The Way Home

by Katherine Spencer

  But I’m not his mother, she reminded herself. Even most mothers wouldn’t call a young man that age to check on him. That was going too far.

  She wondered if it would seem too obvious if she was out on the porch knitting when he returned. It might look as if she had been waiting up for him.

  But you sit there every night. That’s your habit. You don’t have to worry so much what he thinks, she reminded herself. Go out and knit if you feel like it.

  So she did and sat in the wicker chair and knit until her eyes closed. She had no idea of how much time had passed when she felt someone gently shake her awake.

  “Claire? You must be cold out here. It’s late.”

  She opened her eyes to find Avery smiling down at her. “Oh . . . Avery . . . I fell asleep. What time is it?”

  Avery glanced at her watch. “It’s almost one.”

  “Just getting home from the café? Did you have a good night?” Claire picked up her knitting from her lap and slipped it into her tote bag.

  “Yes, we did. Much better than last Tuesday. We did sort of a theme thing to bring more customers in. Two entrees for the price of one. Not that original, but people seemed to like it. And it won’t be forever—just until our name gets around a little.”

  “That sounds very smart. I’m sure Café Peregrine will be the talk of the town in no time.” Claire stood and smoothed her dress. Could Jamie have returned and not woken her? As much as she hoped that had happened, she was pretty sure it was not the case.

  Avery and Claire went inside together. Claire locked the door. Jamie had a key. Well, he was given one. She hoped he hadn’t forgotten it.

  They walked up the stairs together and said good night. Avery went into her room on the second floor, and Claire started up the next flight to the third.

  * * *

  AVERY felt so tired, she was tempted to sleep in her clothes. But of course, she would never do that. She needed a shower to wash away the cooking smells and hot water to relax her sore muscles. Her back hurt and so did her biceps, from stretching out all the pizzas the night before. But she was satisfied so far with their new marketing ideas. Business was definitely picking up.

  Before heading for the shower, she checked her e-mail. There was a note from her sister and she quickly read it:

  Hi, Avery, Hope all is going well at the café. So sorry we haven’t been able to get up to Massachusetts for a visit. I’ve been crazy busy at work. But am definitely taking off a few days around the Fourth of July. Mom and I will come to your island the Friday before the holiday and stay for the weekend. Can you speak to the woman who runs the inn where you’re staying and get a room for us? Can’t wait to see the café. Mom is excited, too. Call when you have a chance—we’ll iron out the plans.

  Love, Christine

  Avery glanced at her calendar. June 29? That wasn’t that long from now, she thought dismally. Yes, business had picked up the last two nights, but she had no guarantee that her other theme nights would work as well. She wanted her sister and mother to see a thriving, jumping restaurant. Not a struggling little enterprise, run on a shoestring . . . and forced to run theme nights.

  Avery felt so bad she wanted to cry. And she did weep a little, alone in the shower. But once she came out and dried herself off, she realized she was mainly just very tired.

  What was it her mother always used to say? Things will look different in the morning.

  She certainly hoped so. She shut off her light and crawled into bed, too exhausted to worry about another thing.

  * * *

  CLAIRE normally fell asleep after reading the Bible for a few minutes and shutting off the light. But she felt wide awake tonight, her eyes flying open and peering into the darkness at every sound outside, listening for Jamie to come home.

  She wasn’t sure what time it was when she finally drifted off. Her sleep was deep and dreamless. But she woke up at her usual time, half past six, feeling rested and alert.

  She quickly dressed and walked down to Jamie’s room. The door stood open. The bed was neatly made and the room looked just as it had after he left yesterday, his big sneakers side-by-side near the closet and a T-shirt hanging over a chair.

  He had not come home last night.

  Claire felt a cold ache in her chest. She hoped that nothing bad had happened to him. An accident or maybe he’d gotten sick. He could be in a hospital somewhere right now . . .

  She stopped herself. He’s probably fine. He’s managed to take care of himself all these years. She was letting her imagination run wild. Making excuses for him, mostly. He was probably stretched out on some friend’s couch, sleeping off a late night. He would wander back in his own good time.

  Claire went down to the kitchen and turned on the coffeemaker. She began to assemble the ingredients for breakfast but felt too upset to continue, her hands shaking as she cracked an egg.

  She decided to take a walk on the beach. Liza wouldn’t be up for at least an hour. There was no reason to wake her with this news. Maybe Jamie would be back soon, in time for work this morning.

  Claire went out the back door and crossed the street. She took her time making her way down the long flight of wooden stairs that led to the beach. The wooden steps were still damp and a little slippery. The sun was low and wisps of fog lay low on the landscape, like long white veils, floating on the meadow of the Gilroys’ farm next door and along the shoreline.

  She left her shoes at the bottom of the stairs and walked over the sand to the water. She hadn’t thought to bring a jacket or sweater. The air was still cool and damp, the sky a little overcast. She felt the mist on her face, felt it dampening her hair.

  Liza would be upset if Jamie didn’t come back soon. She might even fire him, Claire realized. Not that she could blame her. Unless he had a very good reason for this.

  What did they say in the judicial system—innocent until proven guilty? Her faith advised the same perspective. Well, she would try to think of Jamie that way, though her heart felt heavy with dread.

  She had not gone very far when a figure emerged from the mist, a man dressed for fishing, in a canvas hat with a floppy brim, a khaki green vest covered with pockets, and hip-high rubber waders. He was tugging back the line from his fishing pole, concentrating on reeling it in smoothly. Claire stepped around him.

  Then he turned and glanced over his shoulder. “Claire, is that you?” Reverend Ben asked. “You’re out early this morning.”

  “I might say the same about you, Reverend. Early bird gets the halibut?”

  He laughed. “I’m trying for striped bass, but that’s the basic theory.”

  He finished reeling in his line and grabbed the hook that was dangling at the end. “It’s a wonderful time out here. Not a soul around . . . except for a few other crazy fishermen.”

  “I don’t get out on the beach much in the morning. I’m usually too busy. But the inn is almost empty this morning, and I . . . I needed the exercise.”

  Reverend Ben gave her a skeptical look. “With your schedule, I doubt that. But walking along the ocean is a wonderful way to calm the soul. I’ve even heard about walking meditation, though I never tried it.”

  “That sounds interesting. I just try to focus on all the beauty down here. That’s enough to meditate upon for me.”

  Ben laughed. “Very true . . . How is Jamie doing?” he asked. “Is the job going well?”

  That was just like Reverend Ben. Even if you didn’t want to unburden yourself, he had an uncanny knack for asking the one question that would make it impossible to avoid a troubling subject.

  Claire stared down at the wet sand; her bare feet were now buried up to her ankles. She felt stuck, in more ways than one.

  “Jamie has been doing a good job. Liza and I both agree on that. But yesterday was his first day off. He went into the city and hasn
’t come back yet.” She looked up at the minister. “He may have a perfectly good excuse. But probably not,” she said simply. “I’m very upset about it, Reverend. I think when Liza wakes up and finds out, she might fire him. And I feel so . . . responsible. I talked her into hiring him. She wouldn’t have taken the chance otherwise.”

  Reverend Ben sighed and scratched his forehead, his hat slipping backward. “‘God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can—’”

  “‘—and wisdom to know the difference,” she finished for him. “The Serenity Prayer. I recited it last night to help me get to sleep.”

  He reached out and touched her arm. “I feel for your dilemma, Claire. I truly do. When my son, Mark, was wandering all over the country, squandering his youth and his health, and so angry at me and Carolyn he would barely speak to us, I was practically tearing my hair out. I’m not saying it’s easy. It’s the hardest thing in the world to see someone you love wasting their life, going down the wrong path. But you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. You can’t save Jamie. He has to save himself. He has to want to make something of his life. It won’t be easy for him. He’ll need something deep inside to draw on, something more than your support. Even more than your love,” he added quietly.

  Claire nodded. “I know that’s true. But it makes me feel sad and defeated. And hopeless,” she admitted. “I had such high hopes when I found him standing there in the garden. It seemed he had stepped out of a dream. But I shouldn’t feel entirely hopeless,” she corrected herself. “Wherever there’s faith, there’s hope.”

  “That is true, Claire. Don’t ever doubt it. Don’t stop praying for Jamie. Don’t stop loving him. But stop blaming yourself. Stop holding yourself responsible for his behavior. Jamie has to see that he’s responsible for his own choices and the consequences, good or bad.”

  Claire knew that was true. The consequences for this choice were going to be dire. He would lose his job. It made her so sad. As if some rare treasure had slipped through her hands. Wasn’t there some way she could hold on to him? Hold on to this opportunity to help him?

  Jamie, why do you do things like this? Why do you have to ruin your chances?

  Reverend Ben’s light touch on her arm pulled Claire from her thoughts. “Claire, are you all right? What were you thinking just now? Can you tell me?”

  Claire sighed, then nodded. If there was one person in the world that she could confide in, it was Reverend Ben.

  “I’m afraid, Reverend Ben. I’m just so afraid for him.”

  Chapter Nine

  WHEN Claire returned to the inn, Liza was sitting in the kitchen, sipping coffee and checking her laptop. “Were you out on the beach, Claire?”

  Claire nodded and smoothed her hair back into place. “It was misty, but the fog seems to be burning off. I met Reverend Ben. He was fly casting, going after striped bass. I don’t think he caught anything . . .”

  Her voice trailed off as she slipped on her apron and tied the strings. She knew she was just putting off the inevitable question about Jamie, but couldn’t help it.

  “Jamie must have come home late,” Liza said. “I’ll go up and wake him. We have a lot to do today.”

  Claire took a deep breath. “Jamie didn’t come back last night. His room is empty, just the way he left it.”

  Liza looked surprised. “Did he leave a message?”

  Claire shook her head. “Unless he called while I was out walking . . . no, I haven’t heard from him.”

  “There are no new messages. I just checked.” Liza’s tone was edged with concern. “Something could have happened to him. There might be a reason why he’s delayed.” She looked back at Claire. “Do you know where he went, what his plans were?”

  “He said something about going to see a baseball game. But the Red Sox aren’t in town right now. I think he must have gone to see his friends, at the apartment where he was living, in South Boston. He must have stayed over with them.”

  “Partying,” Liza said bluntly. “He’s probably sleeping off a hangover somewhere while we’re sitting here, worried that he’s in a hospital.”

  “I know.” Claire had already gone through this chain of thought, about a hundred times. “I did try his cell phone this morning, but he didn’t pick up.”

  Liza stood up and closed her computer. “I’ll call him again then. I have the number in my office.” She sighed and gazed at Claire across the table. “I’m sorry, Claire. But if he doesn’t have a good reason for this, I have to let him go. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I understand.” It was hard for Claire to say the words, but she knew she had to. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry now that I persuaded you to hire him.”

  “That was my decision. For the most part, he’s done a good job,” Liza said. “It’s just this unpredictable . . . goofing off. I don’t feel as if I can trust him. He’s unreliable, not mature enough or something. It’s as if he has two personalities. Do you think when he acts so amiable and hard-working that he’s putting on an act for us? I honestly can’t figure it out.”

  “I don’t know. He was always that way a bit when he was a boy,” Claire admitted. “Moody. Helping out in the kitchen one minute, disappearing the next. But he was so young and had such a difficult life back then. I always thought it was just his way of surviving.”

  Claire didn’t know what else to say. She couldn’t explain or defend him. Liza’s description was accurate, but it was painful to hear it laid out so plainly. Claire knew Jamie wasn’t perfect, but who was? There was also so much good there, so much courage and resilience. And love. He had wanted to love his father. He had wanted to love her. She couldn’t stop hoping that the good in him would grow and someday overcome the flaws.

  Liza glanced at Claire and tucked the laptop under her arm. “I’ll go call him. I hope he picks up,” she added. “Then we have to get to work around here. We have a lot to do by tomorrow.”

  And without any extra help, Claire added silently.

  She felt so sorry for putting Liza in this situation. Liza had a good heart. It would be hard for her to fire Jamie, even though it was the right thing to do.

  And she felt so sorry for Jamie, even after this bad behavior. She couldn’t help it. As irresponsible as he was at times, this job was his lifeline. He was just too immature to realize it.

  But she had to remember Reverend Ben’s advice. She couldn’t help Jamie until he was committed to helping himself. Maybe once he suffered the consequences of acting out like this, he would wake up and smell the coffee. She surely hoped so.

  * * *

  CLAIRE worked with Liza the rest of the day, getting the inn in shape for a big wave of weekend guests. The two women worked like a well-oiled machine, instinctively knowing what needed to be done without much need to speak.

  Which was just as well, Claire reflected. Liza’s concern and confusion about Jamie seemed to have crystallized into anger. Claire dreaded his return, as much as she waited for it. She listened all day for him to come through the front door, or even call. Then she would catch herself and try to take a step back from the drama, silently reciting the Serenity Prayer. She could not control this situation or protect Jamie from the outcome of his actions.

  She and Liza were eating supper in the kitchen when she heard the front door of the inn open and quietly close again. Liza had heard it, too. Claire watched her sit back and put her fork down, her lips pursed.

  “Jamie, is that you?” Liza called out.

  “Yeah . . . it’s me . . . I’m back.” He soon appeared in the kitchen doorway. Claire glanced at him then down at her plate. She felt a cold weight in the pit of her stomach, as if a stone had lodged there.

  Jamie sought her out with his gaze. Looking for the weak link, Claire realized. She met his glance
and looked away. She would let Liza handle this. They both knew it was her territory.

  He took a glass from the drain board and filled it with water. He looked rough, as if he hadn’t shaved or showered, still wearing the clothes he had left in.

  “I’m really sorry I’m so late getting back . . . I was hanging with my friends and I must have eaten some bad food. A bad hot dog, or something . . . We went to Fenway and I got so sick, I couldn’t even move . . .”

  Claire felt almost sick with disbelief. How could he lie like that? Did he think so little of her, of both of them?

  “The Red Sox didn’t play in Boston last night, Jamie. They’re in Texas this week,” she said quietly.

  She saw surprise flash across his features, shock at being caught. He didn’t think two women would have known that.

  “Yeah, that’s right . . . They weren’t in town. We got screwed up with the schedule. We went over there, though, and bought some food on the street.”

  “Bad food?” Liza stared at him. “That’s why you’re a day late getting back here?”

  Jamie looked at Liza. He held a hand up, as if testifying in a court of law. “Honest, I swear, I was sick as a dog. My friends could barely drag me back to their place. I was puking my guts out for, like, hours . . . I thought I was dying or something. They were saying maybe I had appendicitis and I should go to the hospital. But I knew it was the food. After I got sick, I was wiped. All I could do was sleep. I kept telling them to call you and tell you what happened. But those idiots didn’t listen to me. They didn’t even wake me up. I told them I had to get back this morning for work, and they just let me sleep all day . . . I was way too messed up to take the train last night, honest.”

  He sounded so annoyed at his friends. As if it was all their fault that he was a day late returning.

  Liza came to her feet and faced him. “You were given one day off, Jamie, not two. If you were really unable to return, you should have called us.”