Coming Home

by Stacy Hawkins Adams

  Dayna slid into a pair of flats and grabbed her floppy purse. The cell phone was at her ear when she climbed into the car and waited for Warren’s voicemail beep.

  “Hey, babe, thanks for your call. I hope your meetings are going well. Brent decided to drive up today to get more information on the Calero Community Foundation, so we’re going to meet for lunch and go over everything together. If by some miracle you get a short break, we’re meeting at Thai Today, near my house, from 1:30 to 2:30 p.m. See you there, or later this evening, maybe at the gym.”

  Brent was waiting in the foyer when Dayna stepped inside the dimly lit restaurant. A slow smiled brightened his wan features, and he approached her with open arms. She didn’t resist when he gave her a light hug.

  “Hello again,” he said, and smiled.

  Dayna’s heart sank. She’d been worried about how worn and weary she might look when she should have considered how Brent was faring. He looked like she felt — which meant he probably felt worse than he looked.

  It was easy to overlook the fact that he was dying when they were busy planning for the future, but in these brief seconds of greeting, with no agenda before them and no one else to watch their interaction, she let down her guard enough to really see Brent as he was today, rather than the strong force to be reckoned with that she had known and loved years earlier. Today, that Brent seemed to be a shadow. What stood before her now appeared to be a man who refused to give in to his illness without a fight, and while he might lose the war, he was determined to do it on his own terms.

  “Where’s Tamara today?” she asked.

  “She’s at the bank, and as I said, this was a spur-of-the-moment trip. I’ll fill her in on everything when I get home.”

  The waiter led them to a booth that hosted a window through which a steady stream of sunlight cast a glow across the fake flower centerpiece. They slid into their seats and perused the menu.

  Dayna gasped. “I just realized that you may not be able to eat this kind of food. I’m sorry. Can you find something on the menu that won’t upset your stomach, or should we go somewhere else?”

  Brent scanned the menu. “No worries. I’ll find something. Soup and a spring roll will be fine. Maybe some brown rice.”

  Under different circumstances, Dayna would have enjoyed teasing him about eating like a dieting woman. But this … this wasn’t funny.

  She stared at him as he continued to review the menu with his head slightly bowed. His hair had thinned on top, and she could see his scalp. She wondered if that was just nature taking its course or if it was from the treatments he had received before the most recent diagnosis.

  Brent raised his eyes and caught her mid-muse.

  “Why so sad?” he asked. “I’m the one who’s dying, right?”

  He laughed and after a few seconds, Dayna did too. “I see that you can still be silly,” she teased.

  “And I see that you can still be too serious. Lighten up, lady,” he said. “Let’s enjoy lunch and treasure the moment. I’m learning to be still and be present more and more these days, instead of fretting over the past or worrying about the future. There’s nothing I can do to change either, so I might as well enjoy myself in the here and now.”

  The waiter returned to take their order before Dayna could respond. Tears filled her eyes and a lump knotted her throat, so rather than verbally give her selection to the waiter, she pointed on the menu to the papaya salad and chicken satay. Those few seconds gave her time to compose herself.

  “And Tamara?” she asked.

  Brent frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Has she adopted that same attitude?”

  Brent sat back and sighed.

  “I guess not,” he finally said. “She’s definitely struggling with my diagnosis and with the fact that I won’t just sit still and rest.”

  He leaned forward again. “Who wants to sit in a corner like an old man and rest? As long as I am able to do for myself and be out and about, why wouldn’t I? I don’t want to shrivel up and die. If this is all the life I’ve got left, I’m going to live it. With no regrets.”

  He extended his hands across the table and opened his palms as an invitation for Dayna to place her hands in his. Dayna hesitated but gingerly complied. What was this all about?

  When her palms were resting in his, her heart quivered, like it had the day he’d shown up at her door several weeks earlier. This felt right, believe it or not. But it also scared her.

  Brent began speaking before she could further process her feelings. “Who would have thought we would be sitting here like this now, all these years later? No longer married, but still partnering on something important.”

  He smiled at Dayna and squeezed her hands. She squirmed and tried to smile back.

  “This means a lot to me, Dayna,” he said. “Thank you for allowing me back in your life. Thank you for helping me fulfill an important goal and for just being here. Now.”

  “You don’t have to thank me, Brent,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting any of this, but I can’t say I regret it. I’m glad that we’ve had a chance to clear the air between us. I’m just sorry it’s under these circumstances.”

  Brent’s eyes told her he had something else to say, but instead, he squeezed her hands again before releasing them. He sat back and gulped down most of his water.

  “I’m sorry too, Dayna. More than you know.”

  thirty-three

  By the time they’d finished their meal and insisted on no dessert, Dayna and Brent were chatting like the friends they once had been.

  “Amazing,” Dayna said once Brent ticked off the names of his nine nieces and nephews — about half of whom had been born while Dayna was still part of the family. “I know your parents must love to have you all home at the same time over the holidays, with all those babies to spoil.”

  Brent laughed and nodded.

  Dayna wanted to ask, but was afraid. He must have read the question in her eyes, because he answered what she hadn’t uttered. “No, Tami and I tried for several years, but it never happened. Then I got cancer, and the chemo and radiation made it too dangerous. That’s one of my biggest regrets. I won’t have a son or daughter to continue my legacy after I’m gone.”

  Dayna felt numb. Her mind traveled back to the months just before she’d learned about his affair, when they had agreed to start a family. Funny now how clear it was that Brent’s ‘Yes, let’s go for it’ all those years ago had really been a ‘No,’ because he started seeing Tamara soon after Dayna stopped using birth control.

  She stared at him now and wondered if she should tell him how close he had been to becoming a parent. How close they had been.

  Tears pooled in her eyes, and she looked away before memories of the miscarriage consumed her. It had taken years, but God had healed her heart regarding the loss of what would have been her firstborn child, soon after she had learned about Brent and Tamara’s affair. Dayna had never felt the need to tell him, not even during the divorce proceedings. Why hurt him now?

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Dayna coughed and took a sip of tea. “Yeah — just got choked up for a minute. I’m fine.”

  Half an hour later, Dayna and Brent emerged from the restaurant, satiated from the meal and also full from each other’s company. They had stayed on safe ground during the rest of their conversation, chatting more about each other’s families and eventually getting down to business — reviewing the pros and the cons of working with the Calero Community Foundation.

  Now at nearly 4:00 p.m., Brent had to make the drive back to the Space Coast.

  “Leave now and you’ll just miss the evening traffic,” Dayna said.

  Brent nodded. “Yep. In forty or so minutes I’ll be home, back in the land of retirees, where commuters and traffic don’t exist.”

  They laughed.

  “Thanks again for your time and for doing this, Dayna,” he said. “You’re something else.”

  “Will you stop wit
h all of the praise, please? I’m heading to the gym now, to work off all of this great food. You drive safely, and tell Tamara I said hello.”

  She could feel Brent’s eyes on her with every step toward her car, and it made her self-conscious. As she started the car and headed toward the street, Brent was still standing at the entrance to the restaurant, watching her with a half smile on his face. Why hadn’t he followed her to the parking lot, to his vehicle? She slowed to a stop and lowered the driver’s side window. Brent leaned in and rested his elbows on the window ledge.

  “I’ll call you before the week is over to let you know which foundation I’ve decided to go with, okay?”

  His voice was husky, and she saw something tender in his eyes.

  “Um, that’s fine … but why don’t you save your report to share with the entire group when we meet next week Thursday? I don’t mind waiting until then.”

  Brent shifted from one foot to the other, then stood back. “I guess I can do that. Thanks again for today. You take care.”

  “You have a safe drive home, okay?”

  Dayna drove away, feeling like she was leaving behind a jilted boyfriend. Her mind must be playing tricks on her, because that made absolutely no sense at all. And yet, when she turned the corner and Brent was out of view, he was still lodged in her thoughts.

  thirty-four

  Tamara checked the time again and sighed.

  Would five o’clock ever come? And why hadn’t Brent called? Had he gotten sick?

  She forced herself to focus and smiled at Mrs. Chestnut when she slid the cash-filled envelope through the acrylic and glass window separating them.

  “Here you go, same amount as usual,” she said.

  “Thank you, sweetie,” Mrs. Chestnut said. “I’ll be back next month as usual, when the Social Security arrives. See you then.”

  The elegant elderly woman gave a light wave before shuffling for the door. She paused halfway there and returned to Tamara’s teller window before someone else could take her spot. Mrs. Chestnut leaned close to the opening in the glass and lowered her voice. “I forgot to ask you, dear … anything better with your husband this month? I’m still praying for him, you know.”

  A lump formed in Tamara’s throat. She shook her head instead of verbally responding.

  Mrs. Chestnut had been asking that same question once a month since bonding with Tamara after a problem with her account had been resolved to her satisfaction. Once Tamara shared Brent’s diagnosis with her more than a year ago, Mrs. Chestnut had sustained a hope for his healing that inspired Tamara to keep hoping too. In recent months, though, not even Mrs. Chestnut’s unwavering faith could prevent Tamara’s spirits from sagging. Tamara hadn’t had the heart to tell her customer and friend that Brent was dying. She could hardly accept it herself.

  This afternoon, Mrs. Chestnut peered into her eyes for what felt like an eternity.

  “You’re giving up, aren’t you?”

  This time Tamara couldn’t control herself. Tears slid down her cheeks and dripped onto her hands. She swiped at them, hoping the tellers on either side of her hadn’t noticed, all the while realizing that Sasha and Bernice never missed a thing, even when they pretended to be otherwise occupied.

  “I can’t talk about it right now, Mrs. Chestnut.” She managed to release the words without a quiver or sob in her voice. “Things are not good, but your prayers are appreciated.”

  Compassion filled the woman’s eyes, and Tamara wanted to hug her. She knew she couldn’t leave her post, though. A line was beginning to form, and she had to help ease the flow of the traffic.

  “I understand, dear girl. I understand,” Mrs. Chestnut said. “I will keep praying for you, and the next time I come in, I’ll bring you a prayer book that might be helpful.”

  How could anything in a prayer book ease her breaking heart? Or help her accept that soon she would be husbandless and childless, with nothing and no one to live for?

  Those questions raced through her mind and heart, but Tamara didn’t utter them. Instead she nodded at her sweet friend and took a deep breath to settle her thoughts, so she could focus on serving her other customers.

  Mrs. Chestnut ambled away, and in seconds, a distracted construction worker stood before her, checking his watch in the same motion as he handed over his paycheck for cashing.

  Tamara switched on an auto-pilot smile and went through the motions of providing excellent customer service. Her mind, however, nursed worries about her husband and how he was doing on this last-minute trip to Calero that he had insisted on making.

  He had surprised her with his plans during breakfast, when she had no choice but to go on to work instead of taking the day off to accompany him. Tamara had been tempted to ask him if he had purposely waited until the last minute to share details about the visit so he’d have an excuse to call Dayna and spend time alone with her.

  There you go, allowing your mind to play tricks again, she told herself now, as she made a deposit for a friendly Hispanic woman with two small children in tow. Brent didn’t mention plans to see Dayna. Why are you so suspicious?

  But Tamara knew why. Brent also hadn’t mentioned his whereabouts years ago, when Dayna was his wife and he was stepping out to see Tamara. Now she couldn’t help but fear that the tables were turning, despite how sick he was.

  Her heart sank at the thought, and not so much because she suspected that Brent, who was a good and godly man, would do something like that now. What hurt her more was the possibility that even though he might not act on those feelings, he had them in the first place. He hadn’t said anything to that effect, but his eyes told Tamara more than she cared to know.

  thirty-five

  Sweat coursed a path down Dayna’s forehead as she trotted into a third mile on the treadmill and allowed her mind to jog through alternating thoughts of her lunch with Brent and Audrey’s admission that she was someone’s mistress.

  Dayna had been more comfortable with Brent today than she’d felt since they reconnected, yet their growing familiarity also felt awkward. And Audrey … was her self-confidence so low that she chose to settle for someone else’s crumbs rather than hold out for her own personal best? As much as they had talked about neither of them going that route, how had this happened?

  The rhythmic pounding of her feet against the treadmill’s running surface matched the staccato beat of her emotions. What could she say about any of this to Warren without causing unnecessary alarm or telling all of Audrey’s business? Better yet, why should she care about Audrey’s privacy? She knew how humiliated, angry, and hurt the wife of Audrey’s boyfriend must be. How dare Dayna be asked to understand the mistress, no matter who it was?

  She ran for ten more minutes, and as the treadmill tempo slowed to a brisk walk, she realized she didn’t feel better. Her five-mile run usually eased the tension in her shoulders and centered her. This evening, she was still a ball of pent-up emotions.

  The treadmill crawled to a stop and she stepped off. Someone tapped her shoulder as she wiped sweat from her forehead causing her to jump.

  Dayna turned and swatted Warren with her towel. “Man — you scared me!”

  He chuckled, then frowned. “In this busy gym? I usually meet you here, don’t I?”

  He was right. Instead of being caught off guard, she should have been looking out for him. They exercised together several days a week in this space reserved for hospital employees.

  Dayna shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Yeah, you do — sorry,” she said, and patted his chest. “Just have a lot on my mind today.”

  He pulled her by the hand over to the stationary bikes and motioned for her to climb onto one, before straddling the adjacent one himself. When each had positioned themselves and started pedaling, he resumed the conversation.

  “So you took the day off work, and you’re distracted … what gives?”

  Dayna glanced to the left and to the right and saw that the only other person near them was the man thr
ee bikes away who wore headphones and bobbed his head to a beat only he could hear.

  She shrugged and lowered her voice as much as she could without being drowned out by the sound of the bikes. “When I left your place last night I had to rush over to Audrey’s to help her out with a crisis, which she will need to tell you about,” she said. “That kept me up most of the night, so I rested until Brent called.”

  “Yeah? What did he want?”

  Warren tried to seem nonchalant, but Dayna recognized the familiar locked jaw.

  “He called out of the blue and announced that he had driven up today to check out the Calero Community Foundation,” she said. “He’s eager to move forward and didn’t want to wait until our next meeting.”

  “I got your voicemail about lunch,” Warren said.

  Dayna knew he continued to gaze at her because he wanted to know if there was more.

  “Well, he met with foundation officials on his own, but he asked me to join him for lunch afterward to process what he had been told so we could make a recommendation at the next meeting about how to move forward. We grabbed a bite at Thai Today and chatted for a while.”

  When Warren didn’t respond, she followed up. “You okay with that?”

  He looked straight ahead and shrugged. “Does it matter? You’ve already had lunch and digested it.”

  “Why the attitude?”

  His jaw set again and he didn’t answer. Dayna sighed. In some ways, his jealousy was flattering, in others it was annoying. “What do you want for dinner?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  Dayna pressed the electronic key to stop her bike and climbed off when it slowed to a crawl. She moved toward Warren, who was still riding in place and staring at the flat-screen TV on the wall across the room. “Babe, stop tripping. It was just lunch.”