Come Back to Me

by Carolyn Astfalk

  “Of course not,” Mom said, clearing her throat and shooting a pointed glance at Megan. Keep the peace could’ve been Mom’s personal motto. “I didn’t know you and Holly were serious.”

  “We’re not. Not yet anyway, but I like her. A lot. And if she’s spurred any changes in me, they’re good ones.” He shot a glare toward Megan. “I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s got this thing about her, this joy.” He shook his head, as if in disbelief. “She’s content. I like being around her. I like myself when I’m around her.”

  Megan huffed and folded her arms across her chest. Puh-leez.

  Aunt Trudy chuckled. “Oh, that’s how it begins.” She turned the band on her ring finger, the one she continued to wear though Uncle Rich had been gone more than two years now.

  Tim ducked his head, his neck reddening. “Yeah, maybe.” He glanced up at Megan. “Anyway, I wanted you to know. And I want you to meet Holly too.” His gaze flicked to Mom’s. “Maybe Sunday? She’s visiting family in New Jersey now, but she’ll be back Saturday.”

  “That sounds wonderful, Tim. I’ll be here.” Mom’s chest swelled with what? Pride?

  Megan shoved away from the table, scooping up dirty dishes and flatware. She spun toward the kitchen, a dirty napkin flying to the floor. The dishes landed in the sink with a clatter, and her vision blurred. Tears? What was wrong with her?

  She brushed her eyes with the back of her hand, conscious of Tim’s soft footfalls behind her. He grabbed her arm and turned her to face him, her shoulder tensing at his touch.

  His features were pinched, irritation in the slant of his brows. “I expected more of you, Megan. Why can’t you be happy for me? I’m getting my life together. I met someone I care about. Are you jealous? Bitter? Or are you just a—”

  She swatted his arm. “Don’t you dare. I’m just . . . I don’t know, okay? I don’t like all these changes. I liked the way things were.” He could take his cues from the self-help section of the bookstore if he wanted, but she resented his accusations and his insinuation that she needed to change too.

  Tim glanced at the floor between them then back at her. “Maybe you oughta think about that, huh? Why do you want me trapped, unhappy, in a downward spiral? Why, Megan? What does it say about you and how you’re living?” His features hard and unforgiving, he returned to the living room where she overheard him make his goodbyes.

  Megan flicked the faucet on and ran her hand through the stream of water, waiting for it to warm. Good riddance. Maybe now she could have a glass of wine.

  10

  Let You Down

  The large blue container of glass and plastic rattled as Alan hoisted it through the back door, leaving behind the sounds of laughter and clanging pots and pans. He followed Dad, who tugged a heavy-duty drawstring garbage bag at his side. In one deft movement, Dad swung the bag up and into the open trash can, the odor of onion and turkey scraps filling the air. Alan upended his container, and glass wine bottles, an empty plastic pretzel barrel, and a slew of water bottles slid out, followed by a couple of newspapers and a pile of junk mail.

  While his dad closed the containers, Alan gazed over the backyard. The grass had turned sallow and the nearly bare trees allowed a peek through the woods at the trails he and Chris had traversed countless times as kids. Life had been so simple then; his biggest troubles had been pre-algebra and Chris encroaching on his space, both of which were eased by tromping through golden leaves covering loamy paths.

  “My only question is: why didn’t you go after her?” Dad’s deep voice was firm but more curious than accusatory. He rolled the trash and recyclable receptacles into place, the plastic wheels crunching over fall leaves and stray stones, and leaned against the vinyl fence post that helped hide the cans from view.

  His chest aching with a mixture of shame, embarrassment, and lingering anger at how Jamie had stormed out, Alan boosted himself onto the deck box where his parents stored charcoal and grill tools. “I guess I didn’t see the point. Not to mention, I don’t have my car.”

  Dad’s brow furrowed. “You’re living apart, aren’t you?”

  Alan nodded, his gaze slipping to his loafers.

  “Who left?”

  “Me. Not that I wanted to. She pretty much tossed me out the door with a duffel bag of stuff and the clothes on my back.” He shivered more from the memory of standing on his stoop barechested in the cold than the cool breeze now lifting his hair.

  “I wish you’d asked your mom and me to stay here.” Contrary to his words, the set of his jaw and his pinched brow didn’t exactly scream “welcome.”

  He hadn’t thought his parents might be hurt by his decision to keep things quiet and stay with Chris. He’d taken the path of anticipated least resistance, knowing Chris—

  “We would’ve turned you right around and sent you home, where you belong. How are you supposed to work things out if you’re not communicating? I imagine there’re some situations where a separation is necessary, but—”

  “What would you have me do?” Alan shoved off the box and stood an arm’s length away and a few inches taller than his dad, but felt a full foot smaller despite his irritation. “Force my way back in?”

  Dad’s head moved back and forth, ever so slowly. “And, let me guess. You’re boarding with your brother. He and his brand-new wife, married less than six months, pregnant, still adjusting to each other’s routines and habits.”

  Dad didn’t need to worry about that. The “adjustment” seemed to be going swimmingly. He hadn’t heard a raised voice from either of them the entire time he’d been there. They nearly cooed at one another with their sweet nothings. Not to mention all the physical contact. He’d never taken either one of them for the touchy-feeling type, but they were stuck together like Velcro most of the time. The kisses, embraces, backrubs, day in and day out. Alan felt like a starving man seated at a six-course banquet where his tablemates gorged and feasted.

  “I try to steer clear of them.”

  Dad cocked an eyebrow. “You’re eating, sleeping, and showering there. Their house is small, maybe half the size of this place.” He gestured toward the spacious two-story home Alan had taken for granted. “Doesn’t do much for privacy.”

  Alan huffed. His marriage was falling apart, and Dad only seemed to care whether he was disturbing Chris and Rebecca. He turned and strode back toward the house. “Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll go find a park bench so I don’t bother the lovebirds.”

  “Alan.” The authority in Dad’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “I don’t want to interfere. Whatever’s between you and Jamie is your business, not mine. Not your mother’s. Not your brother’s.”

  Alan turned slowly, some of the tension in his neck and shoulders easing.

  Dad ambled toward him. “If it’s okay, I just want to remind you of a couple things.”

  Alan nodded. He bristled at being lectured but knew that’s not what Dad intended. Truth was, he’d lap up any advice his father offered. They’d butted heads from time to time, especially when Alan had been a teenager, but he admired his dad in a dozen different ways, especially as a paragon of the faithful, loving husband.

  “First, those vows you made were forever.” Dad slung an arm around his shoulder, buoying Alan’s sagging spirit. “Second, marriage has its ups and downs. Lots of them. That’s to be expected. They’re opportunities to grow together, not drift apart.” He smiled, gazing out over the yard. “Take it from someone who’s done his share of drifting. And growing.”

  Seconds past. He’d finished doling out wisdom already? “Is that it?’

  “Yep.” He squeezed Alan’s shoulder then let his arm fall to his side and slid his hand into the pocket of his khaki pants. “How’s work?”

  So much for being buoyed. Work might be the sandbag that finally pulled him under. “My sales have gone from sixth in the region last quarter to third from the bottom so far this quarter.”

  “What happened?” Dad stopped outside the door, glancing thro
ugh the window.

  Inside, Mom was all smiles, and Chris had his face pressed to Rebecca’s baby bump, probably babbling at the baby as he often did these days. Could the kid even hear him yet?

  Alan studied the concrete slab beneath them, kicking away an acorn with his shoe. At least Dad, having made a career of sales, would understand. Chris never got it. He went to work and whether he had a lousy week or dealt with a boatload of nut jobs, he still got paid. Jamie listened to his work woes and tried to sympathize, but her pat answer was “find a different job.” As if his email box were clogged with messages from recruiters offering high-income, low-stress, no-travel positions. But Dad, he got it.

  “They changed the commissions. I’ve got to have 25 percent more new customers than before. My manager took half of my leads and gave them to a newbie. And they outsourced our customer service to India, and everyone’s complaining about the wait time and support. I’m losing income faster than I’m losing hair.” He met Dad’s eyes, and the reason he didn’t want to admit tumbled out. “And maybe I’m distracted and unmotivated.”

  Dad twisted the doorknob and held the door open for him. “Well, you’ve been doing this long enough to know how it goes. Is your resumé up to date?”

  Alan sighed. “I should include the sales training we did last year.” He was about to cross the threshold when his phone vibrated in his pocket, and he glanced at the screen. His heart tripped. A text message from Jamie. Anxious to read the message, Alan moved away from the door and glanced at Dad. “I’ll be right in.” He held up the phone. “Message from Jamie.”

  “Time to make amends,” Dad said with a tight smile before he shuffled inside, the door clicking behind him.

  Alan scanned the message, hope blossoming in his chest.

  Sorry that happened in front of the fam. Should’ve done that in private.

  He let out the breath he’d been holding. His thumbs hovered over the phone as he formulated his response. Dad was right. They needed to get under the same roof. He’d get Chris to run him home and figure out how to get his car and stuff later. He started tapping: Sorry too. Let’s talk. I can come now—

  Before he could finish and hit send, another message came.

  Talked with my mom. Knee replacements are moved up. One bathroom on second floor at her place. She’s gonna come here for recovery. I’ll take family leave. With you gone, works out perfect.

  His thumbs froze. Perfect? For her mom maybe. Not for him. But what could he say? He and his mother-in-law weren’t on the best terms to begin with. She’d always wanted more for Jamie. Someone with more income, more sophistication, “more attentive.”

  If he refused to allow her to stay there, he risked making Jamie angrier. If he insisted on moving back, what would be the point? Jamie would be busy serving as caregiver, and they’d still not be alone together. Neither scenario boded well for reconciliation.

  Still, he had to try, didn’t he? Show her how important she was to him and how much their marriage meant. He typed quickly, hoping to forestall any more messages on her end.

  I’ll help any way I can. Let’s talk. I can come now.

  He waited for her response, pacing toward the deck box and back. He glanced at the time. Dinner was done, and Rebecca was probably tired; she sometimes conked out on the couch this time of day. He’d just get Chris to run him by—

  Jamie’s response came. Don’t bother. I’m beat, and you need your rest for travel tomorrow.

  He gritted his teeth. Alan couldn’t be certain since it was a text message, but he guessed the last remark dripped so heavily with sarcasm it left a puddle behind.

  The door squeaked open, and Chris poked his head out. “Hey, Mom’s got these Minute-to-Win-It games she wants us to do.” He rolled his eyes, but his grin gave away that he didn’t really mind. Life still looked swell through his rose-colored glasses. “You comin’ in?”

  “I’ll be right there.” Why not top off the night with yet more humiliation as he tried to thread beads onto a dry spaghetti noodle using only his teeth or unwrap Hershey kisses while wearing oven mitts?

  He stared at the phone, his thumbs tapping out a message. Fine, he’d stay away. For now. But, he wouldn’t give up that easily. I’ll call Sunday. I love you.

  He waited several minutes for Jamie’s reply. None came, so he pasted on a fake smile and headed back inside, rubbing his hands together. “You guys ready? Ready for me to crush you?”

  11

  I’ll Back You Up

  Patrons shook out their umbrellas and stamped their feet as they entered the coffee shop, their plastic shopping bags glistening with droplets of water. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Megan, seated at a table for two, glanced at the sky. A dark mass of gray-black clouds threatened to unleash another torrent of blowing rain.

  A quiver of anxiety passed through her. She didn’t know what to expect from the afternoon. Jamie had been distant for weeks, obviously not sharing the extent of her marital troubles. And then to have Alan fill her in, while Megan had been looped, only added to the awkwardness.

  C’mon, Jamie. She glanced at her phone, checking for a message. Nothing.

  Less than five minutes later, Jamie squeezed through the front door, seeking shelter from the deluge. She slipped off the hood of her rain jacket and glanced around the café.

  Megan waved, trying to get her attention. Using her foot, she pushed out the metal chair across the small, round table.

  Jamie’s gaze snapped to Megan’s waving hand, and she made a beeline for her. “Hey, sorry I’m late.” Her gaze flicked to the large plate glass windows being pelted by sheets of driving rain. “Traffic’s nuts out there.” She slid her sopping rain jacket over the seat back and sat, pushing strands of damp hair from her face.

  “No problem.” Megan toyed with her bracelets while Jamie situated herself and then turned her attention back to the table.

  Jamie’s face seemed thinner; her eyes wearier than she’d ever seen them. Easy going and rock steady, she had seemed immune to the emotional ups and downs Megan weathered. Jamie had always been self-assured and optimistic. She loved Alan fiercely, and that was the only aspect of her life in which she’d ever seemed vulnerable.

  Jamie eyed the line for coffee then grabbed a stray napkin from the table and wiped the rainwater from her face. “Thanks for meeting me. Did you have a good Thanksgiving?”

  Megan shrugged. “Tim sobered up, found God, and decided to move away from everyone he knows and loves.” No use beating around the bush.

  Jamie’s eyes widened. “Wow. I guess that’s all good, right? How far is he moving?”

  “Just to Lancaster. No biggie.” She examined her peeling nail polish, making a mental note to apply a fresh coat later. Not wanting to think about Tim, let alone talk about him, she turned the conversation back on Jamie. “How was your Turkey Day?”

  Her mournful sigh said it all. “Awkward. Then . . . kinda hopeful. And then not so good.” She winced. “I stormed out of the house, in front of Alan’s parents and everything.”

  “Ouch. What happened?”

  “I don’t know if Alan told you, whenever it was you saw him, but, I . . .” Her gaze dropped, and if the slump of her shoulders was any indication, her confidence faltered. “We’re not living together.”

  “He told me. But not much else.” A twinge of guilt stung Megan as she recalled Alan lifting her feet onto the bed and her trying to pull him down, but she worked to keep her expression neutral.

  “I miss him so much, Megan. I do. And being with him . . .” She fidgeted with the cuffs of her cable-knit sweater. “It felt good. I thought we could talk and then . . . he’s still going to a concert this weekend.”

  “Let me guess. Dave Matthews Band?” She knew all about Alan’s dedication to hitting as many of their concerts as he could.

  “Bingo. Priorities, y’know?” Jamie’s gaze flicked to the line at the counter. “I’ll get us something. Coffee? Latte? Espresso?”

 
“Surprise me.” Megan glanced at her phone, looking without really seeing. She scrolled through her Twitter feed. “God Saves” was trending right behind “Black Friday.” And sure enough, Tim had contributed to the trend. She laid the phone face down and nudged it forward on the table.

  In a few minutes, Jamie returned and handed her a steaming drink. She sat, her back rigid as she sipped her coffee.

  “So, you said you could use a friend. Do you want to talk about things?” Megan warmed her hands on the cup and stared at Jamie, curious as to what she wanted to share with her.

  Jamie pushed her cup forward and rested her elbows on the table. “Yeah. I’m sorry I kinda fell off the face of the earth. It’s just tough talking about it.”

  Megan nodded and waited for her to continue.

  “Not because it’s so emotional. It’s tough because I don’t know who to talk to.” She leaned back in the seat and sighed. “Our friends are all mutual friends. I don’t want to sound like I’m bad-mouthing Alan when you’re his friend. And your brother’s his friend. Rebecca’s a good listener, but she’s married to his brother.”

  Thanks for the reminder. Megan kept her eyes wide and sympathetic despite the stab of jealousy Rebecca’s name always caused.

  “But I have to talk to someone, y’know?” Jamie’s brows lifted in a hopeful expression as if confirmation and the opportunity to unburden her heart were key to the solace she sought.

  And Megan held that key in her hand. Not that she wanted it. She deplored being caught between Alan and Jamie, but Jamie obviously needed a listening ear.

  “If you need to blow off steam, I won’t hold it against Alan. Unless he deserves it, in which case I’ll be happy to hold his size elevens to the fire.” She didn’t add that she’d relish every second of it after the hard time he’d given her at the bar.