Homecoming (6 page)

Jake ignored her possessiveness for the moment and looked down at the perfectly appointed table. A crocheted tablecloth covered the square wooden table, and two place settings had been laid out with blue and white Currier and Ives plates and fine silverware. A small bouquet of fresh flowers filled an antique crystal vase that sat in the middle. “I don’t remember these plates,” he said, absentmindedly running his finger along the edge.

“I’ve been going to flea markets and estate sales to find glassware and things. What do you think?”

Jake shrugged, then his stomach growled loudly.

“Please, sit down and eat.”

On each plate sat a mile-high roast beef sandwich on dark bread, with a small mountain of potato chips next to it, and even a dill pickle spear. He put the white linen napkin in his lap and took a sip from a tall cobalt blue glass that he soon determined was filled with honest-to-goodness hand-squeezed lemonade. Before he could stop himself he had drained the glass.

“More?” Cory stood next to him with a large clear pitcher in her hands, sliced lemons bobbing among the ice cubes. She refilled his glass, filled her own, then sat down to join him.

“Looks good,” he said reaching for the sandwich.

“Thanks. It’s kind of nice to have some company to set the table for.” A smile found its way to her lips.

Jake smiled back, then picked up half the sandwich and took a healthy bite. She had set a nice table, and now he knew she made a mean sandwich.

A memory tugged free and he remembered a long ago picnic they’d shared. She’d made chicken salad that included nuts and grapes and he’d made her cross when he’d teased her about it being strange. She’d told him she was trying a new recipe, then made him take a bite and swear to tell her the truth. He’d been surprised it was so good, even more surprised she’d gone to so much trouble. And when he’d complimented her, her eyes had moistened. He’d had no idea his opinion meant so much to her. And he’d meant every word.

They both ate in silence for a few minutes, and somewhere in the house a clock chimed.

Eventually Cory cleared her throat. What was she supposed to say? Welcome to my home—that’s really
your
home—and isn’t it funny how Tillie’s will has thrown us back together again after all these years? And, by the way, why the hell did you leave Faythe and me behind anyway?

She watched Jake finish his sandwich and drain his glass for the third time, then placed his napkin on his plate.

“So, how many cats
are
there?” he asked.

“Nine, including Max.” Good. Nice, neutral conversation.

“Jeez, that’s a lot of cats. There’s a light-colored kitten on Tillie’s—your—bed.”

“That’s Leona; she’s only five months old. You probably won’t even see Amber until after dark—she’s an orange short-haired tabby, very shy. If you look under the hutch there, you’ll see Dolly and Petunia.”

Jake tipped his head and leaned low so he could look in the direction Cory pointed.

“The gray one’s Dolly. The calico’s Petunia. She was a stray Tillie found a few years ago in—”

“—one of the flower beds?”

“Yes, and Dolly, we decided, was abandoned. She had a tag, but the phone number had been disconnected. She’s fine now, but it took a while for her to adjust.”

“The black and white one in the parlor?”

“Winston; he’s been with Tillie a long while. And Gypsy and Suki tend to hang out in the living room. Gypsy’s dark with tan markings on her face and Suki has Siamese markings.”

“One more?”

“Oscar. He’s very playful, smoky gray, gold eyes. Usually he’s upstairs. He keeps tabs on Amber and likes to lounge on the bookshelves in the study. He’ll probably bring you a wadded-up piece of paper to toss. I think he thinks he’s really a dog.”

“I didn’t see any litter boxes—”

“Dolly and Petunia go in and out,” Cory pointed at a flap in the bottom of the kitchen door, “and there are boxes in the basement that I clean twice a day. It’s not too bad, really, and I don’t mind doing it. They were good company for Tillie, and, now, for me.”

“So, what else have you done to the place?”

Cory scooted her chair back and reached for a binder that was perched on the counter behind her. The feeling of confidence grew now that she was on more familiar ground. “It’s all in here,” she explained, handing Jake the notebook.

“Ah, a master plan—just like old times.”

Cory felt the heat blaze in her cheeks. Was he making fun of her?

“Reminds me of Mr. Foster’s class. We did get an ‘A-plus’ on every project, didn’t we?”

She stared at his face and determined he was paying her a true compliment and not teasing her. His grin was irresistibly devastating and her heart pounded loud enough in her ears that she couldn’t make out what he’d just said, hoping her smile back would be enough of a reply.
Jeez, pull it together, girl. It’s only Jake.

“Do you ever see any of our old teachers?”

“Most have retired. Mrs. Anderson’s still teaching history, I think. And Mr. Foster actually works part-time at the hardware store. He’s got some glass knobs and brass drawer pulls on order for the cabinets in here. They should be in next week, so you could see him if you want to pick them up. I’m sure he’d enjoy it.”

“I knew he’d never really retire,” Jake added as he started paging through the notebook.

“It’s all there.”

“I’d say so. Jake stared at the flagged page, reading it slowly to himself.
Rake mulch...check flower bulbs...rake leaves...return books to library...lunch with...Sara.
Who’s Sara?” he finally asked, breaking the long silence.

Cory swallowed her embarrassment. So she kept detailed ‘to-do’ lists. So what? What was wrong with a little organization? Maybe he wasn’t being as critical as he suddenly sounded; she should probably give him the benefit of the doubt. Taking a relaxing breath, she explained, “Sara’s the assistant librarian. She went to Faythe High—”

“—Sara Nguyen?” he interrupted.

She was surprised he even remembered Sara. “She’s Watkins now.”

“As in...
Ted
Watkins?”

Cory nodded and got up to clear the table, unused to so many questions at once. She’d grown accustomed to the quiet and her own thoughts.

“Sara and Ted. Now there’s a couple I never would have seen together.”

“They got married right after college and came back to Faythe. He travels a lot installing computer networks, but they manage to make it work. They’re really happy and it’s been nice getting reacquainted; we’re working on a project together for Faythe.”

“What’s that?”

“We wanted to secure one of the empty storefronts downtown for a volunteer-run monthly medical clinic. We’ve got the space; now we’re working on getting commitments from doctors to work a shift, and getting supplies donated. We have a long way to go, but I’m amazed at what we’ve accomplished so far.”

“Didn’t she run for class president or something?”

“And she won. Sara’s like a dog with a bone—she pretty much gets what she goes after. And she’s about to have a baby, actually. Any day, now.” Cory started filling up one side of the porcelain double sink with hot water and dish soap.

Jake didn’t reply, but got up and grabbed a cotton dishtowel from the counter to dry the dishes as she washed them.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said.

“Look, Cory. You don’t have to be so formal with me. We’re going to have to relax a little around each other. I’m going to live here, you know.”

She shot him a glance, but didn’t answer. With him what seemed like only inches away from her right hip, she could feel the heat radiating from his body as he took a dripping dish from her hand. She didn’t like the way his close proximity made her feel all mushy and...well, young. Three months...only ninety days. She could certainly do ninety days...somehow the thought of days sounded so much shorter than months.

“So, am I supposed to check your almighty lists for what needs to be done, is that it?” This time he definitely sounded like he was teasing.

“Why don’t you just tell me what you’d rather work on, and I’ll adjust my list. Not everyone can see the big picture like you, Jake Randall. This binder has helped me deal with all that needed to be done after Tillie died. You should have been here and seen this place six weeks ago when I...” Her voice faded when she saw the storm clouds gather in his blue eyes, sure what he had heard was:
six weeks ago when you should have been here.

“I think I’m finished here,” he said. “I’ll change and then go outside and start working on the yard. I think I can find the tools I need. I could use some fresh air.”

Jake handed her the dishtowel and turned to leave the room. She sighed. It wasn’t a great start, and she should have been more sensitive. It must have been such a shock for him to have learned about his great-aunt and then to have all his own plans dashed, forced to stay where he clearly didn’t want to stay.

She vowed to do better the next time they were together, but she also vowed to try to keep a little more physical distance between them so she didn’t have to keep dealing with her pounding heart.

***

Jake stood in front of the shabby wooden garden shed and pulled the door handle, which promptly came off in his hand. Great. By the looks of it, he’d need to rebuild most of the shed if it was to be of any real good as storage. Termites and dry rot had taken a pretty good toll on the small building.

After trying to squeeze his fingers into the door frame to pull the door open, he finally gave up and retrieved the jack handle from his car, using it like a crowbar. The door actually came off its hinges as he pried it open, and when he peered inside, he saw an awful lot of daylight streaming in. Studs would need to be replaced and new pieces of plywood would need to be used to replace some of the walls.

A jumble of yard tools were piled in one corner and finally he spotted the leaf rake. He took it and an empty trash can to the front yard. He started by gently raking the mulched flower beds that bordered the front of the house, knowing the dozens of tulip bulbs and daffodils Tillie had always kept planted there.

Pointed green leaves had pushed several inches up and through the dark soil and he pulled the dead leaves away from the wider leafed tulips that, in just a couple of miraculous weeks, would produce stems, then bright red flowers.

Tillie had insisted on only red tulips, and all the flower beds had been organized in a specific palate of color—no wonder she’d liked Cory. They were two of a kind with their lists and rules.

He’d not been that surprised to see Cory’s notebook in the kitchen. She had always attacked any project they’d worked on together in high school with a systematic approach that had just about driven him crazy at times. They were opposites in that way. He had the ability to see the big picture, preferring to fly by the seat of his pants rather than be tied to a detailed step-by-step list she’d insisted on keeping even then.

His creative juices would start flowing at the beginning of one of Mr. Foster’s assignments, and she’d write down all their brainstorming onto neat little pages, filling notebook after notebook for the class. The teacher had paired them at the beginning of their senior year and Jake had been a little uncomfortable at first. Especially since Cory had already approached him, and her seeming to be interested in being more than just friends.

Cory had even mentioned at one point how it had seemed like fate brought them together. He had been quick to correct her, reminding her Foster had said the pairs had been random. In response, she’d tipped her chin at him then, just like she’d done in Weismann’s office, her stubborn streak plainly showing.

Jake leaned on his rake and looked around the yard, evaluating the amount of work to be done. He could probably spend the entire three months outside—between rebuilding the shed, cleaning and oiling the tools, mucking out the flower and vegetable beds, pruning the trees and bushes, painting. And maybe it would be better if they stayed away from each other. He certainly didn’t like the way he felt around her. Cory Wells—
Richards
—needed to stay firmly a part of his history, and besides, he had absolutely no intention of returning to
any
part of his past.

Whatever they had shared was over. He hadn’t been good for her then, and he was willing to wager that nothing had really changed.

***

Cory looked out her bedroom window and down to the part of the yard where Jake had been working. The breeze had stilled and with the sun shining from a cloudless sky, he’d taken off his red-and-black flannel shirt. His muscles worked as he dragged leaves into haphazard piles, stopping every so often to scoop them into a trashcan.

She remembered the first time she’d seen him without a shirt. He’d been alone and running the track, letting off steam, he’d explained. The work his father made him do around the house plus his after school job at the plant had begun to put muscles where she’d imagined they should be...on a man’s body. To her Jake had always been a strange mix of boy and man. Now there was no mix. His solid muscular build was testament to that.