Homecoming (6 page)

“It’s all because of you,” he said, loudly enough to penetrate her rudimentary ear plugs. “When we’re sitting around, years from now, telling our kids how we met, you’ll be the lynchpin.”

She tore her attention from the column of numbers she was double-checking. “That’s actually kind of nice to think of. I hope it works out for you two.”

His lecherous grin came back. “Have I mentioned how sweet her caboose is? It feels even better than it looks.”

“Out!” she demanded, pointing at the door. “Keep your dirty mind out of my office or I’ll have to have it cleaned!”

Through dedicated effort, and
more harassment from Scott than usual, the books were properly closed by late Saturday afternoon.

Now that she was free, Jill surveyed her options for the rest of the weekend. It once again felt more like the end of winter than the beginning of summer, with a solid week of gloomy, rainy, dismal skies depressing Jill much more than they should have. She’d been sitting far too much for the last few days, and perversely decided to make her butt hurt even more by driving to Sugar Hill. This going down twice in four months was rare for her, but ever since the party, she’d longed to spend some time with Janet and Mike. This was a perfect weekend to satisfy that desire.

Just to make sure, she called the Davis house to check that she wasn’t interfering with any plans. When she got the okay, she called her parents’ house to keep the police from wasting a trip when she unexpectedly knocked on the door. Now that she had the all clear, she grabbed a sandwich, a bottle of water, a big box of chocolate covered mints, and took off, really looking forward to being able to savor the mints. If she played it right, they’d last the whole trip. Maybe one…no, two…for every five miles she covered. She knew it was weird to play with her food, but she loved to make the things she liked last. And she really, really liked her mints.

***

On Sunday morning, right after she grabbed breakfast in town, Jill drove over to the Davis’. It was almost as cold, and equally cloudy as the previous day, but her mood was buoyant, reminding her of exactly how she used to feel when she’d get on her bike and ride over to the Davis house early on Saturday morning. They never did much, but the place was always full of life—and acceptance.

Janet opened the door after Jill rapped on the door twice. “I love a girl who keeps her promises,” Janet said as she threw the door open and wrapped Jill in a hug.

“I don’t make them if I don’t think I can keep them.”

They walked inside together, but before Jill could put her bag down, Janet said, “How about a walk? Mike can’t get around the neighborhood much anymore, and I prefer to walk with a friend.”

“I’d love to. I’ve been sitting on my butt for an entire week.”

“Let me get my coat, and my damned gloves,” she grumbled. “Go into the den and say hi to Mike before we leave. I think he’s watching the Sox.”

Jill ducked into the den, the space having earned that distinction after Donna and Kristen left for college. She still recalled their outrage when they’d returned from school to find a television, an easy chair, and a sofa in place of their beds. Space was always at a premium in the Davis house, and you couldn’t abandon your plot for months at a time without a land grab. She’d felt so bad for the pair, she almost asked her mother if they could stay with them during winter break. However, overnight guests were never permitted at the Henry house, that was an edict so firmly entrenched she hadn’t had the nerve to pose the question.

“Mr. Davis…I mean, Mike,” she said when he looked up. “How are things?”

“I’m good,” he said, but he sure didn’t look it. His color was much worse than it had been the night of the party, and his voice sounded thinner. “I’m better than the Sox, that’s for sure. I don’t think this is gonna be our year, Jilly.”

She almost teared up at his use of the nickname. No one in her own family had ever referred to her as anything but Jill.

She perched on the arm of the sofa and took a look at the score. “They’ve barely gotten out of the starting blocks. They’ll be a better warm-weather team.”

He took a quick glance out the window. “Don’t know when that’s gonna happen. I haven’t been warm since August.”

“It’ll come,” she said, hoping she was right. “Janet and I are going for a walk. Can we get you anything while we’re out?”

“It’s Sunday,” he said, giving her a puzzled look. “Nothing’s open.”

“Then I hope you don’t need anything. We’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t rush,” he said, waving a hand. “They’ve got another eight innings to torture me.”

Jill went back to the living room, and held Janet’s jacket for her to slip into.

“Thanks, honey. Does Mike want anything?”

“He said nothing was open, so I suppose not.”

“If the market isn’t open, he’s not interested. They have ice pops he likes.”

They went outside, and Jill buttoned her coat and turned the collar up. Ridiculous weather for May. “I’m surprised Mike wants ice pops. He said he’s been cold since August.”

A troubled expression crossed Janet’s face, but it disappeared quickly. “That’s because his circulation’s so bad. But the ice feels good on his throat. That oxygen really dries him out.”

“How long has he been using the oxygen?”

“About two, no three years. It helps, that’s for sure, but it limits him too. He hates to go out now, not that he was ever much of a rambler.”

“No, that’s not a term I’d use for him,” Jill agreed, putting her hand over Janet’s when she threaded it around her arm.

“I just hope he doesn’t suffer.” Janet was staring straight ahead when she spoke, and her voice caught a little. “I can’t talk to the kids about this. They all try to act like he’ll live to a hundred.” She pulled Jill closer and leaned into her for a few steps. “I feel like I can talk to you as an adult.”

“You can,” she agreed. “I love Mike, but not the way your kids do. I’m sure it’s really hard on all of them to see their dad struggle.”

“Sure. Of course it is. But they can’t bury their heads in the sand. He’s on borrowed time, Jill, and they’re going to have to come to terms with that.”

“I’m sorry,” Jill said softly. “I really am.”

“I should have broken up with him in 1965,” Janet said, a flash of anger flitting across her face.

Jill stopped abruptly. “What?”

“I’m not saying I don’t love the idiot,” she insisted, bumping Jill’s shoulder with her own. “But if I’d broken up with him because of that stupid habit, he might have dropped it. I never liked the damn things, but smoking was what people did. It never occurred to me to lay down the law.”

“Don’t blame yourself. He knew it was a dangerous habit.”

“Yes, but no one thinks of things like that when they’re fifteen. That’s how old he was when he started. Your parents don’t smoke, do they, honey?”

“Not my mom. Never. But my dad’s one of those people who can smoke socially. He never buys a pack, but he’ll have a few if someone offers them.”

“He’s still a good looking man,” Janet said. “I see him around, at the market or the post office. He’s working, isn’t he?”

“Uh-huh. He’s still a sales rep for that paper company in Brattleboro. I guess he’s had the job for four or five years now.”

“Still on the road, huh?” She gave Jill a half-smile.

“That’s what he likes. He covers all of Vermont and New Hampshire.”

They walked without speaking for a while, with Jill on the lookout for spring flowers. Forsythia was out, but other than a few crocuses, the earth didn’t believe the calendar. As if Janet could hear her thoughts, she said, “They’re still sugaring at Green Mountain Farms. Sugaring. In May!”

“Isn’t the season usually over by April?”

“Every year that I can recall. They say climate change should give us earlier springs, but the weather didn’t get the message this year. Of course, some damn fools say that means there’s no such thing as global warming.”

“People don’t want to believe,” Jill said. “If they believe it exists, they have to wonder what caused it. Then they might have to admit they played a role, however small.” She shrugged. “It’s hard for people to admit they might have helped screw up the planet for their kids and their grandkids.”

“Acting like everything’s the same doesn’t make it so,” Janet said, not a flicker of indecision in her sharp voice. “You’ve got to face facts and make plans. That’s the only way out of trouble.”

Jill squeezed her arm, feeling her whole body warm from that slight contact. “That’s one of the things I admire about you, Janet. You don’t lie to yourself.”

“I try not to,” she admitted. “It’s a pretty stupid habit, if you ask me. But most people do it, so maybe I’m the odd duck.” She got quiet again as they got close to the river. “Some of my kids think I’m too harsh. Too unsentimental.”

Jill let out a soft laugh. “I could show them harsh, but my mom would call the police if I brought anyone over.” She snapped her mouth shut. Talking in a disparaging way about her family was not something she did. Ever.

Janet pulled her to a halt, then peered up at her for a long while. “Do you know…” She pursed her lips together and tried again. “Does your mom have emotional problems? Or is she just…”

It was strange. Really strange to be talking about this, but no one had ever asked her so directly. Maybe it was all right. She took a breath and said, “I’m honestly not sure. I’ve always assumed she was just odd. But I’ve done some reading on psychological problems and I think she might have something going on.” She stopped, then added, “Not that I could bring it up at this point, but if she’d had some help when she was young…” Sighing, she finished, “I’m not sure what she was like when she was young, but she had to be different. Otherwise, why would my dad have wanted to marry her?”

“Her money,” Janet said, not even flinching. “I’m sorry, honey, but that’s the damn truth. She had half of your grandfather’s estate.”

“Everybody knew about that, huh?” She’d hoped that wasn’t true. Had honestly hoped her parents had loved each other at some point, but even mild affection had never been a visitor at the Henry house.

“Yes, sweetheart,” Janet said with warmth. “There were four hundred people in town when we were kids. Everyone knew everybody and everything.” She let out a short laugh. “We weren’t the major metropolis that we are now.”

“Population six hundred and fifty, unless you have more grandchildren on the way.”

“No, but if we did, everyone would know. There aren’t any secrets, Jill.”

“But you didn’t know if my mom had emotional problems or was just odd.”

They started to walk again, and when Janet spoke she sounded very thoughtful. “We knew your dad better than your mom. She lived over near Rockingham, so we knew her more from church than town.” She shrugged. “We all just thought she was odd. There are a lot of people like her in New England. Flinty.”

“She’s flinty, all right,” Jill agreed. “I can’t imagine how I would have turned out if I hadn’t basically lived at your house.” She stopped again and gazed into Janet’s eyes for a minute. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you when Mark and I…”

“There’s no need,” Janet said, briskly. “You fit in from the start. What’s one more when you’ve got seven hungry little mouths?”

“I always felt bad that I couldn’t reciprocate. I don’t think Mark ever set foot inside my house.”

“Well, I think you overstate the role we played, but if we did anything to help you grow into the lovely girl you are, I’m damned pleased.”

“You did a lot,” Jill insisted. “You made me feel like I wasn’t an imposition.” She winced when that came out. It was one thing to talk in generalities, and another to reveal too much.

Janet latched onto the word and looked at Jill, unblinking. “Is that how you felt? Like you were an imposition?”

She bit at her lip to keep from crying, but warm pale eyes bore into her own, welcoming her to tell the truth. “Yes,” she said, her voice breaking. “It’s how I still feel. They’ve never called me, never written me a birthday card, never asked for any details about my life. I’ve always felt like a boarder, a person just passing through.”

Janet wrapped her arms around her waist and Jill lost it—completely. Sobbing against Janet’s shoulder, she whimpered. “I don’t like to complain. I know they do their best…”

“Nonsense. They’ve let you down, and so have we. I let Li…other people stop me from staying in contact with you—when I knew I should have. I knew you didn’t have anyone else looking out for you, and I feel like shit about it, Jill. Just like shit.”

“It wasn’t your job,” she murmured. “You fed me most nights, checked my homework, made sure I got to all of the birthday parties, got me involved at church, taught me to drive…and we weren’t even related. You did more than anyone had any right to expect.”

“But you needed more,” Janet said fiercely. “And I closed my mind to that.” She grasped her and shook her gently. “And for that I’m deeply, deeply sorry.”

Jill stood up tall and wiped her eyes with her fleece gloves. “If there was anything to forgive, I’d forgive you. But there isn’t, Janet. Honestly, there isn’t. I was a college graduate when we lost touch. Well able to care for myself.”

Janet’s eyes were still trained on hers, showing warmth and real curiosity. “We all need others. Have you had people care for you? Women who’ve truly loved you?”

“Yeah, I have,” she said, suddenly shy. “I met a woman when I was in grad school whose family treated me like one of their own.”

“But you’re not with her now?”

“Oh, god no!” The mere thought of it made her head swim. “She was a lovely person, but we weren’t great together. We were together for almost two years, though.”

“That’s not very long, Jill.”

“No, but it was enough. I started to learn what I needed in a partner and almost got it a few times.” With as much confidence as she could build, she said, “I’ve surrounded myself with friends I can rely on. And I’ve had some good relationships. I’ve been loved, Janet. I really have.”

“I’m so glad,” she said, grasping Jill’s hand with a surprising amount of strength. “A lot of people who were raised in such a cold place would turn out to be just as withdrawn.”