Nice to Come Home To

by Liz Flaherty

  She laughed, the sound coming easily. “You know, I am.”

  “Impressed enough to come to Zoey’s with me? If it doesn’t work out and you have to spend an hour making polite noises, will it really hurt anything?”

  Images of her last conversation with her father, facing Tony in court the day their divorce was final and watching cancer claim her mother made a painful collage in her mind. So many things that couldn’t be unsaid or undone. Maybe, just maybe, the fissure with Aunt Zoey could be healed. “No. It won’t hurt a thing. I’ll be glad to go with you.”

  “You up for a walk?”

  She was. She fell into step beside him to go down a grass-divided lane to the big house that sat watch over the orchard. “I’d forgotten that everyone walks at the lake. Or rides bikes or golf carts.”

  “Or all three. Where did you live in California? Not where, exactly, but how? Were you in a house or an apartment?”

  “When I was married, we lived in a house in Chula Vista, but when I got divorced, I moved up to an apartment in Sacramento. My mother and Royce and her mother all lived there.” She swallowed, pushing her hair out of her face when a gust of wind tunneled down the lane. “I was sick, and even though I could take care of myself most of the time, I didn’t want to be alone. Then Mother got pancreatic cancer, and I helped take care of her.” She took a deep breath and then another, trying to remember the things she’d learned in yoga class. “I sound pathetic,” she said apologetically, “and I’m not at all.”

  “I didn’t think you were.”

  The house came into full view when the lane meandered around a wooded curve, and Cass stopped, unable to keep in the soft “Oh” that passed her lips. The big Queen Anne farmhouse, still painted dark blue and trimmed in cream, hadn’t changed so much as a board since her summer visits here. White picket fence still surrounded the lawn. Lacy iron furniture, painted the same cream as the house’s trim, sat under the maple trees. Although the garage doors were new, they were still carriage-house style.

  It was the safest place she’d ever known.

  “It’s still beautiful,” she whispered.

  “It is.”

  “There used to be a swing on one of the trees in the backyard. I spent hours out there, watching the apple trees and catching a glimpse of the creek that was the property line.”

  “It’s still there. Well, not the same swing, but one on the same tree, with the rope wrapped around the same limb.”

  “Aunt Zoey spent so much time with me then. She was the best aunt ever. I must have driven her nuts.”

  “That’s not the way she tells it.”

  He had to be wrong. Surely he was wrong. Her mother would have told her, wouldn’t she, if Aunt Zoey had wanted to see her again? Marynell had been…difficult, but not possessive. She’d been relieved when Cass spent more time at friends’ homes than she did theirs. Even when Cass’s father hadn’t wanted to take advantage of his court-ordered visitation, Marynell had forced the issue. That alone had accounted for most of her summertime visits to Miniagua.

  Luke didn’t wait for her to say more, just led the way up the front porch steps and around the side of the house to the kitchen door. “Zoey?” he called through the screen. “I brought you company for lunch.”

  The sound of quick footsteps preceded Zoey to the door, and there she was, unchanged from how she’d looked when Marynell died. Almost unchanged from those long-ago summers. Her hair was white now instead of the light brown it had been, but she still wore it short and parted on the side so that it lay in a sleek curve over her ear. Makeup brought out the deep blue of her eyes. She was as tall as Cass and nearly as slender. She wore jeans and a floaty top, and her smile of welcome was wide and tremulous.

  Cass’s heart thumped so hard she thought it was probably visible from where her aunt stood on the other side of the old-fashioned screen door. “Aunt Zoey.”

  Zoey drew in an unsteady breath. “Cassiopeia.”

  “Really?” said Luke. “You don’t look like a Cassiopeia.”

  Cass spared him a glance. “No, but it’s who I always wished I was.” Her name was simply Cass. No Cassiopeia. No Cassandra. No middle name. She didn’t mind it now—she’d given herself Cassandra as a present when she’d chosen her writing name—but she’d hated it as a child, feeling that her parents hadn’t even cared enough to give her a whole name.

  “It’s who you are to me.” Zoey pushed open the door. “Welcome home.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “SHE IS SO PRETTY.” Seth stared out over the windshield of Luke’s boat as they cruised Lake Miniagua after helping Father Doherty and Chris Granger trim the hedges at St. Paul’s.

  “She sure is,” Luke murmured, lifting his arm to wave at Tucker Llewellyn as the big pontoon boat he and Jack owned glided past.

  “That’s just sick.” Seth sounded disgusted.

  “What’s sick?”

  “What are you doing looking at a sixteen-year-old girl? You could be her dad.”

  “Who’s talking about a sixteen-year-old girl?”

  “We are.”

  “Well, I wasn’t,” said Luke mildly. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Royce Gentry.”

  “Oh.” She was a beautiful girl. Prettier than her older sister, but not as striking. She worked hard, too, laughing at herself as the new kid, and falling into easy camaraderie with the others. She’d arrived her second day at work with enough lunch for Mary and herself and doughnuts from the Amish bakery that she shared with everyone.

  “So, who were you talking about?” Seth passed him a sly look. “Someone Mom would get all excited about? She thinks there’s something wrong with a guy being thirty-eight and single. Dad says—”

  “—leave the boy alone,” Luke finished in unison with him.

  “Don’t you want to get married again?” Seth steered the boat carefully as they approached Luke’s dock. “I mean, I hope I don’t get married real young, either, but you’re kind of pushing the envelope on that, aren’t you?” He hesitated. “Jill has been gone a long time.”

  “It’s Mom’s envelope I’m pushing. And her grandma buttons, too—that’s for sure.” Luke stepped out of the boat to tie off. “Jill died ten years ago, and she’d be in line behind you and Mom telling me it’s time to get married again. But, you know—” He stopped, staring toward where the evening sun was dipping into the water. “I wouldn’t give up a minute of the time we had together, but the truth is, I don’t want to feel that way about somebody again. Losing her was a kind of hell I’m not willing to chance going through twice.”

  “She was so great.” Seth had only been seven when Jill’s faulty heart had failed for the last time. Luke thought his little brother’s grief had been nearly as intense as his own. The young woman who knew she’d never be a mother had been a sister-in-law extraordinaire to the little brother no one ever had enough time for. She’d been his first babysitter, had seen him take his first steps and heard his first words.

  “She was.” He smiled at Seth and gave his shoulder a squeeze when he stepped onto the dock a lot more lithely than Luke had.

  “So, she’d want to know, too. Who’s pretty besides Royce? And don’t give me the whole none-of-your-business thing. It’s my night to cook and I have no problem with build-your-own bologna sandwiches.”

  Luke’s stomach growled as if on cue. “Her sister, Cass. She’s pretty.”

  “Oh.” Seth thought over that for the length of time it took them to reach the back porch of the house. “She is, I guess. For someone nearly as old as you, I mean.”

  “Keep it up and I’ll send you to Rachel for the school year.”

  “Oh, no, say it isn’t so!” Seth threw himself up against the back door, his arms raised in supplication, and Luke pushed him aside, laughing.

  “You should be in drama instead of football.”

  He showered while Seth prepared dinner. Sometimes he felt guilty because the kid worked so hard, but he was also prou
d that Seth thrived on it.

  “I want you to take this weekend off,” he said when they were seated at the bar in the kitchen eating spaghetti with meat sauce. “It’ll be the last one for a while, between football and apples coming on.”

  “Can I use your car?”

  “As long as I’m not in it, you can.”

  “No curfew?”

  “None at all.”

  It was a safe concession to make because no matter how often Seth intended to stay up late, he was invariably asleep by eleven. Luke had even bought a TV for the cottage’s second bedroom that had a timer on it, because his brother was usually out for the night within ten minutes of lying down.

  “I’m going to meet Cass for a drink at the Grill.” Luke loaded the dishwasher. “If you have friends come over, stay out of the liquor.”

  “Nah.” Seth already looked sleepy. “I’m tired. Two-a-days are deadly.”

  They were. Luke remembered that. Plus the kid had done more than his share of work at the church. “Get some sleep, then,” he suggested.

  “I will.” But Seth was already reaching for his guitar, and Luke hesitated. They usually played music together for an hour or so—it was a habit he didn’t want to break.

  “Go.” Seth waved him off. “The more I practice and you don’t, the better I get…and you don’t.”

  “In your dreams, little brother.” But he left, a little puzzled by how eager he was to see Cass again. Admittedly, there was some sort of connection between them, but he thought that was probably because they both cared for Zoey. He was anxious to hear how both women felt about the lunch of the day before. They’d been affectionate with each other but also uncomfortable. He’d left them alone after lunch and hadn’t seen either of them since.

  Cass was at the bar in Anything Goes, talking to Mollie, the bartender, and sipping from a tall mug of hot chocolate.

  “You do know that chocolate comes loaded, right?” He took the stool beside hers, waving at Mollie.

  Cass flashed him a smile that had his heartbeat moving around the way his parents did when they danced the jitterbug. “I do, but I’m on foot. I can take it.”

  “If you two kids want to sit at a table, the lake view ones are emptying out,” said Mollie. “I’ll bring your drinks over.”

  “Good idea.” Luke got up. “Thanks for the ‘kids’ thing. Having Seth in the house has added considerably to my age.”

  Mollie flipped him with the business end of a bar towel. “Shame on you. That’s a good kid there and you know it.”

  “He is.” Luke held up a hand to protect himself. “Mom and Dad were already over the having-babies thing by the time he came along, so Rachel, Leah and I take full credit for how he’s come out.” He smiled. “We all admit Jill got him off to a good start.”

  Mollie’s face softened. “She sure did. What a mom she would have been.”

  The bartender was one of the few who didn’t avoid talking about Jill, something Luke appreciated.

  “Royce thinks he’s a good kid, too. The word hot entered the conversation about ten times.” Cass followed him to a booth beside the window-lined wall. “She hasn’t been nearly as bored as she anticipated when we drove in. Of course, it’s only been two days. Things could change.”

  When they’d sat down and Mollie had brought their drinks and a bowl of popcorn, Cass asked, “Who’s Jill, or shouldn’t I ask?”

  “My wife. She died of heart disease ten years ago.”

  “Oh.” Cass withdrew the hand that had been reaching for popcorn. “I’m sorry. How awful.”

  “It was.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “Nine years and change.” He waited for the pain to strike, even knowing it wouldn’t anymore. He’d loved his wife and he missed her, but time had faded the memories to where they were a gentle kind of pleasure.

  “I hope you had a great time every minute.”

  He nodded, a smile breaking loose. “We did that. We knew there wasn’t much time, so we were able to make the absolute best of it.” It had been hard when they’d argued, because he hadn’t wanted to waste that time, but Jill had argued anyway. She was unwilling to miss out on any of life’s experiences just because she didn’t have enough time for all of them.

  “Children?”

  “No. She couldn’t, but she and Seth worshiped each other from the day he was born, so he was as much like our kid as my little brother.” He met Cass’s eyes and held her gaze, thinking how strange it was that despite their acknowledged connection, he had no clue what she was thinking. “You were married, too?”

  “Yes.” She looked almost embarrassed, and reached for the popcorn again, taking a handful and dropping it onto a napkin. She ate a few bites. “He had the ideal family. They stayed in one spot, stayed married to each other and had enough money to buy anything they wanted. Not rich, but more comfortable than I was used to. Tony always said I married him to get his family, and he was probably right.” She shrugged. “It only took us fourteen years or so to figure out it wasn’t working. Eventually he settled in on someone younger and prettier and we got a divorce ten years after we should have. I got sick while it was going on, so it was an eventful few years there.”

  Luke could think of absolutely nothing to say. “Wow.” It was weak, but it was accurate.

  She looked appalled. “I am so sorry. I can’t believe I just did that. People have been asking me how I’m doing ever since I got sick and I have managed to say ‘doing fine’ a gazillion times, even when I was bald and the color of cigarette ashes. I just blew that record for nobility in one short conversation and you didn’t even ask how I was.”

  “You have hair and your skin’s a nice golden color, too.” Luke was laughing. He couldn’t help it. “You know, nobility’s overrated anyway. I tried that with Seth the last time he used my car. He said the only reason I let him use it was that it always came back cleaner than it left. He was pretty much right.”

  She laughed, too. “I’ll remember that the next time the martyr cross gets too heavy to carry.”

  “Seriously.” He caught her gaze again. And held it. He thought he might very well get lost in those ocean-colored depths. “How are you doing?”

  “Seriously, doing fine. I had my two-years-after-diagnosis testing done this spring and am still clear. At least until November, when I go back into full-scale panic when they test again.”

  Relief cleared the air between them. “I am so glad for that.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it, wanting to touch her and hoping it didn’t come across as creepy. She squeezed back, so it must not have. “So we can talk about important stuff then, right? Like what you think of everything we’ve done at the orchard.” He rested his forearms on the edge of the table and did his best to look macho—an automatic fail. “I am a guy, you know. My sisters say I am the master of making things all about me. I don’t want to disappoint them.”

  Cass beamed, her eyes lighting. The expression opened a place in him he’d thought was permanently closed. Oh, boy. “I love the orchard, and I love everything you’ve done to it.”

  Encouraged, he asked the question that had lingered uppermost in his mind since they’d toured the orchard earlier in the day. “Do you know what you’d like to do? Stay a silent partner like your mother was? Sell out? I don’t have the money, but having a financially savvy brother-in-law has ensured I have good credit.”

  It was as if he’d slapped her. The light left her eyes and her beam faded to a polite smile. She started to speak, then stopped, turning her head to gaze out at the lake. Spangled with moonlight, starshine and colored lights on boats cruising the calm water, it was a good thing to look at. Calming and exhilarating at the same time.

  What had he said? Whatever it was, she was neither acknowledging nor answering.

  “Cass?”

  “I’d like to try the coffee-shop thing. I talked to Neely at the tearoom this morning, because that would be the most direct competition, and she t
hought it was a good idea.” She turned back to meet his eyes again, and he thought she looked defeated. He hoped he hadn’t caused that.

  “In the round barn,” she specified. “It wouldn’t need to be a big shop. Maybe ten or twelve tables. Wi-Fi. Coffee and pastries in the morning. Soup and sandwiches at lunch. Just coffee and packaged things in the evening, unless it works out really well, in which case we could continue the lunch offerings.”

  He hadn’t wanted her to be defeated, to feel like a stranger in a strange land. He also hadn’t expected—or wanted, his snarky inner voice muttered—her to want to change things. She was being naïve. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t considered having a café on the premises, but it hadn’t seemed to be a viable use of resources. He’d been running the orchard for three years. She’d been at the lake for two days and had taken exactly one tour of the premises.

  She also owned half the orchard. Exactly. There was no 51 percent or anything like that to give him a louder voice in negotiations. He wasn’t a proponent of loud voices anyway, but…well, he’d expected her to pick up where her mother left off. That amounted to cashing the checks, signing things that required both their names and exchanging Christmas cards.

  “We could think about that,” he said slowly. “Maybe you could come up with some numbers.”

  “I can do that. I’ve spent hours of many hundreds of days in coffee shops for the past fifteen years. I already know a lot and I know where to find out the rest. As far as numbers go—” she scrambled in her purse for a pen, wrote on a napkin and pushed it across the table “—I can invest that.”