Coming Home (11 page)

Doesn’t matter anyway,
she reminded herself.
I’ll be miles away by tomorrow
.

Chapter Thirteen

AS EXPECTED, Bill played chauffeur, driving them the few miles to church, which was located just south of downtown, on Cascade Avenue. A classically built structure, the edifice had an almost Gothic feel, with elegant maroon brick, Tudor arches, gabled roof, and a magnificent stained-glass depiction of the Last Supper. Bill let them out at the front door, and no mention was made of his return.

Getting into the sanctuary proved difficult, as Grandmother seemed to know everyone, mostly couples in their sixties and seventies, impeccably dressed. She introduced Jessie as if she were traveling royalty. The people shook her hand, some almost too warmly, as though privy to the whole rotten affair—which, of course, they probably were.

Each person seemed to outdo the other in praising his friendship with “Doris, the most generous woman in Colorado Springs,” and seemed utterly thrilled to have been singled out for such an introduction. One woman commented on Jessie’s resemblance to her mother, a comment that received a quick clearing of Grandmother’s throat and an ushering on to the next recipient of her privileged attention. Five minutes of that routine was enough for Jessie. When the opportunity presented itself, she excused herself to the rest room and locked herself in the stall, gathering her composure for the next round.

Eventually they made it to the large sanctuary, which faced an ornate altar. Perhaps a thousand souls sat on hard-back wooden pews with light blue padding. Not enough padding, in her opinion. Once seated, they became the recipients of more than a few casual glances—people who appeared to be looking for someone else, yet allowed their gaze to casually drift in their direction. And Grandmother glowed in the light of human attention.

Jessie glanced at her grandmother and was surprised that she seemed to be silently praying.

The service itself was just as formal as Jessie expected, with a beautiful and complex choir number before the sermon. At one point, Grandmother leaned over, making note of her friends on the choir platform, which seemed to include the entire group. It occurred to Jessie that those who
weren’t
her grandmother’s friends must have felt they were part of a small disadvantaged number.

As the hour progressed, Jessie thought of Darlene and her never ending invitations to attend church. Afraid to set some kind of precedence, Jessie had steadfastly declined. As a child, she had attended her grandmother’s church on a few occasions, suffering through services that were dreadfully boring. Not to mention, she’d missed her friends at the church in nearby Monument. Due to the slim pickings in Palmer Lake, even Andy’s family and the Robinettes attended the Monument church.

Pain free,
Bill had said when referring to this church. Turned out he was right. The silver-haired minister, in his red-and-white robe, gave a well-crafted sermon on the practice of gratitude. Later, a young woman with straight brown hair performed a technically demanding organ solo, and Grandmother closed her eyes as if in ecstasy, then leaning over at the end, she whispered, “And to think she’s part of our church!”

After the service and a few more rounds of introductions, Verona, a friendly Dutch woman who owned a white Cadillac, drove them down Lake Avenue for lunch at the Broadmoor. Grandmother sat up front, while Jessie sat in the backseat.

Halfway to the Broadmoor, Verona meandered onto dangerous ground. “How long has it been, Jessica?”

Oh boy,
Jessie thought nervously, anticipating her grandmother’s response.

“Verona …”

Verona heard the tone in her grandmother’s voice and became flustered. “Well, it’s wonderful to meet you. Your grandmother has had wonderful things to say.” As if she wouldn’t have.

Another awkward silence passed as Grandmother looked out the window, a posture that Jessie realized was intended to communicate displeasure.

“I missed the mountains,” Jessie offered cheerfully, but it wasn’t really true. The growing awkwardness stiffened the three of them into uncomfortable silence. They ate lunch at a ritzy café that was part of the vast Broadmoor resort—patio chairs, umbrella shading, with an overly formal wait staff. Conversation was conducted by Grandmother, who had recovered from Verona’s social lapses, and Verona was delighted to have the opportunity to redeem herself.

Later, after Verona had driven them back home, Doris made a point of noting that Verona was a recent widow.

They were still standing in the entryway when Bill emerged from the kitchen with a can of soda in his hand. He tipped his baseball cap.

“Where’s your cowboy hat?” Jessie asked.

Bill grinned. “I give it a rest on Sundays.”

Grandmother grimaced. “I have to look at that thing enough as it is.”

For a moment, the three of them stood in the entryway, looking at each other uneasily, until Jessie realized that they were both wondering what she had decided. She’d promised one day. Was she staying or leaving?

“What are your dinner plans with Betty?” Grandmother asked casually, but there was something behind her eyes. If Jessie didn’t know better, she might have thought it was sorrow, or even regret.

I’m leaving,
Jessie reminded herself.

The dinner was at six o’clock, she told them. They wandered through a kind of winding-down conversation, like people do when they are meaning to say good-bye. “You wouldn’t get very far,” Bill ventured. “Probably have to stay in a hotel in Denver. Seems a waste.”

“And yet she’d be that much closer to getting on the road.” Grandmother was making a transparent effort to appear flexible.

Jessie avoided Bill’s coaxing gaze.

“You never took the gazebo for a spin,” Bill reminded her.

Doris rolled her eyes, and the silly gesture looked out of place on such a proper face. She poked Bill in the ribs. “Bill thinks everything is a car. In this house, we don’t eat, or walk, or read, or
do
anything. We ‘spin it.’ Doesn’t matter what it is. This morning you may not have realized it, but you didn’t eat an omelet, you took his omelet ‘for a spin,’ and believe me, after eating his cooking, I sometimes do feel as though I’m spinning.” Grandmother was uncharacteristically congenial.

Bill twinkled at Doris, then turned back to Jessie, raising his eyebrows as if to say,
See there?

See what?
Jessie wondered.

“Let’s take that gazebo for a spin,” Jessie said.

“You two go,” Doris suggested. It was Bill’s turn to roll his eyes, but Jessie was relieved.

They headed through the kitchen alcove and out to the backyard, entering a paradise of color. Her mood brightened when she saw the double porch swing. She felt like a kid again on her way to the park—the closer you got, the more difficult it was to walk calmly. At some point you had to break into a sprint and practically
jump
onto the swing.

“You like?”

“I love.”

Bill regarded her curiously again.

“I nearly grew up in a gazebo,” Jessie explained. “Our backyard overlooked the park across from the town hall. I could see it from my bedroom window. It tantalized me to no end.”

Bill chuckled, and they sat together for a moment, rocking in silence.

“I think this is good-bye,” Jessie finally expressed, hoping Bill would understand, yet knowing he would press anyway.

“When do you have to be in Oregon?” Bill asked.

“Two weeks.”

“So what’s your rush?”

Jessie looked across the yard. There was no pleasure in being begged. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry about what?”

“I can’t stay.”

“Why?”

She paused a moment but felt emboldened by Bill’s frankness. “If I stay, I might say things I’ll regret.”

“All the more reason.”

“No, Bill.”

“Your grandmother ain’t china glass, honey. Trust me on that one.”

“You don’t understand. I won’t just
say
things. I’ll scream.” She felt hopelessly adolescent.

“Then let it all hang out. I’ll referee.” His shoulders hitched.

“I’ve known you all of twenty-four hours, but I’ve already seen enough of you to know that if Jessie feels like screaming, she probably has a good reason for it.”

“I don’t want to scream. That’s the point.” Jessie smiled in frustration. “It’s not becoming to a young lady.”

“And, of course, we have the risks,” Bill added with a matterof-fact tone.

She sighed. “Like what?”

“The risk of starting a relationship with your grandmother.”

Jessie frowned.

“That’s what happens after people air their differences, you know. They become friends. Is that what you’re afraid of?”

“Not remotely possible.”

Bill looked away casually and took another sniff of fresh air.

As long as they had come this far, Jessie ventured further. “Bill, what are you doing here anyway?” She hoped he would understand what she meant, but she’d probably crossed the line.

He didn’t even flinch. He took another sniff, removed his hat, and scratched his forehead. “Long story, Jess. Takes several days to tell it.” He cleared his throat casually. “Yep, couldn’t get that story done by Tuesday. Maybe by Wednesday. But, to tell it right, I’d need till Friday.”

“You never quit.”

“Done. We’ll move you in.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, but I distinctly heard a
tone
.”

“A tone?” Jessie smiled and leaned back in the swing as the sunlight peeked into the gazebo.

Am I just a glutton for punishment?
she wondered.
What could staying possibly accomplish?
And yet something was happening within her, and it had started last night. Her mind was swimming with strange inarticulated questions—a
feeling
of needing to know something. As if she’d been working her way back to this hopeforsaken place, and now she was merely following a script. With this realization, a sense of impending doom nearly overwhelmed her.
This can only end badly,
she thought.

“I’m gonna need to spin one of your Montana breakfasts every morning, or no deal,” she finally asserted, and it felt as if she were signing her own death sentence.

“Deal.”

Ten minutes later, Bill was carrying in the rest of her luggage. And Grandmother was already talking about tomorrow’s luncheon. Jessie went upstairs to take a nap. Lying on her back on the bed, forearm over her eyes, she had just dozed off when her cell phone rang. It was Betty Robinette. Jessie wondered if perhaps there had been a change in plans.

“Would you mind if I invited a guest for dinner?” Betty asked.

“No, of course not,” Jessie replied, curious.

“Here, he wants to talk to you.”

A man’s voice came on the line. “Hi, Jess. This is Andy. Remember me?”

Jessie nearly dropped her cell phone, then composed herself enough to suffer through a strange contortion of small talk with the young boy who’d once been her best friend … a lifetime ago.

“It’ll be so good to see you,” Andy remarked, and then his voice brightened. “Hey, why don’t you come early? We can catch up a little.”

They agreed to meet at the Rock House. One hour from this moment. She hung up, feeling suddenly nervous. She stepped into her bathroom to check her makeup and run a brush through her hair, then made her way downstairs, telling Bill of her plans.

He seemed delighted. “See? I knew you’d want to stay.” He insisted she take “the old Ford,” and the way he said it made her wonder if it was a Model T. But when he led her to the garage, she found a pristine silver Mustang, fully loaded, with forest green leather heated seats, sun roof, and an elaborate dash. At the most, it was a mere few years off its prime.

“I’m gonna take this out for a
spin,
” she giggled. “And I may not return.”

“Atta girl.”

She got into the car and peered at Bill through the windshield. He was standing at the doorway, waving—happy as all get out.

The sun was flickering through the pine trees when she backed out and headed down the tree-lined street. Just before Nevada Avenue, she realized she’d forgotten her purse. Since it contained nearly all of her worldly possessions—and her driver’s license—she headed back.

Upon arriving she realized Bill—or she via remote—had forgotten to close the overhead garage door. She slipped in the connecting door to the house, remembering she’d left her purse in the kitchen. Worried she might awaken her grandmother, who’d been napping when she’d left, Jessie didn’t close the door. Heading down the hallway, she heard voices. Apparently her grandmother was already up.