Heart and Home (29 page)

Becky said he seemed more
confident in my company than he had since he’d come back, like I’d managed to
empower him, and yet he kept the deepest of his pain hidden away.

“You scratch behind my ear
and I’m gonna start kicking like a dog,” he teased, breaking through my silent
observation.
  

What was I supposed to do?
Was I meant to just succumb to his stubborn insistence, love him even though he
was destroying himself, or was I meant to heal him, like my dream mother said?

“Could you reach down and
get my phone out of my purse, please?”

He twisted sideways and
rustled through the bag on the floor. He drew out my phone, handed it back to
me, and then twisted and rolled around until he was comfortable again. He
flipped the television channel back to the football game and lifted his head
twice to readjust his position in my lap.

I dialed Becky’s number, and
she answered quickly, “Hey, did I leave something in your car?”

“No, but remember when we
were talking about that thing with Lydia?”

She was quiet a moment, as
if thinking, and then, “Oh, yeah. What about it?”

“I think I should do it.”

“Really?”

“Can you call her and find
out about it and call me back later?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“You’re the best.” I hung up
and leaned over the side to drop my phone back into the bulk of my purse.

Troy didn’t take his eyes
off the television, and his tone lacked real curiosity when he asked, “Who’s
Lydia?”

“A friend of Becky’s,” I
explained. “She used to be a Rockette.” I wondered why I’d included that, as it
didn’t explain why we were calling Lydia, but he didn’t push.

He simply said, “Oh yeah?”
as he stifled a yawn with remote in hand.

I returned to the task of
running my fingers through his hair, “Yeah.”

The soothing movement
relaxed and eventually put him to sleep. I watched for nearly half an hour as
he slept, having grown fond of the innocence revealed by the relaxation of all
the muscles in his face. The cares that often creased his brow were smoothed
away, and his mouth slipped into an adorable pout. He didn’t even notice when I
slipped out and replaced my lap with a pillow.

Grabbing my jacket I crept
quietly down the stairs and into the house as I promised to do. Lottie was at
work in the kitchen, where she’d already managed to bake a few dozen cookies
unassisted. She put me to work straight away chopping walnuts for fudge.

It always felt strange and
just a little bit heavy inside the Kepner house, and I realized early on that
it was due to the size. With just Lottie living in such a massive farmhouse it
made the place seem almost haunted, and when she asked me to fetch her reading
glasses from the spacious family room I wondered if the ghost of Aaron Kepner
somehow lingered on. The high ceilings should have offered a sense of openness,
but instead it only intensified the hollow loneliness pressing in on me. I
looked up, half expecting to find evidence of his hovering presence watching
over his family from beyond.

On my way back to the
kitchen I paused at the stairwell to look at the pictures on the wall. One that
caught my eye was a family portrait, just the three of them and Lottie looking
younger than I could ever remember. Even at those early church picnics when
Troy liked to play chase-the-girls Lottie had been cursed by the early onset of
multiple sclerosis, and she always seemed much older than she really was. Troy
was probably only two or three years old, with platinum blond curls and a big
toddler grin. Chubby cheeks emphasized the dimples that made him irresistible
as an adult. On the left, like a dooming shadow, was Aaron Kepner, as serious
and stoic as I remembered, but what really stood out were his eyes. Despite the
fact that he hardly yielded to a smile for the photograph there was something
playful and familiar about his eyes: denim blue with stark flecks of white,
just like Troy’s.
 

Handing over Lottie’s
glasses, I went back to chopping nuts. “Lottie, what was Troy like when he was
little?”

“You don’t remember?” She
asked.

“Nothing before we were in
school,” I admitted.

“Well, he wasn’t too much
different before he started school,” she said. “He was always real happy,
always joking and teasing. It was like he wasn’t happy unless he had everyone
laughing.”

“He’s still like that,” I
realized.

“Not so much as he used to,”
she poured a carefully measured bowl of oats into a batch of batter for oatmeal
raisin cookies. “He’s too serious now, though I have to say he’s lightened up
these last few weeks or so.” She started to stir the oats in, but after a few
minutes her arm grew too tired and she passed it over to me wordlessly. “It’s
like he’s found his humor again.”

It saddened me to think that
there had ever been a Troy who lacked the sense of humor I had grown so accustomed
to in the last weeks. That, coupled with the shy, defeated sort of image Becky
painted of him made the man they referred to seem unreal.
 

Lottie seemed to sense my
reverie when she noted, “You’ve been good for him.”

“He’s been good for me,” I realized.
“I just wish there was more I could do more for him, maybe talk him into
finishing school somehow. He’s so creative and good with his hands.”

A sigh deflated her as she
sat down at the table. “I know dear. I tried to convince him for months to go back
and finish, but he wouldn’t hear of it. My permission and my blessing weren’t
enough.” She played with the tattered edges of the tablecloth, growing distant
as she confessed, “His daddy laid an unfair burden on him that I haven’t had
any luck lifting, no matter what I’ve tried.”

“He must have really looked
up to his dad.”

“Yes, he did, and Aaron
abused that devotion and admiration,” she explained.

“What do you mean?”

“Aaron grew up on this very
farm with a houseful of brothers and sisters, and he expected we’d have us a
houseful of kids too. When I first got sick, Troy was just little, and soon we
discovered that having other children wasn’t in the cards for us. All his
expectations fell to Troy. Even when he was a boy, it was like he could never do
enough to please his dad, like somehow in Aaron’s head it was Troy’s fault he
was an only child.”

“It must have been hard on
him.” The stabbing ache inside of me doubled, and I looked down into the bowl
of dough in front of me. A broken and weary soul… how on earth was I going to
be able to repair that break so he could rest long enough to realize he was
denying who he really was?

Lottie’s voice seemed to
shake when she said, “I thought when he went off to school he’d find his own
way, but then…” She shook her head and pushed up slowly from her chair. She
walked by me and paused to rest a tender hand on my cheek. She looked into my
eyes, her own gaze pale and fierce as a wintry landscape. “But you’ve been good
for him. I see that light in his eyes again, and there’s hope in there. It’s
like you have this power over him and every time he looks at you…” Her hand
slid away, but I could feel the heaviness of her acknowledgement still hanging
above me like a lead cloud. “If anyone can show him how to live again, Janice,
you can.”

Me?

I didn’t even know how to
live myself. I’d spent the last eight years of my life running away from a town
I let have power over me, and only with Troy’s help had I started to realize it
wasn’t the town that made the person, but one’s choices and deeds. By all
rights, his choices made him one of the most noble and giving men I had ever
known, but when nobility crossed the line and he gave more of himself than he
had to give, wasn’t that like suicide?

When he bounded through the
backdoor two hours later with a steaming pizza, the depth of his thoughtfulness
reaffirmed itself tenfold. He stole a cookie on his way to the dining room
table and came back gushing his mother’s praises in such a way that Lottie
nearly melted on the spot.

I set the table while she
finished tidying up in the kitchen, and as I set the last plate down Troy drew
me into his arms and whispered, “There is something incredibly sexy about a
woman who’s not afraid to get dirty in the kitchen.” Self-consciously I started
to reach up to wipe the flour from my face, but he held my wrist gently from
the task and stole a kiss instead. “It’s frighteningly domestic, but I like
it.”

As I laid my head against
his chest and hugged him, I knew in that moment without a doubt that Troy was
my future, that thing I hadn’t even known I’d been looking forward to, but
never wanted to let go of now that I found it.

It didn’t matter that it had
been just a matter of a few weeks. From the very first moment he looked into my
eyes while standing on the front porch step of my parents’ house a fire sparked
between us that I was fairly certain would burn beyond this lifetime and the
next.

But as long as he was
belabored with his father’s guilt he’d never be able to give all of himself
because he’d given the best parts of himself to a dead man’s expectations. I
drew back just enough to look into his eyes and realized that win or lose, it
had somehow fallen to me to save him from the guilt that drove him like a slave
through every day.

I only hoped that I was
strong enough to win, because I couldn’t even begin to imagine how I would
survive if I lost him so soon after finding him.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

It turned out that the
psychic Lydia knew booked herself clean through the holidays, but because Lydia
not only helped her find the perfect building to open her shop in, but a
beautiful home in the historic district of Williamsport as well, she agreed to
give us an hour of her time on Sunday afternoon. I passed on church, explaining
to both Dad and a disappointed Lottie I had something important to take care of
before heading back to the city, but Troy hadn’t been so easy to placate.

“A psychic?” He leaned
against the counter in his kitchen with his arms crossed, but the real
annoyance read in his face. “What the hell for?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Haven’t you ever just wanted to know the answers, or maybe to ask someone for
advice before you made a big decision, advice that might help you put
everything into perspective, including the things that maybe you can’t see?”

“No, I haven’t.”

I looked down at the bowl of
cereal in front me. Small, pink marshmallows floated on top of the milk without
direction and I swirled them absently with my spoon.

“Troy, my life has changed
so dramatically in such a short amount of time.” I didn’t look up for fear he
might see some hint of the fearful reservations I had about my future. “My mom
dying, quitting my job, falling in love with you and then Thursday my dad hands
me this whopping check from my mom’s life insurance policy and tells me he
wants me to buy the
Standard
building
and give this town a paper again. Before all this happened my life was
predictable and stable. I knew what to expect from every day, and now I can’t
tell what’ll happen between sunrise and sunset most days.”

“That’s the way life works.
We’re not supposed to know all the answers, Janice.” He pushed off the counter
and started back the hallway, calling over his shoulder, “If we were, we’d all
be born with carefully mapped out instruction manuals we could refer to every
single time something didn’t go the way we thought it should.”

“Maybe psychics are life’s
manual, Troy,” I shot back. “Did you ever think of that?” I found myself
muttering under my breath about manuals and how I wished like hell he’d have
come with one, while he dressed in the other room.

Dumping my unfinished cereal
down the disposal, I rinsed the bowl and left it in the sink before stalking
back the hallway to continue our conversation.

“I don’t know what the big
deal is, or why you’re so against the whole thing.”

“I’m not, just go.” He drew
a dark blue sweater over a plain white button down shirt, both of which really
made his eyes shine.

This time I crossed my arms,
not buying for a second his “just go” was even remotely sincere.

“Is it because I’m bailing
on church?”

“You know I don’t care about
church,” he said, stepping up to the mirror to adjust his collar. “I’d bail on
it myself if I hadn’t already promised to take my mother.”

“Then why are you so upset?”

I was still wearing my
pajamas and had two hours to kill before I was to meet Lydia in Montoursville.
Becky woke up with a head cold, and called just minutes before to let me know
she wasn’t going to be able to go with us.
 

“Troy.” I slid in behind him
and studied his reflection in the mirror, the taut corners of his stubborn
mouth and near brutal narrowing of his eyes. I had a dark feeling inside that
the first argument I’d been so carefully avoiding was about to leap out and
shake me by the shoulders. “Talk to me, please.”

He leaned forward on the
dresser, hands positioned on each side and fingers clenched around the frame so
that his knuckles whitened. He looked into my mirror eyes. “What do you want me
to say, Janice?”

“I don’t know? Say that
you’re not mad.”

“Fine,” he insisted, pushing
off of the dresser and turning around so I had to step backward quickly to
avoid being toppled over. “I’m not mad.”

“Well, that was convincing,”
I huffed, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“I’m just saying what you
want to hear.” He pulled open the doors of his closet and bent down to take out
his shoes.

“I don’t want you to say
what I want to hear, Troy. I want to hear the truth. I want to know why you’re
so upset about this whole thing.”

“Because maybe I’m just the
slightest bit selfish, okay?” he slammed the closet door. “Maybe the fact that
we spend a weekend together here and there and then try to make up for that
with hours on the phone isn’t as easy to deal with as I thought it would be.”
He turned around, but avoided looking into my eyes. “Then on the last day we
have to together before god only knows when we’ll see each other again, you’d
rather run off and spend your last few hours with some stranger you’re hoping
will solve all your problems.”

“Is that what you think?” I
stammered. “That I don’t want to spend time with you before I leave?”

The shrug of his shoulder
coincided with a questionable look that suggested I should just interpret
things however I wanted.

“Fine.” I threw up my arms
and stood up. “I hadn’t realized that not spending every minute I had with you
was going to make you think I cared so little about us.” I started out of the
room.

“What? Where are you going?”
He followed me into the living room and watched me sort through my purse for my
cell phone. “What are you doing?”

“I’m canceling my
appointment.”
 

“Janice…”

“What, Troy? That’s what you
want me to do, isn’t it?”

Frustrated, he dropped his
head back and looked toward the ceiling. “No, that’s not that I want you to
do.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know.” He rolled
the back of his head against his broad shoulders, squeezing his eyes tight in
the process. On the last roll around he stretched to the right and exhaled
somewhat gutturally. “I don’t want you to go back to the city, all right? I
want you here, Janice, every day, and that’s wrong and selfish, and it’s too
soon, okay? I know that. There, I said it.”

I dropped my purse back onto
the couch and stood up. For a minute I just looked at him, not sure I heard him
admit that he wanted me selfishly. I took a step toward him. Scarlet
embarrassment crept along his jaw line as he continued to avoid eye contact. I
reached out and laid my hands on his shoulders, tilting my face so he had no
choice but to look at me.

“It’s okay to want to be
together, Troy. There’s no shame in that.”

“No?” There was a cynical
arc to his brow.

“No,” I shook my head. “And
I don’t care if you believe me or not, but leaving here is harder on me than
you could imagine.”

“I don’t think it’s easy on
you, Janice,” he admitted. “I just—I don’t know. I just don’t like that
you’re so far away all the time. I thought I could deal with it.”

I put my arms around him and
lowered my head onto his chest. For a second I wasn’t sure he was going to
respond, but then he drew his arms around me and held tight. Nuzzling his cheek
against my hair, he kissed the top of my forehead.

“I knew it wasn’t gonna be
easy,” he said. “Wanting to keep you here is selfish and I know it.”

“It’ll get easier,” I hoped
out loud. “I know you probably think it’s crazy, but that’s one of the reasons
I want to go and talk to this lady, Troy.” I drew back so that his arms held me
in place and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Everything in my life is whirling
around me right now like some kind of storm. Everything.”

His eyes were serious when
he said, “I wish that I could shield you from it.”

I swallowed the instinct to
cry, my stare darting away from his. “Sometimes you have to stand in the rain
and let the wind blow everything into place.”

He lifted a hand to my cheek
and drew my gaze back, “And that right there is why you need to write from your
heart, Janice. You see things no one else does.” He lowered his cheek against
mine and whispered, “Just don’t let that wind blow you away from me.”

“I’d like to think that
there isn’t a wind in the world with that kind of power.” I turned my lips into
his waiting kiss.

*****

The mood brought on by that
morning’s disagreement sunk heavily into me. Becky’s canceling almost inspired
me to call Lydia and cancel as well, but in the end I felt despite the darkness
and fear of learning truths I might not like, I still wanted a little guidance.
Inside I felt as if the storm I’d mentioned to Troy had taken over, and the
only recourse was to wait it out

I stepped out of my car in
the Walmart parking lot and greeted Lydia with a grateful grin.

“I knew you couldn’t stay
away from this place,” Lydia’s eyes flashed with cheerful sarcasm just before
she took my hand and squeezed it, then drew me close in a warm hug. “Becky says
you’re practically a part time resident again. How’ve you been?”

“Scattered,” I admitted.
“I’m here, I’m there.”

“You poor dear. I’ve been
there and done that, let me tell you.” She drew back and slid her hand down my
arm. “Diana is amazing. You won’t be disappointed.”

“Thanks for getting in touch
with her for me.” I locked up my car and climbed into the passenger seat of
Lydia’s Bentley.

“No problem, hon.” She lit
up a cigarette before we left the parking lot, and during the drive I said very
little while she told me about how she worked with Diana, and ever since
helping her find the perfect plot for her and her colleagues to open up shop,
they had been in close contact. “She does a reading for me once every couple of
months. Really puts things into perspective.”

“That’s what I’m hoping
for,” I admitted.

After weaving along the main
street, Lydia turned onto a side road that crawled along empty fields. It was
at least five miles out before she pulled into the driveway of a small building
just outside of the township. Tucked into the hillside and surrounded by a host
of fir trees, it was hardly distinguishable from the other well-hidden
residences on the very same road. The only indication that it was even a
business was a small sign hanging on the entranceway that read: The Witch is
In, the “In” being a two-sided, interchangeable piece of wood that if flipped
around would read “Out”.

When Lydia turned off the
car, a face peered out the lace curtains of a long, picture window. “That’ll be
Diana,” she said. “She’s probably the only one here today.”

A tangle of nervous emotion
cluttered my insides as I reached for the door handle and stepped out of the
car. I followed Lydia to the front door, which jingled little bells to announce
our arrival. The air in the shop seemed to rush forward to greet my senses,
white sage tinged with the clean scent of jasmine and lemongrass. The room
itself was painted in different shades of blue, and a sense of calm moved
through me when I closed the door. The repetition of the tinkling bells seemed
to signal the entrance of a middle-aged woman with white-blond hair. She swept
out of the dark hallway in a flourish of teal and indigo fabric as elegantly
crafted as a stain-glassed window.

“Lydia, my dear,” she rushed
forward and braced Lydia’s shoulders, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek
before hugging her more fully. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, and I can
tell you’ve been working with the chakra exercises I recommended.”

“Absolutely!” Lydia laid her
hand over Diana’s as she backed away, much the same way she had done to mine in
the parking lot. “I’ve never felt more peaceful and empowered.”

“Wonderful news,” she
acknowledged, and then her dark eyes turned toward me. Powerful, but kind in
their scrutiny, she seemed to turn all of her energy into me when she held out
her hand. “And you must be Janice. I’m Diana.”

“Lydia has had such
wonderful things to say about you,” I said. “It’s so nice to meet you.” I
reached for that hand and felt a surge of warmth and kindness when she wrapped
her long fingers around mine. “And I can’t thank you enough for fitting me into
your schedule.”

“You’re welcome.” Her smile
was one of the most genuine I had ever seen, and I had been subject to a lot of
phonies in my short time as a journalist. I wasn’t sure what I expected, but
the comfort I felt in her company far exceeded any thoughts I brought with me
to the meeting, and my apprehension seemed to dissolve in waves. “Lydia dear,
you’re welcome to the coffee, it’s fresh. Janice, if you’ll come with me, we
can get started.”

Lydia offered an encouraging
wink as I fell into step behind Diana, and we disappeared back the darkened
hallway. She opened the first doorway on the right side of the hall and led me
into a bright yellow room equipped with an antique table and chairs. The room
itself was stacked with shelves of books on everything from out of body
experiences to cauldron cures. A curio holding crystals, including a clouded
globe on a golden pedestal hung at eye level, and a cabinet stocked with different
herbs by the jar occupied the left hand corner of the room. There were
celestial tapestries on the walls that felt as if they drew you into another
dimension with nothing more than a single look, and spread out across the
tabletop was a deck of tarot cards.