Finding Home

by Carolyne Aarsen

  Jess pulled his hand over his face, as if erasing those words of derision from his father that could, at times, pull him down to where his father seemed to want him.

  “I know God is my heavenly Father and He loves me unconditionally,” Jess said, raising his head. “But when your earthly father has told you you’re worthless for most of your life, when all you’ve ever heard from him is that he wished you were never born, it takes time and miles to move past that.”

  Connor nodded in understanding. He was the only friend of Jess’s who knew exactly what he’d had to deal with. Connor was the only one Jess had confided in.

  He hadn’t seen it all, though.

  Then a light tap at the door broke into the heavy silence and Jess turned to see Naomi standing in the doorway, the light haloing her hair and casting her features in shadow.

  She cleared her throat, then held up Jess’s cell phone. “I’m sorry to bother you, but your mother called and I took the liberty of answering. She said she needed to talk to you.”

  Jess blinked, trying to get his bearings, wondering what Naomi might have overheard.

  “Is she still on the phone?”

  “No. She hung up before I could get here.”

  “I’ll call her back later,” he said, walking over to take the phone from Naomi. “Sorry about that.”

  As she handed him the phone, she gave him a sudden smile that was like a gift. As if what happened yesterday was okay with her.

  He returned it and the light in her eyes kindled emotions only Naomi had been able to create in him. Warmth. Caring. Belonging.

  “Are you coming to bring Brittany over for lunch?” she asked, her voice lowering, drawing him closer to her.

  “Yes, if you still figure on it.”

  “Of course.”

  Their words were inconsequential chitchat, but for Jess their very ordinariness affirmed what happened between them last night. As if Naomi was accepting them and was willing to make the shift into this new place they were, even now, exploring as their gazes held.

  “Give me another half hour and I’ll be there.”

  She gave him another smile, then left.

  Without even turning around Jess could feel Connor’s grin. He chose to ignore it and instead picked up another box of handles and knobs. “I’ll put these on the bathroom cabinets,” was all he said to Connor.

  “Don’t be messing up my handiwork,” was all Connor said with a huge grin.

  Jess just nodded. As he clomped up the stairs, he let himself smile and allow a glimmer of hope and optimism into his day.

  He quickly got the handles attached and even though he told Naomi half an hour, twenty minutes later he was at the house.

  Naomi was washing dishes in the sink, chatting with Brittany who lay in the old recliner they had pulled into the kitchen.

  “What are you working on, Brit?” he asked, walking to her side, still fully aware of Naomi working at the counter.

  “Naomi taught me how to knit and I’m trying to make a sweater.” Brittany held up what she was doing. “Does it look okay?”

  “Looks great,” he said, hoping he put the right amount of admiration into his voice, considering he had no clue what he was looking at.

  “Naomi’s sister Shannon brought some wool from Naomi’s nana here this morning. She’ll be taking care of me when Naomi goes to get your glass tomorrow.” Brittany held the knitted square out in front of her, turning it this way and that.

  “It looks small for a sweater,” Jess said.

  “That’s ’cause babies are small,” Brittany returned with a grin.

  Really small. He couldn’t help the panic that clenched his stomach at the thought of a tiny baby wearing that tiny sweater.

  One thing at a time. Jess touched her shoulder, then he turned to Naomi, who was watching him and Brittany. When their eyes met, a light flush pinkened her cheeks.

  “I’m not quite ready,” Naomi said.

  “That’s okay. I got done quicker than I thought,” Jess said. “Sure smells good in here.”

  “Thought I would try something different, so I made burritos. I made enough so that Connor can have some, too, if he wants.”

  “He’ll love you forever. He’s crazy about burritos.”

  This netted him another quick smile, broader than the first. Again their gazes meshed and again he couldn’t look away as he recognized the first delicate steps in a fragile dance.

  But she seemed willing to follow and if that was the case, he was willing to lead. So he took a step closer and gently brushed a soap bubble from her cheek and let his hand linger.

  She turned her head, just a fraction, as if to maintain the contact.

  “I think I made a mistake,” Brittany called out.

  Naomi pulled back and Jess lowered his hand.

  As Naomi bent over Brittany, he leaned his hips back against the counter, his attention more on Naomi than his stepsister.

  As he watched her help Brittany, a prayer drifted into his mind.

  Dear Lord, help me to figure out where we are going and what we are doing.

  But even as he released the words of his prayer, even as Naomi glanced his way, her smile growing, the old poison crept into his mind.

  You’re not worthy. You’re not wanted. You’re nothing like Billy.

  He shook them off, but remnants of those accusations clung like dirt. Would he ever be completely free of them?

  His phone rang and he quickly grabbed it, glancing at the call display before he answered. His mother.

  “Hey, Mom. Sorry I didn’t return your call,” he said as he walked into the living room. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay. I feel like things are coming together.” This was followed by a dramatic sigh. “How is Brittany? Still on bed rest?”

  “Yes. Naomi is taking her to the doctor in a couple of days to see how things are progressing, but so far her blood sugars are stabilized and her blood pressure is acceptable.”

  “That’s good to know.” Another moment of silence. “How is the house coming?”

  “Connor is putting the cabinets in right now and the plumber is coming again to install the sinks and showerheads. It will be ready in a couple of days, as well.”

  “That was quick. Considering it took you so many years to get it this far.”

  Jess said nothing to that. He had been pulling a few all-nighters to get things done. Lately he felt an unspoken urgency to get his house finished and ready.

  For Naomi?

  He pushed the question aside. He couldn’t let himself indulge in that fantasy.

  “So what can I do for you, Mom?” He moved farther away from the kitchen door and lowered his voice. “Are you coming back here anytime soon?”

  Another moment of silence. “I believe I will. I know I have to. I just don’t know...don’t know if I’m ready to deal with her and a baby.”

  “Please think about it, Mom. You’re the only mother she has and she’ll need you once that baby comes.”

  “I know.” This was followed by another heavy sigh. “I’m calling for another reason, though. I’m thinking of selling our house in Rockyview and I thought I should talk to you about it first.”

  “It’s your house, too, Mom.”

  “You grew up there. It’s where you spent your childhood and teen years. I assumed you would want to be informed.”

  Jess released a bitter laugh thinking of what those childhood and teen years entailed. Long lonely nights spent with a variety of nannies and housekeepers. And when his parents were home...

  “It doesn’t matter to me what you do with the house. I’m building my own place.” And creating my own memories.

  “Okay. I just needed to know so I can inform the renters. As for Brittany...I will come. I’m just not sure when.”

  He knew he couldn’t expect more than this from his mother. So he bade her a quiet goodbye and then ended the call. He closed his eyes, releasing a heavy sigh, hoping his mother would r
ealize what her responsibilities were.

  He felt a clutch of panic at the thought of the outcome of Brittany’s pregnancy. A baby. Helpless and dependent.

  Just then he heard Naomi’s quiet murmur as she helped Brittany with her knitting, then the creak of the oven door as she opened it. A picture formed in his mind of Naomi standing in another kitchen. Their kitchen.

  He was jumping too far ahead. Things were so fragile between them. So tentative.

  And yet, he knew their emotions were slowly veering toward a place that gave him hope.

  He wished he knew what would happen with Brittany.

  Chapter 9

  “So this is one of the colors of glass I want to use for the grass in the windows,” Naomi said, carefully laying the two sheets of verdigris glass she had bought today out on the kitchen table. “If you don’t like it, I can get a lighter color.”

  It was early evening yet. Naomi had returned from her trip to Calgary and Shannon, who had been taking care of Brittany while Naomi was gone, had just left. Brittany was sleeping. She had been extra tired today according to Shannon, but her blood pressure was good, as was her blood sugar.

  Shannon and Jess had helped Naomi unload the boxes of glass. Now Naomi was going through them, her heart quickening at the sight of all the colors, her hands almost trembling in their eagerness to start cutting and planning.

  She glanced over at Jess, but he wasn’t looking at the glass. He was looking at her.

  Warmth seeped into her cheeks. Since that evening, when he had brushed her cheek with a kiss she hadn’t stopped, everything had shifted between them.

  Even though Naomi was still not sure what to think or what to allow, she found her resistance to him and to a relationship with him slowly breaking down. Questions still lingered, but she pushed them aside. Jess might say he’s not father material, but what she had seen of his relationship with Brittany, a girl whom he wasn’t responsible for, had shone a ray of hope on the shadows of her doubts.

  “Looks good to me,” Jess said, coming closer. He lifted another pane of glass from the carefully packed box and held it up to the fading light of the sun. “I like the look of the swirls of white in this glass.”

  “It’s supposed to be the snow. I was initially leaning toward glue chip glass because it looks like frost, but I’m using more opalescent than cathedral glass so it will blend better.” Naomi carefully lifted another sheet of blue glass out of the box, a frisson of excitement flickered through her as she held it up to the light. “This water glass is one of my favorites.”

  Jess stepped close enough to look through the glass that she could feel the warmth of his body close to hers.

  The whistle of the kettle and Jess’s proximity made her lower the glass and hurry toward the stove. “Do you want some coffee?” she asked, disappointed that she sounded so breathless.

  “Sure, I’d love a cup. But I can make it.”

  She waved off his offer. Her hands trembled as she spooned coffee into the press and then poured water over the grounds. She pulled out two mismatched mugs and when the coffee was ready, filled them.

  She spooned sugar into her coffee, then handed him the larger mug as he pulled out a chair for her.

  With a murmured thanks she sat down and jarred a sheet of glass lying on the edge of the table. It teetered and as she reached for it, she let loose her grip on her mug. She caught the glass, but in the process dumped hot coffee on Jess’s T-shirt.

  “Oh, no,” she cried as he jumped up with a roar, then in one fluid motion, yanked off the steaming T-shirt.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Are you okay?”

  Jess grimaced at the stain on his shirt. “Got the shirt off before it burned me.”

  He gave her a quick smile, then he bent over and used his T-shirt to wipe up the coffee that had spilled on the floor.

  “Here, I’ll get a cloth,” she said, carefully pushing the sheet of glass back onto the table before getting up.

  “I think I got most of it,” he said, giving the floor one more quick wipe. Then he turned to the sink, dropped his T-shirt in it and ran the water.

  And Naomi stopped and stared.

  Two ridged scars, each about six inches long, slashed across Jess’s back. Other smaller ones crisscrossed his back below that. She stifled a gasp at the sight.

  “What happened here?” she asked, seemingly unable to keep her hand from reaching up and running her finger along the scars. They were hard and angry-looking, a violation on his smooth, tanned skin.

  Jess jerked away from her, dropping the T-shirt in the sink as he spun around. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

  The muted anger in his voice combined with the cold light in his eyes almost made her shiver.

  It also made her curious. Why was he so defensive?

  “How did you get them? They look bad,” she pressed, keeping her voice quiet, as if she was taming something wild.

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s past. He’s gone.”

  “He’s gone? Are you talking about your father when you say ‘he’s gone’?” she asked.

  Jess turned back to his sodden T-shirt lying in a heap in the sink, ignoring her question as he ran water over the brown stain spreading over the white fabric.

  Naomi felt as if she had come against a wall she had often butted against when they dated, and for some indefinable reason she also felt that if she could scale it, she might see into an unknown part of Jess that would help her understand this complicated man.

  Again she lifted her hand, her fingers gently tracing the lines of the scars from end to end again and again like they were Braille and might reveal their secrets on their own. “I don’t remember seeing these before,” she said.

  Jess stopped scrubbing at the stain, his head down, his hands growing still. “I got them after you left,” he whispered.

  “How?”

  Jess eased out a heavy sigh, then reached across his chest with his one hand and caught hers, stopping her hand. “Please don’t do that,” he asked, his voice low and thick. “I don’t want you to have any part of them...of how I got them.”

  Naomi wasn’t letting this go, however. She felt as if she and Jess stood on the verge of something important. A shift in their relationship she needed to test.

  Then, suddenly, like tumblers in a combination lock, snippets of conversation, memories and thoughts clicked into place, and behind that Connor asking Jess if he still believed all that garbage his father tossed at him.

  Jess replying how his father had told him he was worthless and how he wished he had never been born.

  Her heart grew cold as she finally understood.

  “Your father did this to you,” she said quietly, threading her fingers through his.

  Jess kept his eyes on her hand, his lips a thin line, then he gave her a tight nod, yes.

  “Why?” she asked, only able to choke out that one word past the thickening in her own throat. How could a father do this to his own child?

  Jess pulled his hands away from hers, leaning back on the counter behind him for support. “He did it because I threw a party that got out of control. Too many people came over and the house got trashed.”

  Naomi frowned. “I don’t remember you having a party.”

  Jess lifted his eyes and sent her a dark, broken, longing gaze. “I threw it after you and Billy left for school.”

  She folded her arms over her stomach, hurt spearing through her. “Because you were happy I was gone.”

  He released a harsh laugh, laced with anger. “No. Because I couldn’t stand the idea that you had left me to go to Billy. Couldn’t stand that I might never see you again. I was so full of anger and...and pain at the idea that you were with anyone but me. I was selfish and immature and I figured a wild party would get my mind off you. Trouble was, twenty minutes into the party I knew I had done something monumentally stupid. Things quickly got out of control. I ended up calling the cops. By the time they came it was too late. The house w
as a wreck. My parents came home the next day and my dad blew up. He yelled at me like he always did, hit me some, then pushed me through the French doors that one of the kids had kicked in. The glass was broken and I fell against it. That’s how I got these scars.”

  “Jess, I’m so sorry. I never knew.”

  “I didn’t want you to know,” he said, the bitterness in his voice easing off. “I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me like you’re feeling sorry for me now.” Jess pushed himself away from the counter and gave Naomi a tight smile. “I don’t want to talk about my father anymore,” he said. “That’s in my past. It’s over.”

  “Is it?” Naomi asked.

  He frowned at her as if he didn’t understand what she was saying.

  “I remember how you used to talk about him. How a hard edge would come into your voice that I never understood. Until now. And I hear that same edge now.”

  “Now you know why.”

  “I do.” Naomi brushed her hand over his back, as if to remind herself of what had happened to him. “Yet, I also sense that your father still has a hold over you.”

  “What do you mean?” he snapped.

  Naomi tried not to flinch at the lash of anger in his voice, reminding herself of how hard it must have been for him to tell her what he did. At the same time, however, she sensed she needed to gently push on.

  “As long as you hold anger in your heart toward your father, he has control, even though he’s dead. I think you need to forgive him.”

  “You saw what he did. This is only a small part of what he did to me. I could tell you about how he would yell at me, how often he raised his fists to me for no reason other than that he could. How can I forgive all that?”

  Naomi wished she hadn’t started this, but she had and now she had to finish. “It’s hard. I know I had to deal with forgiving my father. Once I forgave him, it was easier to let go of my thoughts of him. My anger. I felt like my forgiving him, truly forgiving him, released me from him. Healed me from the pain he gave me when he left. When he abandoned me and my sisters and my mother.” She was quiet a moment knowing that being left behind was probably not the same thing as being abused, but it was still a pain she’d had to deal with. She looked up at him, praying he would understand what she was saying. “Forgiveness frees you. It helps you let go of bitterness and anger. It gives you peace and freedom from the person you forgive.”