Coming Home (Jackson Falls Series)

by Breton, Laurie

  Mary was overjoyed to hear from her. “Casey Fiore, it’s been too long!” she said. “I thought you’d up and forgotten us!”

  “Of course not. I don’t mean to neglect old friends. But life just gets so godawful messed up at times.”

  “Troubles, darlin’?”

  Casey hesitated. She would have liked to lay her head on Mary’s ample bosom and cry. But how could she spill her troubles to the older woman when it was Mary’s own son who was the cause? “It’s nothing,” she said. “I called because I’m trying to find Rob. I thought by some wild chance you might know where he is.”

  “I know where he is, all right,” Mary said darkly. “And driving us crazy, he is.”

  Adrenaline shot through her veins. “He’s there?” she said. “In Boston?”

  “He’s been here for going on two months, moping about the house with this long face, and mean as an old tomcat. He got into a fight with his dad, tried to talk poor Patrick into buying a new car. Said the old one was no good, and you know how much stock Patrick takes in that car. Wanted him to buy a Lincoln Continental, of all things. Can you imagine?”

  Casey made a small, strangled sound. “He won’t talk about it to me,” Mary continued, “but it’s woman trouble. He admitted it to Rose. I’ve prayed to the good Lord above that the boy will settle down, find himself a decent wife, but—” She paused, then heaved a mighty sigh. “I don’t know what to do with him. He’s been puttering around this old house, playing with the plumbing, caulking the windows, complaining that the place’ll fall into the cellar one of these days.”

  “Mary,” she said, “I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

  On the other end of the telephone, there was a measured pause. “Now, darlin’,” Mary said carefully, “how could it possibly be your fault?”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know. Look, I’m coming to Boston.”

  “Good girl. Maybe you can talk some sense into him. Should I set another place for dinner?”

  “I’d like that. But, Mary—”

  “What, child?”

  “It’s really important that I talk to him. Sit on him if you have to.”

  There was another pause. “For you, sweetheart,” Mary said, “I’ll rope him and tie him to a chair if I have to.”

  ***

  The kite was bright red, a Chinese dragon, and the kid was having trouble with it. It took a nose dive and plummeted toward the sea, recovering at the eleventh hour and swooping back upward with a crisp snap that he heard clearly from three hundred yards away. Except for the two of them, Rob and the kid with the kite, Revere Beach was deserted. Over the past few weeks, he’d come out here often enough so the residents of the massive, ugly condos that lined the beach were probably familiar by now with the black Porsche with the vanity plates that said WIZARD. Seldom given to introspection, Rob MacKenzie had found in his thirty-fifth year that he had a great deal to think about. And Revere was the ideal place to do it, close enough to the city so he could watch the silver birds at Logan, people coming and going and living their busy lives, yet isolated enough so he could watch without having to be a part of that busyness.

  Mostly he thought about the three of them, and about the complexities of their interrelationships over the span of fifteen years. He remembered vividly the first night he’d met Casey, and how they’d clicked, right then and there. He might have even let himself fall in love with her then, if it hadn’t been so obvious that she and Danny were blind to everything but each other. He could never compete with Danny. Who could? Danny had something that drew people to him, men and women alike. He had dazzled, and Rob had never begrudged him that. Dazzling involved certain responsibilities that Rob wouldn’t have welcomed. He was too much his own man to covet the opportunity to live his life to please other people. He lived his life for Rob MacKenzie, and he wouldn’t want it any other way. It wasn’t Danny’s charisma he coveted; it was Danny’s wife. Or, more precisely, Danny’s widow.

  And that, he reluctantly admitted, was the real reason he’d turned tail and run. The plain truth was that Danny Fiore was a hard act to follow. He didn’t have Danny’s looks or his charm or his goddamn sense of style. Danny was silk and Dom Perignon. Rob was denim and Heineken. Danny was filet mignon, he was Big Mac. Danny was a god, while he was just a mortal man, trying his best to survive in this mixed-up world.

  He’d said some terrible things to her. He’d accused her of not being ready, but the truth was that he wasn’t any more ready than she was. He’d run away because he was so afraid that some day—maybe not next week or next month, but somewhere down the road—he would see it in her eyes, the disappointment she was too much of a lady to voice. And he couldn’t face that.

  The kid with the kite was way down the beach now, and somehow he’d finally got the thing to fly. It dipped and swooped, then climbed steadily into the blue brilliance of the spring sky. Rob got up from his seat in the pavilion and shoved his hands in his pockets as the wind that was left over from March whipped his shirt against his lanky frame. Maybe it didn’t matter that he was something less than a god. Maybe being with her was more important than worrying about the future. Maybe loving her would be worth taking the chance.

  He found his mother in the kitchen, mixing a cake, those sturdy arms whipping the wooden spoon in a rapid motion perfected by decades of cooking for a small army. Her hair was a mess, reddish-gray strands poking out in every direction, and for the first time, Rob realized how old she looked. He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her and gave her a bone-crunching hug.

  “And what in blue blazes might this be about?” she said.

  “Women may come and women may go,” he said, “but a man’s mom is always his first and best girl.”

  She snorted. “A mother continues to love her child,” she said, stirring the cake batter with a vengeance, “even when he acts like an abominable ass.”

  “Is that how I’ve been acting?”

  “I sugarcoated it so I wouldn’t hurt your precious feelings.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a shithead.”

  “Watch your mouth. I don’t know whether to hug you,” she added, wiping the spoon on the lip of the bowl, “or take you over my knee. Exactly what kind of foolishness have you been perpetrating?”

  He felt the same way he’d felt at twelve, when she caught him smoking out back of Billy Neely’s store. “What?” he said with exaggerated innocence, and stuck a finger into the cake batter.

  “I talked to Casey today.”

  He froze, the batter halfway to his mouth. His mother’s lips were pursed and she looked as though she knew every rotten thing he’d done in his entire thirty-five years. “I don’t know why I didn’t figure it out sooner,” she said. “The way you’ve been pissing and moaning about the house. I knew three years ago that she was sweet on you.”

  “What?” he said. “What in hell are you talking about?”

  “Lick that damnable batter off your finger before it drips all over my clean kitchen floor. When Casey came to visit me, the summer she and Danny, God rest his soul, were renovating that money pit they bought up in the wilderness, all she could talk about was you. It was Rob this, and Rob that. Rob, Rob, Rob. Some way or another, we ended up looking through the family photo albums. Pictures of you kids when you were little. She swallowed up those pictures of you like they were sugar candy. I thought, Lord have mercy, there’s heartbreak ahead here.”

  His stomach did a hard somersault. “Jesus, Ma, why didn’t you tell me then?”

  “She was a married woman. You weren’t brought up that way. And much as I loved her, I couldn’t see any good ever coming of it.”

  “What did she say? Today?”

  “Not nearly enough. That’s what tipped me off. Suddenly, everything fell into place. What in God’s name did you do to that sweet girl?”

  Blood rushed to his face as he remembered precisely what he’d done to that sweet girl, but it wasn’t exactly the kin
d of thing a man discussed with his mother. He squared his jaw, and she rolled her eyes. “For the love of Mike,” she said, “you’re blushing like a seventeen-year-old virgin bride. I’ve been married for forty-three years and I’ve raised nine babies. I think I should know by now what it is that men and women do together. That’s not what I was talking about, although it does clarify things a bit.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean, my hardheaded son, is that although you may be an alley cat, Casey’s not the kind of woman who’d sleep with a man she doesn’t love. And if sleeping together is what you’ve been doing, you’d best make things right with her.”

  “After the fight we had,” he said grimly, “she’d probably shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “Hmph.” She poured the batter from the mixing bowl into a greased cake pan. “And what was it you fought about?”

  He crammed his hands into his pockets and began to pace around the kitchen. “It was stupid,” he said.

  “It usually is. What happened?”

  “I found out she still had all Danny’s stuff. His clothes in the closet, his shoes still under the bed. His goddamn underwear still in the drawers.”

  “Mmn hmn. And?”

  “I freaked.”

  “And she told you what a flaming ass you were being.”

  “Jesus, Ma, whose side are you on, anyway?”

  “I’m not taking sides. I’m just trying to figure out what manner of stupidity the two of you have been embroiled in. Did you think she’d stop loving Danny just because he was dead?”

  “No!” he said. And sighed. “Yes. Oh, hell, I don’t know.”

  “God help us. He was her husband for what—thirteen years? They had a child together. The man was her whole life. Did you really think you could take his place?”

  Bleakly, he said, “Pretty stupid of me, wasn’t it?”

  “Ah, Robbie, inside that tall, good-looking man, you’re still just a little boy. Of course you can’t take his place. It’s already taken. You have to take your own place.”

  “My own place?” he said.

  “There’ll always be a place in her heart that belongs to Danny. But that doesn’t mean there’s no room for you. That girl loves you. But she doesn’t love you more than Danny, or less than Danny. It’s not a contest. Do you think I love any one of your brothers or sisters more or less than I love you? Do you think the fact that there are nine of you dilutes my love for any of you? Love is a gift, Robbie. Don’t question it. Don’t spoil it by being jealous of a dead man.”

  “I can’t help it,” he said. “I love her so damn much, it’s killing me.”

  “And you’re afraid of losing her. But your jealousy is what’ll drive her away. You don’t always have to be in control. Let her love you in her own way. It’ll be well worth whatever you have to give up. You’ve been a long time looking for the right woman. Don’t lose her on account of stupidity.”

  “What should I do?” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked his mother for advice. Probably when he was ten or eleven. By the time he was twelve, he’d already been too much of a jackass to listen.

  She glanced at the kitchen clock. “Well, if I was you, I’d go comb my hair, because she’ll probably be here any minute.”

  His heart nearly jumped out of his chest. “What?” he said. “She’s coming here?”

  “For dinner. And to talk to you. Let me give you one more word of advice, and then I’ll shut my mouth. I suspect she’s coming here to tell you what a blooming idiot you’ve been. If you have half the brains God gave a dandelion, you’ll just smile and agree with whatever she says, and be grateful that while you were being such an ass, she didn’t go out and find someone a little smarter.”

  ***

  Red Sox fever had taken over the city, and traffic was backed up from Fenway to East Boston. After forty minutes of fighting traffic, she parked her car in a garage near Quincy Market and ploughed her way through wall-to-wall tourists, heading directly for the open air florist. She had to pay an exorbitant price for it, but she found exactly what she sought: a single, perfect, long-stemmed rose. Red, the color of love. As the florist wrapped the stem in green tissue paper, she wondered once again if it was too late. But she refused to dwell on the possibility. She was going into this with her eyes wide open, and nothing would stop her.

  Rob’s mother was a familiar, warm presence, ruddy-cheeked and exuberant. They embraced, then Mary held her at arm’s length while with shrewd blue eyes she studied Casey’s pallid face. “He’s around the back,” she said, then added, “Don’t look so frightened, child. It’ll all work out.”

  Casey’s eyes widened in surprise, and Mary shook her head. “I’m not blind,” she said. “It’s about time the two of you stopped being so pigheaded and admitted you belong together.”

  She found Rob on his knees in the garden, digging ferociously with a spade, wearing a pair of worn gardening gloves and his leather bomber jacket. He looked up and saw her, and she watched the play of emotions across his face: pleasure, pain, uncertainty. It was the uncertainty that remained. “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” she said, and stepped over a clump of moist soil. “What are you doing?”

  “Planting tulip bulbs.” He dropped the spade, rose and dusted his knees, removed the gloves and stuffed them in his pocket. For a long time, they just looked at each other. Then he reached out a tentative fingertip to touch a scarlet rose petal. “What’s with the flower, Fiore? Somebody die or something?”

  “It’s for you, MacKenzie. It’s a peace offering.”

  When he took it from her, his knuckles brushed hers, warm and rough against her skin, and she felt his touch like a blow to her solar plexus. They lingered that way, barely touching, neither of them willing to break the contact. “I’m only going to say this once,” she said, “so please hear me out. You have to understand the powerful hold that Danny had over me. He’d walk into a room and I’d melt. It wasn’t something I could control, and no matter how bad things got between us, we couldn’t seem to stay away from each other.”

  “I know,” he said. “I was there.”

  “So you were,” she said. “But you don’t know all of it. That weekend you and I spent in Nassau, you unleashed something inside of me that I hadn’t known was there. And I was so confused. I still loved Danny, but suddenly I was having feelings for you that a married woman doesn’t have for a man who’s not her husband. I tried to believe it was like you said, some heady combination of celibacy and proximity. Maybe I could have handled it better, but I did what I thought was best for everyone involved. I took my husband back. Not because I didn’t care about you, but because I did. Am I making any sense at all?”

  “Yeah,” he said softly. “You are.”

  “Danny was really trying to be a husband, putting everything he had into it. But I felt like I had this gaping hole inside me that was clamoring to be filled, and I couldn’t figure out what was missing. I tried to fill up the emptiness with activity, but it didn’t help. And then you walked into my kitchen one hot August afternoon and you took me in your arms, and all the voices inside me quieted.”

  She took a deep breath. “Part of me wanted you to stay away,” she said, “and part of me just plain wanted you. I told myself it was some kind of thirty-something midlife crisis. At one point, I just about had myself convinced that if I went to bed with you, just once, I’d get it out of my system. Of course, it was out of the question, because I would never have cheated on Danny. Not in a million years.”

  “I know,” he said hoarsely.

  She took a deep breath. “When he died, I would have lost myself if it hadn’t been for you. You brought me back. And all those feelings I’d tried so hard to deny came rushing back. All that incredible heat, all that passion. I’d never had any idea it would be like that between us.”

  He toyed with a strand of her hair. “I could’ve told you.”

  She traced the line of his j
aw with her thumb. “Of course,” she said. “I keep forgetting you’re a wizard.”

  “I didn’t need any crystal ball,” he said, glancing down at his dirt-encrusted Reeboks. “Just my heart.”

  “Oh, Rob, I’m so sorry. The closer I got to you, the more I saw Danny slipping away from me. So I clung desperately to what I had left of him, because I was afraid if I let go, I’d lose him completely. Instead, I lost you.” She took his face between her hands, and his skin was smooth and warm. “Will you forgive me?” she said.

  “Ah, baby,” he said, “there’s nothing to forgive. It took two of us to screw things up this bad.” He caught her hands in his, kissed the palms, then threaded his fingers through hers. “When Danny died,” he said, “it was the worst thing that’d ever happened to me. I didn’t handle it well. In every way that mattered, he was my brother. Sometimes I hated him for the way he treated you, but I loved him just the same.”

  Softly, she said, “I know.”

  “After Nassau,” he said, “I was so much in love with you that it was eating me alive. But you were Danny’s wife, and I had no right to feel that way about you. So I forced myself to keep my distance, for the sake of my sanity. Then he died, and the whole world came tumbling down on my head. I know there are people who’ll say that it was damn convenient for me, to finally have him out of the picture. But it wasn’t like that. His dying didn’t make things easier. It made things so much worse. Because as long as Danny was upright and breathing, I could go on deluding myself into believing that sooner or later, you’d wake up and realize it wasn’t worth all the pain he kept putting you through. And then, by some miracle, you’d turn around and see me standing there, and realize—” He broke off abruptly, then shrugged. “Like I said, I was delusional. Then, suddenly, he was gone, and you were in so much pain. We both were. That was when I realized it was hopeless. He was the love of your life, and there was no way I could ever compete with his ghost. And the bitter truth is, I was jealous of him. I was more jealous of him as a dead man than I ever was while he was alive. The legend was dead, bigger than he’d ever been in life, and I couldn’t imagine how you could love me after having him.”