Ryan's Return (3 page)

"You are pregnant."

"Believe me, if anyone knows that, I do. I'm the one with the backaches and this whale of a body that barely lets me get through the door. You don't have to remind me." Her eyes blurred with tears.

Andrew stared at her in amazement. "I'm sorry. But if things are so tough, maybe you should get the father of that kid of yours to help you out."

"Aw, shove off, Andrew Joseph. Go drown your sorrows somewhere else. I'm closing up."

Andrew glanced around the empty bar. Aside from old Hank Marley and Lou Osborne playing checkers in the corner, the place was dead. Still, there were glasses to wash and tables to scrub down, and Loretta already looked ready to drop. "You need any help?"

"No. I can do it alone. I can do everything alone."

"Fine." Andrew stood up abruptly, then wished he hadn't when his head began to spin.

"You got yourself a buzz, don't you?" Loretta said knowingly. "You want a cup of coffee before you go home?"

"I thought you were closing."

Loretta shrugged her shoulders. "I guess I have time. It's not like I got anywhere to go. What about Billy? He expecting you?"

"Mrs. Murray will stay till I get back," Andrew said, referring to his longtime neighbor and baby-sitter. She had been taking care of him and Billy for more than ten years now.

Loretta set a cup of black coffee in front of him. A bit of it sloshed over the rim of the cup, and they both reached for a napkin. His hand came down on top of hers, and the touch set off a charge down his spine.

When he lifted his head, he was staring straight into her eyes. Goddammit. He didn't need this, not now. He got to his feet. "I gotta go," he mumbled.

Loretta didn't smile, just nodded her head. "Running away again. You been making a habit of that, haven't you?"

"I am not running away. I have never run away. I stayed here in Serenity Springs to help my father run the newspaper, to raise my child. Ryan's the one who left."

"Sometimes running away just means turning your back, Andrew Joseph, and I've seen a lot of your back."

Andrew walked out of the bar and slammed the door behind him. The last thing he needed was pop psychology from Loretta Swanson. As he ran to his car, the rain came down on his head, sobering him up, reminding him that even after a night of drowning his sorrows, he could still remember that Ryan was coming home.

A week later, Ryan turned off the main highway and headed toward Serenity Springs. The winding two-lane road took him farther away from what he considered civilization -- fast-food restaurants, video stores, and ATM machines.

Now, instead of traffic lights and billboards, he saw redwood and pine trees; thick grassy meadows and rain-filled ponds; apple orchards and Christmas tree farms; small-time restaurants with names like Joe's or Mary's; fresh-fruit stands that were nothing more than a truck, a dilapidated shack, and crates of apples, oranges, and grapes.

Ryan could feel the pace of life getting slower with each mile. Even the cars moved at a more leisurely pace. When the truck in front of him stopped to let a trio of horseback riders cross, Ryan knew there was no point in honking his horn. They would move when they moved.

Eventually the traffic thinned out until there was nothing to see in either direction but a long ribbon of asphalt leading to his final destination, Serenity Springs.

Ryan turned on the radio, hoping for a snappy tune to take his mind off his doubts. The first station had Bruce Springsteen singing "Born to Run."

Jesus! How appropriate. He had been born to run, and he was still running. Only now he was going backward instead of forward. Ryan changed the station, hoping to find some jazz or maybe some blues. That would certainly fit his mood.

As he drove over a narrow bridge, his attention turned toward the river. His first sight of the water brought back memories. He remembered the big flood twenty-five years earlier and the damage left in its wake. He had been nine years old when the river broke over its banks. The rush of water had been tremendous. The friendly creek had become a monster that could not be defeated. He had been afraid of it ever since.

His father never understood his aversion to the water, his fear of getting too far from shore or caught up in a sudden torrent. But then Jonas had no time for weakness in any form. Just another one of his father's wonderful traits.

Today, with the clouds and scattered sunshine, the river did not look threatening, although it did appear higher than Ryan remembered. Of course, it had rained last week, and according to the weather service, there was more rain on the way. He just hoped it would hold off till Sunday.

Ryan's breathing relaxed as he drove off the bridge and the road moved away from the river. It was easier to look at the far-off mountains and the empty road than the powerful and swift Snake River.

His father loved the river, respected it, feared it, and wanted to live by it all the days of his life. Ryan wondered if Andrew felt the same as Jonas. Andrew must, or he would have left Serenity Springs years ago.

Ryan smiled to himself as a freshly painted billboard greeted his eyes.

Two miles to Serenity Springs, home of the world's oldest teacup collection. Visit nearby

Snake River for the best fishing, canoeing, and camping Mother Nature can provide. Exit at Main Street.

So old Josephine had finally found a place to boast about her teacups. Ryan couldn't help but be amused. He had to admit he was feeling curious about his hometown.

He pushed his foot down on the gas pedal of the red Ferrari. The car wasn't his. He had rented it for the trip. After all, Serenity Springs had invited the celebrity home, not the man. They wanted him for flash and excitement. He might as well live up to his reputation.

The car burst forward under his hands, and the sense of speed was exhilarating. Then a flash of light in the rearview mirror caught his eye. He looked up and swore. Damn. A cop car was chasing his dust.

Ryan slowed down and pulled over to the edge of the highway, tapping his fingers restlessly on the steering wheel as he waited for the policeman to approach.

The officer moved with the speed of a lumbering cow. He opened his door, put one foot out, looked at something on the seat next to him, put the other foot out, and finally stood up. There was something familiar about him, but he wore a hat and dark glasses, making it impossible for Ryan to see his face.

When the officer got to his car, Ryan rolled down the window and took off his sunglasses. The cop put his hand on the roof of the car and looked at him. "Okay, city boy, let's see your -- God almighty. Ryan Hunter, is that you?"

Ryan nodded his head, squinting to get a better look at the man. "That's me. And you are..."

"Will. Will Hodgkins." The man removed his sunglasses. "Don't you remember me?"

"Sure, of course." Ryan nodded his head. Will had been in Andrew's class, one of his better friends, in fact. Ryan wondered if Will and his brother were still close.

If so, he had a feeling this ticket was getting more expensive by the minute.

"I can't believe it's you." Will shook his head. "I never thought you'd come back."

"Yeah, well, someone sent me an invitation."

"Kara Delaney. She's stirring up all kinds of trouble."

"Sounds like my kind of woman."

"Right." Will frowned. "I wasn't in favor of the town inviting you, just so you know up front. I thought it was a slap in Andrew's face. But I was outvoted."

"I see."

Will straightened up. "But that was that, and this is this. You were speeding, Ryan, and I'm a sheriff now, so I have to give you a ticket. Can't do otherwise. Wouldn't be right."

"I understand. What happened to Dirk Anders? Did he retire?"

"Not yet. He's still my boss. But he's getting on in years, same as Jonas." Will paused. "Quite a car you got here. Those pictures you take must be worth a lot of money."

"They are to some people."

"Hannah Davies has a whole shelf of your work at the library. She's going to be happier than a flea on a dog when she sees you. Where are you staying?"

"Not with Andrew. I'm sure my brother wouldn't have me in his house, and I doubt Becky Lee would either."

Will stared at him for a long moment. "Becky Lee's dead, Ryan. Gone eleven years now."

The words took Ryan by complete surprise. Dead? Becky Lee was dead? A sudden burst of pain ripped through him as he remembered his high school sweetheart.

"No. No." He shook his head in bewilderment. "That's not possible. She's our age."

"I'm sorry. I thought you knew."

"How? She was so young. My God, it must have happened ..."

"Before their first anniversary," Will finished. He scratched his head, clearly puzzled. "I can't believe you don't know."

"Know what?"

"She was leaving Andrew. Packed up the car and the baby and left town with a note saying she was going to find you, Ryan. Got hit by a drunk driver ten miles out of town. The baby made it. She didn't."

"Goddammit." Ryan looked into Will's face. "I didn't ask her to come."

Will stared back at him without saying a word.

"Does Andrew know that?" Ryan asked. "Does he blame me for her death?"

"What do you think?"

Ryan thought his brother had one more reason to hate his guts. "The only thing I got from Becky Lee was a baby announcement. I figured she and Andrew must be happy together if they were having kids so soon. Guess they just couldn't wait to start a family."

Will sent him another curious look, then shook his head and began to write out a ticket. "How long will you be staying?"

"A few days. I'm not sure." Ryan slid his sunglasses over his eyes, still reeling from the news of Becky Lee's death. He couldn't imagine her body still and lifeless. In his mind he could see her on the sidelines at the high school football game, cheering him on in her short red skirt with her colorful pom-poms. He could still remember her wicked smile, her teasing manner, her love of adventure.

They had necked under the grandstands, smoked cigarettes in the supply closet at the high school, and sneaked sloe gin into their 7-Up cans at the school dance. A woman more full of life he could not imagine.

Becky Lee. Goddammit.

Ryan hit his fist against the steering wheel.

Will handed him the ticket. Ryan tossed it onto the passenger seat.

"I really thought you knew," Will said.

Ryan shook his head, his mouth and jaw so tight with emotion he couldn't get a word out.

"I guess you would have found out sooner or later. Take it a little slower into town. Okay?"

Ryan nodded.

Will patted the hood of the car. "Nice wheels. They suit you."

Ryan let out a breath as Will walked away. Through his rearview mirror, he watched him get into the patrol car. Will Hodgkins, once voted class clown, was now a sheriff, and Becky Lee, the most vibrant girl in school, was dead. He couldn't believe it. And she had died on her way out of town. She had never had a chance to see the big city, never danced in a smoky nightclub the way she had dreamed about, never seen London or Paris or any of the places he had come to take for granted.

What a waste. What an incredible waste.

Will drove away long before Ryan had enough courage to turn the key in the ignition. Finally he started the car, feeling a mix of emotions. He wanted to go forward. At the same time he wanted to go back to where he had been before the damned invitation arrived, before he had learned about Becky Lee, before he had had to think about his father and brother again.

But he couldn't walk away now. He only had part of the picture, a glimpse of the past. He needed to know the rest.

Ryan pulled the car onto the highway. A half mile outside of town, he saw the graveyard behind the church. He didn't intend to stop, but at the last moment he turned the wheel and pulled into the parking lot, bringing the Ferrari to a stop in front of the sign announcing the time of the next mass.

Without allowing himself to think too long about his actions, he got out of the car and walked down the path next to the church, the one that led to the cemetery in back.

His grandparents were buried in the cemetery along with his great-grandparents, an aunt, and a cousin. He had been to the cemetery many times with his mother, who always felt it important to place fresh flowers on the graves. In fact, he could remember many a time when they had come to this place and talked about God and heaven and angels.

Isabelle had believed in all those things. She had told him once that she was afraid to go to bed angry, because she always worried her harsh words might be the last she had a chance to utter.

Ryan had thought about that more than a few times over the years, especially after she had left him without a word of explanation. How could she make sure she didn't go to bed angry, yet leave her two boys without saying good-bye?

As he walked into the yard, Ryan slowed his pace, reading the headstones with nostalgia. He remembered Mrs. Mclntyre, his first-grade teacher, the one who gave out red jawbreakers on Valentine's Day. He remembered Mr. Woolsley, the janitor at the high school, who helped him clean up the glass from a science experiment gone awry.

For the first time in a long time, it occurred to Ryan that he had left some friends behind in this town. Only he had been too full of himself and his problems to see that.

He leaned down and brushed a cigarette butt off Mr. Woolsley's grave. The man had hated cigarettes with a passion, probably because he had to clean up smoke-filled rest rooms at the high school.

As Ryan straightened, he realized that the rest of the yard was in good condition with neatly trimmed grass and flowers on some of the graves. The birds sang in harmony with the nearby river, bringing a sense of peace to this spot. But it didn't suit Becky Lee at all.

Ryan searched the headstones until he found her. Then he dropped down on one knee and looked at her grave.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. He traced the name on the headstone with his finger. Becky Lee Woodrich Hunter.

She had married his brother.

Ryan squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to remember, didn't want to care again. All these years he had thought Becky Lee and Andrew were married and happy, raising their son. And all these years she was gone. Andrew must have been devastated. And the boy, Billy, growing up without a mother. Ryan knew firsthand how hard that could be.

"Damn you, Becky Lee. Your timing never was right," he muttered as he opened his eyes.

Ryan thought back to those last few weeks before he had left town. He had graduated from the nearby college with a bachelor's degree in journalism and an intense desire to get on with his life someplace far away from Serenity Springs. Becky Lee had wanted to go with him. She had wanted to get married. He had put her off, needing to be on his own for a while. She had paid him back by marrying Andrew. Ryan had left before the wedding.

Ryan got to his feet and took several deep breaths, forcing the emotion out of his body. Becky Lee had died a long time ago. And he hadn't really thought of her in years. It was this town, this damned town. He hadn't even driven down Main Street, and he already felt bad. What the hell was he doing here?

It was too late to turn back. Will knew he was here, and by now probably everyone else did, too.

Ryan left the graveyard and walked to the front of the church. His parents had married in the small chapel. And marriages in Serenity Springs were supposed to last forever. But not his parents' marriage. And not Andrew's marriage.

"God," he said aloud in frustration, anger, and sadness.

"He's right inside if you want to speak to him," a voice said from behind him.

Ryan turned around and stared into the face of a short gray-haired man wearing the traditional black collar of a Catholic priest. The man smiled at him, his blue eyes filled with a wiseness that came either from his faith or his age. Ryan wasn't sure which.

"Excuse me?" Ryan asked.

"God. I heard you call his name."

"Oh." Ryan tipped his head apologetically. "I -- uh, I just, well, you know."

"It's nice to see you again, Ryan."

Ryan's eyes widened. "You know me?"

"I'm Father Miles. Jonathan Miles."

Ryan gave him a closer look, the familiarity of his name ringing a distant bell. "Father Miles, of course. I remember. You heard my first confession."