didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t some macho man, no matter what I’d thought before. I was weak. And tired. And hurting. In mourning for Claire. And in way over my head with a newborn.

  “Chris would wake up in the middle of the night for a feeding, and I’d get this…this…thirst deep in my gullet. It wasn’t an ordinary thirst. Water couldn’t quench it. Neither would any soft drink, coffee, or tea. And I’d start thinking I could probably suck on a diaper wipe to get a hit. Then Chris would yawn or snort or he’d wrap his tiny fist around my finger, and I’d think about Claire and how much she’d miss of his life. I didn’t want to make the same mistake. So I’d forget about sucking a diaper wipe and grab another glass of water. Day by day, I fought back that unquenchable thirst, battled those inner demons clawing at my door. Monday turned to Tuesday, February turned to March, and years went by. Christian will turn nine soon. He’s happy. He’s healthy. And so am I. But it’s still a struggle. For the last several years, up until very recently, I was actually working as a bartender. Can you believe it? Long story how I wound up there, and the whys aren’t important. What is important is how it made me feel when I’d see a fellow alcoholic at the bar, trying to numb the pain, outrun the sins and the memories. I’d wanna grab them by the shirtfront and shake some sense into them, but we all know you can’t force a boozer to give up his booze ‘til he’s hit rock bottom. My rock bottom was losing Claire. Some rock bottoms are worse, some aren’t so bad. But the big truth is the same, no matter how long you try to hide from it behind a beer or wine bottle or that vodka martini.” His eyes met mine, connected, and stayed with me. “The unquenchable thirst is always there and those demons will always claw at the door. They never stop. You can change where you live, what you do, who you associate with, but you’ll never be able to go back and correct your sins. All you can do is accept them as who you once were and vow to continue to do better every single day while time moves on. That’s the truth I live with, and I’m betting all of you live with it, too.”

  He finished by asking everyone to stand for the Serenity Prayer. While I joined hands with Max on one side and a teary-eyed woman on the other, I spoke the words by rote. To be honest, I had no idea how my legs managed to still work. My standing was proof that my brain could work on auto-pilot because, frankly, my mind was blown. I’d heard lots of stories since I started rehab, I’d even shared my own horrific story of my drunken father shooting my mother before killing himself. But what Gary had shared shook me off my unsteady foundation.

  After the meeting, a crowd milled around him. Men clapped him on the shoulder, women took both his hands in theirs. I hung back with Max. I don’t know why. Gary knew I was here; he’d locked eyes with me during his speech. Eventually, I’d have to talk to him. If not here, then at the shop. What would I say to him? I needed time to digest all I’d just learned. With that in mind, I crept closer to the back exit. Max grabbed my wrist before I could get to my coat and make a not-so-clean getaway.

  “Hey. Are you ditching me?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Honestly, I’d kinda forgotten he was there. Like how, during the day, under the brilliance of the sun, you kinda forget the moon’s on the other side of the world. Or maybe, the opposite, in this case. I mean, Gary’s story was so dark and bleak, but with that glimmer of hope like moonlight on a starless night. Whereas Max was the sun, all blistering hot and shiny, temporarily hidden by a bunch of storm clouds. Crap. I have no idea what I mean. All I knew was, at that moment, nothing else existed for me but Gary. Gary and his pain, his courage, his example. And my desire to find somewhere to hide ‘til I could face him again.

  Actually, you know what it was like? It was like I was Lois Lane and I just found out I’ve been working next to Superman and dismissing him ‘cuz I didn’t really ever get around to knowing him since I had this preconceived image in my head. And how that made me the biggest dope on the planet, but also, it made me feel kinda flattered since he’d shared his truth and all the pain behind it with only me.

  Forget it. I’ll never get this right. All the more reason to get out while I still hadn’t done or said anything inane. Not out loud, anyway.

  I grabbed my coat and turned to Max. “You wanna go for coffee or something? There’s a diner a coupla blocks from here. Makes the best cheesecake in the county.” A total lie, by the way. They had a sign on the wall that said that, but a sign didn’t make it true. I had no sudden yearning for their soggy-crusted, overly processed cheesecake with its canned fruit topping. I just wasn’t ready to face Gary yet. I needed to make that quick exit before—

  “I see we both skipped out of work early without checking with the boss.”

  Too late. “Gary. Umm…hi.” Yep. All that sweating and pondering, and that lame statement was the best I came up with. Clearly, I did not think fast on my feet.

  Max wasn’t much more eloquent. “Hey, man. Great speech. Did all that really happen to you?”

  Gary gave Max the full stink-eye. “Yes.”

  “Cool.” I inwardly winced, but Max must have realized how callous he’d sounded because he added a quick, “Well, not cool, but you know what I mean. I’m Max. Max T.”

  “Gary S.”

  Max glanced from Gary to me. “You and Terri know each other?”

  “We work together,” I interjected.

  “At
the tea shop?” Max smirked. “I assume you’re more than just the dishwasher, though, right?”

  “I’m the chef,” Gary replied, each syllable bitten off, sharp and succinct.

  “Gary’s actually a renowned pâtissier,” I added and received an angry glare from both men in response.

  “Oh, right! I’ve sampled some of your tasty tidbits,” Max said and nudged an elbow in Gary’s direction. “When Terri here sneaks me into the shop after hours.”

  If looks could kill, at that moment, Gary’s gaze would’ve put me in a box in the church’s backyard with all the old patriots from two hundred years ago.

  “It’s not like that,” I tried to explain, but Gary cut me off.

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s none of my business as long as nothing goes missing or gets damaged.” His eyes took on a burning intensity, conveying some hidden meaning to me, but with my brain fuses all fried, whatever he wanted to say escaped into the wilderness of questions still whirling in my head.

  “Terri and I were on our way to the diner for some coffee and the county’s best cheesecake,” Max said. “Care to join us?”

  “Is that right?” Gary said, his focus still locked on me. My face practically caught fire from embarrassment. “Thanks, but I can’t. I have to pick up Christian at school. Enjoy. Terri, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  All of a sudden, I didn’t want to go anywhere with Max. “Actually, would it be okay if you brought Christian back to the shop for a while? I wanted to go over some menu options with you.” Yes, I was lying and yes, everyone knew it. As I’ve already revealed, I don’t think fast on my feet.

  “The party details, right?” Gary picked up my lie and ran with it. “I think you’re overanalyzing this event, but fine. No more than an hour or two. Christian has homework.”

  “Thank you,” I said with a grateful sigh.

  He wagged a finger in warning. “You owe me.”

  Yeah, I did. More than he could possibly understand. While Gary strode out to pick up his son, I was left to let Max down easy. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s a business thing.”

  “It’s cool. I took you away from work. Go on. Call me when you’re done. Maybe we can do dinner.”

  I forced a smile. “Okay. I’ll do that.”

  Of course, I had no intention of doing that. I was acting crazy, even for me. This time, though, I didn’t have the excuse of an alcoholic binge to fall back on.

  ♥♥♥♥

  Jayne

  I was reorganizing my closet in the mid-afternoon, a pathetic attempt to keep busy indoors, when someone pounded on my front door.

  “Jayne! Let me in. It’s Iggy. Hurry up, before they devour me.”

  I raced to the door and cracked it open enough for him to push and slide through the rest of the way. The noise outside reached a fever pitch, and flashing lights pierced through my windows to spotlight sections of my living room wall. Once he was safely inside, I closed the door and bolted it again.

  “I thought you had a test today.”

  “This morning,” he said as he leaned his back against the door. “At eight. I’ve been home since noon. Thought you would’ve called me, but you didn’t.”

  “Was I supposed to call you for some reason?”

  “To let me know what you were doing today.” He had the nerve to arch one dark brow as he peered at me with those razor-sharp eyes.

  “You expect me to call you to say I did my laundry?”

  “You know what I mean. I thought you were working today. You should have told me you had the day off. I can’t keep these howler monkeys off your back if I don’t know where your back is.”

  I sighed. “You can’t keep them off my back anyway. They’ll probably return, year after year. It doesn’t matter where I go, what I say, how I treat them. They’re like locusts, feeding ‘til there’s nothing left, before moving on to their next feast.” Tears of frustration filled my eyes, and I sniffed them back. “Why won’t they leave me alone? After all this time, there has to be another story they can dig around in. Don’t they realize that if I’d had anything to do with David’s death, they would’ve found it by now? Especially after all the scrutiny they’ve given me. For God’s sake, Cole Abrams—” I stopped a second too late, and naturally, my guardian Marine picked up on it.

  “Yeah, I saw him outside the vet’s last week. He looked a little too smug when he talked to you. Personally, I never liked the guy. Always came across as too sly. Oily. You know?”

  Oh, yeah. I knew. I smirked. “Where were you when I fell for that oil?”

  “What happened between you two?”

  Turning my back on Iggy, I walked toward the kitchen. If I planned to talk about that dismal episode in my life, I didn’t want to face him while laying my stupidity on the table. “Cole approached me during the trial. Said he wanted the public to get my side of the story. The prosecutors had warned me to avoid talking to the press until after the trial was over. But this was Cole Abrams—a respected, award-winning journalist—not some muckraker. I told Cole about the ‘gag recommendation.’ I mean, it, technically, wasn’t an order.” I reached into my laundry basket, pulled out a towel and folded it, then repeated the procedure. “He said it was fine. In fact, even better. We’d wait ‘til after the trial was over, and once the bas— Pittman was convicted, it would make for an interesting follow up. I believed him. I mean, why wouldn’t I? He convinced me to give him background information in advance so, you know, they’d be ready when the jury came back with the verdict.”

  Iggy plucked the last towel out of the hamper. “He didn’t wait.”

  “No, he waited until after the verdict, just as he promised. In the meantime, though, we grew…” I struggled with the memory. “…close. Too close. At least,” I amended with a shrug, “I thought we grew close. I confided stuff in him—nothing damning, but still, intimate stuff. I thought what I said in our personal conversations wouldn’t spill over into his professional life.”

  “You were wrong.”

  A bitter laugh broke from my lips. “Oh, yeah. I was big-time wrong. Then, when everything about Pittman’s trial had died down, the justice system had their guilty verdict, and the news channel had nothing left to report on but the latest local fire or home burglary, Abrams used the information I gave him to smear me, to ‘prove…’” I curled my fingers around the word, “…I must have been involved from the get-go. To boost the network’s ratings and brew a new scandal, starring me. The network even did a dramatic reenactment, using actors to portray the ‘steamier’ scenes in some soft filmy focus, and a sultry voiceover relating the most salacious innuendo about me.” I kicked the hamper, and it skidded into the stove with a thump. “I called the district attorney’s office, but it did no good. Basically, they told me I’d ignored their advice, now I had to deal with the fallout on my own. I hear the docudrama has over four million views on the internet. Now, with Pittman’s murder, they’ve got a new lie to run with, that he and I were romantically involved at the time of David’s death and that’s why we plotted together to kill my husband. Abrams portrayed me as some kind of needy, man-hungry, money-hungry tramp, and Pittman and his defense team took full advantage of that portrayal to keep the doubts focused on me.” With my eyes rolled up toward the ceiling, I clucked my tongue. “God, I was such an idiot!” I slapped my forehead. The tears fell in earnest now.

  “Hey, hey.” Iggy stepped closer and ran a soothing hand down my back. “It’s not your fault. Cole Abrams is a cockroach. He took advantage of you when you needed a friend. That’s not going to happen again.”

  It was completely natural for me to fold myself into him. My cheek nestled against his chest, and my bones sagged with relief. His arms wrapped around me, comforting but not restrictive. His effortless hold shielded the vulnerability I’d struggled to hide for years. Funny. I’d played “strong” for so long, it felt good to finally let someone else share the burden—even for a minute. He took on the role with quiet dignity and a wa
rm embrace. And I needed that—God, how I needed that!

  “You’re not alone anymore, Jayne. And I’m not going anywhere as long as you need me. Hell, even when you think you don’t need me anymore, I’ll still be around. Semper fi. Always faithful. I live by those words. Count on it. Count on me.”

  I knew what I was doing when I tilted my head up and licked my lips. I mean, as far as signals went, it wasn’t the most subtle.

  “You sure about this, Jayne? Because I’m not playing games here. If you’re with me, you’re with me all the way. Otherwise, don’t start something you’re not prepared to finish.”

  His words made a quick impact. I pulled back, hesitant and afraid. “I’m sorry. I can’t—”

  He chucked me under the chin. “It’s okay. When you are ready, like I told you, I’ll still be around.” His tone took on an easy banter. “Right now, I have to go check on my mother. Feel like taking a ride with me?”

  I glanced at the window and frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  I snorted. “You know why. I’m not giving them a reason to hound me any more than they already do.”

  “In other words, you’re gonna hide in here ‘til they leave town?”

  Sounded cowardly, right? Maybe so. Most people who’d never experienced the unwanted celebrity of a scandal could never understand the way the vultures had ruined my life from the moment the police showed up at my door to inform me I’d become a widow. Try going out to dinner or to a park or even grocery shopping with an entourage of screaming questions and flashing lights. Only those who’ve lived through it were allowed to judge me. I didn’t want to fight. I shrugged. “It’s not that bad. They usually leave after a few weeks when they see they’re having no effect on me.”

  He folded his arms over his chest. “No effect on you, huh? Because you like your self-imposed exile?”

  “No, but—”

  “No buts. Come to the hospital with me.”

  Sinking into the nearest chair, I propped my chin on my fist. “I know you think this is some kind of game where you can outwit them by being braver or more macho or more in-your-face. But it’s not. Wait. You’ll see. As time goes by and they keep on hassling you, you’ll get tired of being associated with the notorious Jayne Herrera, black widow. Everybody does.”