Coming Home to You

by M. K. Stelmack

  “Mel Greene,” Daphne said, busying herself with lemons, anyway. He’d love her lemonade once he tried it. “He owns a roofing company. Greene-on-Top.”

  Fran raised her painted eyebrows. “Well, now. I underestimated you, Daphne.”

  Mel sat on the edge of the couch. With the expansion sliders in, his knees and Fran’s crossed ones were about the length of a standard hardcover dictionary apart. “Yep,” he said. “You did.”

  Fran gave Mel the same long, speculative look she’d given a few eligible men just before launching them at Daphne in Fran’s decades-long crusade to pair Daphne up with someone who was not “insane, insolvent or indisposed.”

  “You two have met,” she said by way of invitation to Mel.

  “I drove her home from the hospital the day of your accident. I appreciated her company. You might show a little gratitude, too.”

  Fran brightened, smiled and then volleyed her first question. “You’re here to tell me how to treat my goddaughter?”

  “It’s not right that you burned her book out of spite.”

  Oh, heavens. Lemons rolled from Daphne’s hands onto the tile and she scrambled after them.

  Fran’s smile stiffened. “Now, why would you say it was out of spite?”

  “Why else would you destroy something she loves?”

  “Perhaps out of love for her?”

  “I think there are other ways of showing it.” A lemon bumped against his work boot. He tossed it to Daphne. She caught it one-handed, like a pro. They grinned at each other. “I believe I have a copy of Sense and Sensibility in storage, Daphne. In pretty good condition. You’re welcome to it.”

  Later, Daphne attributed her next move to a fear for Fran, who would soon be dead, and for herself, who would soon be alone. And to the warmth in Mel’s gaze and his propensity to settle for anyone.

  Still holding the lemon, she walked stiff and slow, like a bride, over to Mel and sat beside him at an angle so her knees grazed his. “Yes,” she said. “There’s something you should know, Fran. All those walks I took. I wasn’t alone. Mel and I have had some very, very good...talks.”

  She slid her hand over his knee and applied gentle pressure. He froze.

  Fran was absolutely riveted. “Well, Mel. What do you think?”

  He turned to Daphne, a tense block. He was about to reject her. She knew that look well enough, but she was sure—yes, sure—she also saw something like regret or at least, something like a desire for a different outcome.

  He could be persuaded.

  She closed the distance and kissed him. A few years had passed since she’d planted one on a man, but it was much like riding a bicycle. His face was rough, his lips soft and springy. Daphne parted her lips and plowed deeper. Mel cued well and went at it so convincingly that Daphne scrambled for an exit plan.

  She pulled back all at once, an audible suctioning apart.

  “That,” Fran said, breathless, “was indecent.” She clapped her hands. “You, Mel, are moving on to the next round. We’re staying.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  FOR SOMEONE WHO didn’t clear his shoulder, Mel was hard-pressed to keep up with Daphne. Her flip-flops snapped out a mad beat on the asphalt walkway behind the RV park. She’d rushed from the motor home the second Fran had delivered her announcement, and he, like a dog on a leash, had followed.

  “You might want to slow down,” Mel said. “I’ve been on a roof all day and my whole body is cramped.”

  She slammed to a stop. To one side of the walkway was a culvert thick with tall, dried grass. On the other was a thin row of wild poplars that bordered backyards. A large dog set his paws against a wobbly fence and barked with intent.

  “Come on,” Mel said. “We’d better keep moving. Slower, is all.”

  They did, amid heavy sighs from Daphne. “I’m so sorry, Mel,” she said. “I don’t know... I was so desperate to keep Fran here... I’m sorry... I’ll go back and say I made it all up.”

  “Just to be clear here. The plan to stop Fran from leaving is me?”

  “No. At least, that wasn’t my intention. Only I hadn’t devised an actual plan, and I had this vision of me and Fran careening through those mountain roads and I... Well, you saw what I did.”

  Felt it, too. His lips still tingled. He’d counted off the last five days and had come to the RV park to catch her in case she was leaving, maybe ask her out for a coffee, chat about his findings in Austenland. Not this.

  “I don’t know that you’ve done anything wrong,” he said. “It was just unexpected.”

  She looked up at him. She had a face like an emoji. Round and cheery and lively. “You’re at an emotionally vulnerable time,” she said. “You just came through a breakup not even a week ago. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you.”

  “Daphne. I’m a grown man.” He paused. “As you can see.”

  Her eyes widened behind her glasses. “Oh. Yes. Indeed.”

  Was she teasing him? He hurried on. “And you’re right to want her off those roads. I grew up in the mountains. Let me tell you, everybody knows somebody who died out there.” He heard an edge of the old fear creep into his voice and clamped his mouth shut.

  She studied him, and he hoped she didn’t ask for an explanation. He relaxed when she said, “What would you suggest, then?”

  He scratched his neck. He’d taken a quick shower before coming, but it meant nothing in this heat. He was as sticky as a cinnamon bun, and not nearly as sweet smelling.

  “Fran is already convinced that we are dating,” Mel said, “so all we need to do is continue to fake it. It wouldn’t be more than two, three weeks, off and on. Right?”

  “I’d steal out in the evenings and pretend that I was meeting you.”

  “What if she wants proof?”

  “What do you mean ‘proof’?” Her lips upturned into a tight smile, her cheeks rising into two blushing balls. She thought he was fishing for kisses. He wasn’t.

  “I’ll tell her to mind her own business.”

  She tilted her head. “I suppose she might ask you over. Maybe a couple of times, you will need to pick me up. Do you have a dress shirt?”

  “And pants. And shoes and a tie. I went to my brother’s wedding a while back and I have my sister’s in December.”

  “You have family?” She waved her hand. “Never mind. None of my business.”

  Since they were kind of on a first date, he started in. “I’ve got a brother, fourteen years younger than me, a sister, eighteen years younger. And then my brother’s wife came with four kids. After my sister gets married, I’ll have a brother-in-law, too, though Ben’s pretty much a brother already. Oh, and Ariel. She’s the daughter of Connie’s high school friend. Who died. And Connie’s taking care of her. The daughter.” His family had become complicated in the past year. “You?”

  “No. None. Well, Fran. And Moshe. That’s Fran’s son. And his family. He has four children, too, with another due any day. But they’re not blood. I was an only child, and my parents died when I was sixteen.”

  “No cousins or anything?”

  “I have an uncle, but he lives in Australia. I don’t even know how to contact him. Or what to say if I did.”

  “I guess I’d be in pretty much the same situation if my mom hadn’t married my stepdad.”

  “Is your father dead, then?”

  “Nope. Though I keep checking the obits. Where there’s death, there’s hope.” Now, where had that come from? No one else in the world knew that he lived for the day he’d hear his father was dead, and it was probably not a good idea to tell a woman you were on any kind of date with that you hoped your father died. Especially one whose own father was killed in an accident. A sudden death meant you spent your whole life saying goodbye. “Anyway, I was in this heat for twelve straight hours. How about we go for dinner and talk
more there?”

  She emoji-ed through a bunch of looks until she settled on a thinking one. “We could call it a date. We could take a picture as proof, right?”

  “Right.”

  Her blue eyes flickered back and forth. “But you understand that we’re not actually dating? I would hate for you to make the mistake of settling on me. And you would be settling if you assumed we were dating. Which, clearly, we’re not.”

  He picked his way through her twisting string of words before arriving at a conclusion. “If we were dating, I wouldn’t feel as if I’m settling, but since we’re not dating, I’m not settling. We’re actors playing a role.”

  Her lips pursed in a gentle release of air. “What are we during dinner?”

  “Rehearsing our lines, is all. Like a business dinner. Completely legitimate.”

  “All right. Separate bills, then?”

  He wasn’t keen on that idea, but he also didn’t want to send her any mixed messages, either. “I came over to tell you what I figured out from reading Austen, so—”

  “You’re reading Jane Austen?”

  “I am. You recommended her for my problem with women.”

  “Yes, but the only men I know who have willingly read Jane Austen are those who signed up for my class. And other professors. Certainly no one who swings a hammer for a living.”

  Mel liked the idea he had surprised her. “My point is, how about I pay for dinner and in return you let me tell you my theory about why men lose their pride?”

  Daphne pivoted on her flip-flops back in the direction of his vehicle. “Indeed. I’m eager to get a layman’s perspective.”

  A lay—Who? “It’s because they go around visiting all day instead of working. Take that Edward Ferrar fellow.”

  “What about him?” Daphne said warningly, as if he were about to insult her best friend.

  “I think he would’ve got around to Elinor sooner if he had told the aunt to take her money and stuff it.”

  Daphne’s mouth dropped open. He’d surprised her again. The next few weeks were going to make for some really interesting conversation about couples, even though it would never apply to their situation...

  * * *

  WEDNESDAY NIGHT WAS officially known as the Greene Family Game Night. It was held out on the farm where Mel’s brother, Seth, and his wife, Alexi, lived with The Four Kids, the name Mel and Connie had given to Alexi’s adopted children. Every Greene and those connected to a Greene were expected to come.

  They’d normally be outside, but a crackling good thunderstorm had them penned inside tonight.

  The Twister mat was laid out in the middle of the living room, and Mel was bent awkwardly with his right foot on a green circle and his left hand on a blue one. He wasn’t built for this anymore. Daphne, on the other hand, would slot in nicely under him.

  “Auntie Connie. Your turn,” Matt said and gave the spinner a whirl. “Left hand, red circle. Right foot, yellow circle.”

  Connie edged and expanded her long limbs across the mat. “You haven’t forgotten about your Santa fitting tomorrow, have you, Mel?”

  She’d talked him into playing the part of Santa Claus for her Christmas-in-the-Summer event next month. She’d also convinced Linda to be Mrs. Claus.

  “Uh,” he said to Connie’s shoulder, “I haven’t. Have you... Have you talked to Linda?”

  “She came by weeks ago for her fitting. We’re good.”

  “Whose turn is it now?” Matt said.

  “Linda’s,” Callie said from her acrobatic position on two adjoining yellows.

  Matt said, “She’s not here, remember?”

  And wouldn’t be probably ever again. He’d only told Seth that Linda couldn’t make it tonight. He’d best get the breakup out there now. “Did I mention what happened with the motor home at Tim Hortons last Thursday?”

  His question was directed to the room at large, and it was answered at large. They’d heard the whole story, of course.

  “Mom,” Matt said, “you take Linda’s spot.” Before Alexi could abstain, Matt said, “Right hand on blue and left foot on red.”

  Alexi assumed the downward dog beside Mel, the exact position he was in. Only, she made it look effortless. “What you don’t know,” Mel said, “is that I was in Tim’s when the accident happened.”

  Connie whipped to face him. “You what?” The sudden motion jarred loose her hand position and she fell to the mat.

  “You’re out,” Matt said.

  “But I... Fine... Stupid game,” Connie said and flipped off the mat. Mel envied her.

  Connie plopped herself close to Ben on the couch and ate from his popcorn bag. “You better make this good, Mel.”

  “Linda and I were having a coffee,” Mel said, “when I see this giant motor home turn to come into Tim Hortons. Only, it doesn’t—it goes the other way and I think that’s a good thing. Linda and I keep drinking coffee.” He remembered Callie. “I recommend whipped cream on top.”

  Matt directed Callie to a position the girl accomplished in two quick moves. Mel cranked himself through his own moves and continued on. “But then the motor home comes for us again. No, I think. But it does. Suddenly the thing moves like an icebreaker toward us.” He had the whole table now. He unrolled the rest of his tale and then he gave the bonus material.

  “Turns out the passenger and I have a lot in common. Her name’s Daphne. She’s a professor of English literature in Halifax. Lived there all her life, except for years in Toronto, where she went to get her degrees.” She’d filled him in on her life story when they’d gone to dinner. “She’s also been to Paris and England. She speaks at conferences.”

  “Mel,” Connie said, “you haven’t done any of that. How can you say you have a lot in common?”

  Mel met Matt’s eyes. The boy’s steady gaze asked Mel to dig deep. “Yeah, but when she told me about herself, it felt like I was there.”

  Matt gave a small, satisfied smile and instructed his mom to reach for circles that forced her into a belly-up bridge. Mel would be in surgery if he tried that. Alexi not only maintained the position, but also managed to quietly ask, “How did you find all this out about her?”

  Mel had known Alexi for a year now, and one thing about her stood out. She was a mother, which meant she figured out stuff that no one else had the foggiest notion of. He resorted to a careful response. “Now that Linda and I aren’t the friends we used to be, I have more time for Daphne.”

  Mel’s news was an invisible ball that ricocheted from glance to glance around the room. Alexi to Seth to Ben over to Connie, who lobbed it back to Mel. “Uh, so, you’re telling me I need to look for a new Mrs. Claus, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Daphne, by any chance?”

  Daphne in a Mrs. Claus outfit. She would look so sweet and jolly.

  A sight he’d never see. They’d only gone out to dinner last night. They’d chatted like old friends, yes, but he’d taken her at her word when, at the end of the evening, she’d given his hand a quick squeeze and thanked him for playing along and that she’d enjoyed their discussion. That was it. Nothing to look at here.

  “She’ll be back in Halifax by then.”

  Around the room bounced the glances again.

  “If that’s the case, I don’t see the point—” Seth began, but he was cut off by Matt.

  “Uncle Mel, you got left hand, green. Right foot, red. Try to get there without falling.”

  It nearly split him up the middle but he succeeded. Alexi suddenly paled and had to lower herself to the mat to recover, and Callie collapsed her pose to tend her mom. So Mel actually took that round and claimed his prize of a doughnut with sprinkles. The conversation never returned to Daphne.

  Later Seth and Mel walked together back to the truck. During the years they’d worked together, the two of them would
leave the apartment they shared and go for coffee in the mornings. They’d seen more of each other than everyone else combined. Now the walk to the vehicle on Wednesday nights was sometimes all they had in a week. Mel didn’t begrudge Seth his wife and his family, but he did walk slower than necessary.

  Tonight, when they got to the truck door and matters of the farm and the roofing business were sorted, Seth leaned on the truck hood and said, “I’m sorry about you and Linda.”

  “It’s fine. I’m moving on.”

  Seth leaned more heavily on the truck. “It’s just that this woman, from the sounds of it, is, too. As in, right out of Spirit Lake.”

  Now was the time to set the record straight. It wasn’t as if Daphne had sworn him to secrecy. Except he liked how the two of them were in on a little scheme together. Just friends, but friends with a shared secret. “Daphne will be around for the next week or two. Her and me, we’re... We get along well, is all.”

  Seth bowed his head. “The way you talked about her...it sounds as if you’re hoping for more. Mel. It’s a classic rebound.”

  Mel knew about rebounds. His fourth girlfriend came to him on a rebound, and a week after they’d broken up she rebounded onto a newly divorced man. Eight years later, the word was she was still bounding about town. But his relationship with Daphne wasn’t a rebound. It was a plan, a favor, a chance to speak to a woman freely about other women without any expectation or innuendo.

  He recalled something Connie had gone on about one time during a family dinner. “She’s a friend for a reason and a season. The season being two weeks.”

  Seth tipped back his cap and looked Mel square in the eye. “And the reason?”

  Mel yanked open his truck door. “To be with someone who doesn’t ask a bunch of interfering questions.” He slammed the door shut right quick before Seth could ask another.

  * * *

  AKIN TO ENSURING mutual corporate cultures during a merger, the ideal Austenian marriage, then, is a transaction with compatibility, not love, as its currency. And if compatibility was the foundation of marriage, then love operated in the field of illicit affairs, which rendered love by necessity as insidious and detrimental. This gave rise to an inherent internal conflict within the individual most tellingly realized in the modern revolt against—