The Way Back to You

by Sharon Sala

  “This should work,” he said.

  A few minutes later, the painting was on the wall. Sully stepped back to look at it again, then turned to Melissa and hugged her tight.

  “You are the best woman I’ve ever known. Thank you for letting me into your life.”

  “Oh, Sully, sweetheart…I don’t think I ever closed the door on our young love, because it was far too easy to welcome you home.”

  Her lips were slightly parted and warm as he kissed her, but when he pulled back, he got lost in the clear green gaze of her eyes.

  “Are you thinking about sex?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Then hold that thought. Among other things, we have groceries to put up.”

  “Held and saved,” she said. “After that pancake breakfast, we kind of skipped eating at noon. Are you hungry? I bought some sandwich stuff.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll empty sacks. You do sandwiches.”

  “Deal,” Melissa said.

  * * *

  Downtown, Peanut’s secretary, Betty Purejoy, was getting the conference room ready for his 3:00 p.m. appointment with the people who lived in Niles Holland’s rental houses.

  She and Peanut had been working on the transfers of ownership ever since Barb Holland contacted him and finally had the deeds and the paperwork ready. Peanut glanced up at the clock, then went to look for Betty. He found her in the hall, pushing a cart full of more folding chairs toward the conference room.

  “Let me get those,” he said, and pushed it the rest of the way down the hall and into the conference room.

  By the time they were finished setting up, it was a quarter to three. Betty was back at her desk, and Peanut was in the conference room pacing, something he always did before going to court. It wasn’t as though any of this would be bad news, but it was life-changing information for some very fortunate people.

  Right on time, people began coming into the room. They looked nervous and anxious, and the solemn expressions on their faces told him they were braced for the worst.

  “Come in and take a seat,” Peanut said, motioning toward the chairs encircling the large oblong table. Eight people came in at once, and while they were seating themselves, seven more arrived.

  Peanut stood up with the list of names in his hands.

  “I’m going to read off names, and if you’re here, just call out. I don’t want to start this until everyone involved in this is represented.”

  One of the men held up his hand. “Uh, Mr. Butterman, I’m Delroy Sanders, and this is all of us from the fifteen houses Mr. Holland owns.”

  “Thank you, Delroy. Then I’ll begin. This is all straightforward information. There are no decisions to be made. No deadlines to be met.” He cleared his throat. “Barbara Holland, Mr. Holland’s widow, has signed over the deeds to the properties you are living in as a way to honor her husband’s passing. As soon as we sign the papers, you will be the owners of the homes you’ve been renting.”

  The collective gasp was loud, followed by cries of disbelief and joy as Peanut continued.

  “Realizing this gift would come with costs you might not be prepared to pay, Mrs. Holland has also awarded each of you the sum of money needed to pay for one full year of property insurance, and the amount of money each of you will need for the property tax. That gives you a whole year to figure out how to adjust your budgets to meet the costs the following year.”

  Delroy held up his hand again, his voice shaking with emotion as he spoke.

  “We all thought we were going to be told the houses would be sold. We didn’t know if we’d have to move, or if the rent might go up. You don’t know what a blessing this is for us. Having a home free and clear of rent or mortgage payments is nothing short of a dream come true for all of us. Thank you, sir.”

  Peanut smiled. “It’s Mrs. Holland you have to thank. I only delivered the news. Stay seated, if you will, while Betty and I get situated. I’ll call your names one at a time. You will go to Betty, sign the final papers, and get instructions on what to do next. And congratulations!”

  The room erupted in more cries of delight as he went across the hall to get her. Two hours later, the last renter walked out the door. Betty stood.

  “This has been a good day,” Peanut said.

  “The best,” she said, and went back into the office.

  * * *

  It was just after 3:00 p.m. when a thunderstorm rolled in, warning all in its path by the grumbling sound of thunder and a sudden rush of wind that rattled the turning leaves off the trees all over town.

  The cover of someone’s trash can went rolling down the street in the neighborhood near the elementary school, rattling with every turn.

  Two young boys on bicycles rode past it, pedaling hard and fast, trying to get home before it began to rain. When they turned the corner toward home, they saw their mama standing out on the porch and looking up at the sky. When she saw them coming, she waved at them to hurry.

  Shoppers coming out of the Crown saw the sky and began to push their carts faster toward their cars, anxious to get home and unload their purchases before they got wet.

  Granny’s had a quick influx of customers who wanted a place to hang out until the storm passed, and the shop owners who had displays out in front of their stores began pulling them inside. School had just been dismissed, and teachers were trying to get the bus riders loaded and on their way. Bike riders were leaving school in all directions, while others who normally walked home were being picked up by parents or catching a ride with friends.

  And Cathy Terry was suddenly grateful for the roof over her head.

  Sully and Melissa had been working outside, cleaning up flower beds at the back of the house, when Sully felt the wind change. He looked up at the dark clouds boiling overhead and frowned.

  “We need to get inside,” he said.

  Melissa looked up. “Oh wow.”

  She began grabbing the gardening tools as Sully gathered up the garbage bags of leaves and debris. The wind was whipping the limbs on the trees as they dumped everything inside the garden shed and ran for the house.

  The first raindrops fell just as they made it to the back porch. They went into the utility room to kick off their shoes and then upstairs to clean up and change.

  The wind that came with the deluge was blasting rain against the windows. Melissa shivered as she dug through a shelf in the walk-in closet for some sweats.

  “Are you cold, baby?” Sully said, as he pulled a clean T-shirt over his head.

  “More unnerved than anything,” Melissa said. “This sounds too reminiscent of the hurricane. I may never be over the memories of those days or the weeks that ensued. It crippled Blessings.”

  “You just need a good cuddle,” he said, and wrapped his arms around her.

  Melissa could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat against her ear as she snuggled into his embrace. In this short time, Sully had completely ruined her for ever living alone again. She loved the sound of his laugh, hearing his footsteps in the house, and making love with him.

  She loved him. So much.

  * * *

  Night came early because of the storm. Streetlights were already burning, and Melissa wasn’t the only resident of Blessings who was remembering the onslaught of Hurricane Fanny.

  Even though the central heat was on, the night called for comfort food—something of sustenance, something satisfying and warm.

  So Melissa made potato soup and corn bread for their supper and introduced Sully to the Southern treat of pouring sorghum molasses onto a second piece of hot buttered corn bread for dessert.

  “How do you like it?” she asked as the first bite went in his mouth.

  His eyes widened. He nodded his head and gave her a thumbs-up as he chewed.

  Pleased that he liked it, she buttered her own
piece of corn bread, doused it in sorghum, too, and savored every sticky-sweet bite that she took. After they finished, Melissa was gathering up the dishes to carry them to the sink when Sully turned around and took them out of her hands.

  “Honey, that was such a good meal. You cooked. I’ll clean up and join you in the living room as soon as I’ve finished.”

  “Are you sure?” Melissa asked. “I could help—”

  “I’m sure. Scat,” Sully said.

  “I’m scatting,” she said, and took herself out of the room as Sully went to work.

  Melissa sat down in the living room, kicked off her shoes and curled her feet up beneath her, and wondered what kind of damage this thunderstorm would leave behind.

  It was almost 8:00 p.m. as she turned on the television and found a program to watch, then glanced up at the painting they’d hung earlier. The Madonna-and-child feel of it tugged at her heart. Elliot Graham’s skill as an artist was evident in this portrait, but it was his skill as a psychic that floored her. She’d heard rumors about him, but never really believed them until now. This painting had changed her whole perception of his abilities. He was something special.

  Then Sully walked up behind the sofa where she was sitting, kissed the back of her neck, then whispered in her ear.

  “Hey, good looking, are you saving the seat beside you for anyone?”

  “You know it’s for you,” she said, and patted the cushions.

  When he climbed over the back and slid down into the seat beside her, she laughed.

  “Shades of Johnny Raines. What made you pull that move out of your hat?” she said.

  He grinned. “I didn’t think you would remember.”

  Melissa shook her head. “I remember my mother nearly had a stroke when you did that at our house.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

  “She got over it, though, before I left,” Sully said.

  Melissa sighed. “She liked you, that’s why. I wish she was still alive to see this…to see us. She would love it.”

  “Do you ever think about what might have happened between us if you hadn’t moved?” Sully asked.

  “I think we would have had babies. Now I’m too old.”

  “The world is full of babies,” Sully said. “Before I came here, there was only one me and one you. Now there’s us. I can’t ask for anything more.”

  Melissa turned in his arms, crawled into his lap, and started kissing him. One thing led to another, and by the time the clock struck the hour again, they were in the floor, making love behind the sofa.

  Hours later, and long after the thunderstorm had moved out of the area, they were upstairs in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. The house was at peace.

  Then Sully woke abruptly, thinking he’d heard the sound of alarms and sirens. He glanced quickly at Melissa. She was still asleep, but something didn’t feel right. He reached for her, pulling her close into his arms, waiting for the thunder of his heartbeat to calm, until he finally felt safe enough to close his eyes.

  * * *

  He woke again to the sound of sirens, but it was daylight, and they were still screaming even as he was getting up to look out the window. He couldn’t see any sign of smoke in that direction and guessed it might be ambulance sirens instead.

  “What’s going on?” Melissa asked as she rolled over.

  “I can’t tell,” he said, and then crawled back into bed and pulled her into his arms. “Good morning, sweetheart,” he said, and kissed the hollow at the base of her throat.

  Melissa sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You make it a good morning.”

  Sully stilled, absorbing the love in her voice and the gentleness in her touch. He knew, as well as he knew his own name, that nothing about them finding each other again was by chance. That soul-to-soul recognition of belonging was there between them. No matter how far apart, or how long the time, love finds a way home.

  He lifted his head, kissed his way up to her lips, then after a time moved over her. Poised above her, hovering like a moth about to die in the flame, he took her. The joining was a pleasure and an ache, with a longing for more.

  And so it began—like a courtship on the cusp of true love, the motion tentative, testing the rhythm, feeling the tension of muscles within, then giving up all hesitation to the need within them.

  All sense of time faded into the need to burn, and then it happened. In the onrush of the climax washing through them, they forgot to breathe, and for the space of that little death, they were one.

  * * *

  The warning of an escaped convict came in an early-morning alert on Chief Pittman’s cell phone from the Georgia State Police. An escapee by the name of Hoover Slade, who’d been incarcerated in the Coastal State Prison outside Savannah, was believed to be headed their way. He was to be considered armed and dangerous.

  Lon immediately called the office. Travis Witty, the night dispatcher, would still be on duty.

  “Blessings PD,” Travis said.

  “Travis, it’s me. I need you to call in all of the deputies. We have an escapee presumed to be heading our way. I’m about to leave for the office now. I’ll fill them in on what’s happening when I get there.”

  “Yes, Chief,” Travis said, and disconnected.

  Lon pinned on his badge, dropped his weapon in the holster, and headed for the office, calling Mercy as he drove.

  She answered, laughing. “You know this early in the morning my hands are sticky with dough and flour, so this better be important.”

  “It is, baby. We have an escapee from Coastal State Prison who might be headed this way. His name is Hoover Slade. He grew up in the area, and he’s considered armed and dangerous.”

  “Oh no! Are we in any danger?” Mercy asked.

  “It’s hard to say, but to be on the safe side, we’re going to operate on the theory that we are. Better safe than sorry, which is why I called. Keep that back door in the kitchen locked until we get an all clear.”

  “Yes, yes, we will, and can we warn customers as they come in?” Mercy asked.

  “Yes. Tell them to keep their doors locked today, whether they’re home or not.”

  “Okay, and Lon, please be careful.”

  “I will, baby. Just take care. Love you.”

  “Love you, too,” Mercy said. As soon as she hung up, she pointed at Elvis, the fry cook. “Lon just called. An escapee from Coastal State Prison might be headed this way. He said keep the back door locked today.”

  “Who in the world would get out of the state pen and run to Blessings?” Elvis muttered.

  “Hoover Slade. Do you know of him?” Mercy said.

  Elvis’s attitude quickly shifted. “Oh hell… Excuse my language… Yes, he’s known. He and his brother, Truman, have both done time. They grew up in the hills outside of Blessings. They still have an aunt who lives on the family homestead. I wouldn’t put anything past either one of them. I’ll lock the door.”

  Mercy checked the timer on what she had in the oven, then went out into the dining room to find Lovey.

  After that, news spread quickly, and the added presence of more police on the street made the danger real.

  Chapter 12

  Hoover Slade was a desperate man. He’d gotten himself into a mess with one of the other inmates that had started over a simple pack of cigarettes. Over a period of days the disagreement had escalated to Hoover receiving a death threat.

  Telling the warden at Coastal State wouldn’t change the danger he was in because if he squealed, someone else would take him out for being a rat. Even though he had less than two years left on his sentence, he wouldn’t live to release day unless he ran. He took advantage of his trustee status and hid in a refrigerated delivery truck behind two huge stacks of boxes containing frozen chicken parts. When it left the pri
son, he went out with it. It was a cold ride into town, and the timing had to be perfect for him to get out before the driver found him.

  The moment the driver pulled up and braked at the next delivery on his route, Hoover came out of the truck and ducked into an alley while the man was still in the cab.

  Once he was out of sight of the driver, he began trying all of the delivery entrances in the alley until he found one unlocked. He couldn’t believe his luck when he discovered he was in the employee break room of a laundry and cleaners. He needed out of his prison orange, and he’d just walked into a gold mine of clean clothes.

  From where he was standing, he could see one person up front at the counter waiting on customers, two people in the back at the steam-cleaning machines, and two others folding laundry. And only feet away, there was an automated rack full of clean clothing. The noise from the steam cleaners was loud, but the music blasting from a nearby radio was deafening.

  It was dark in the back of the store, so when Hoover slipped in behind the racks of clean clothes and began looking for some that would fit him, no one saw or heard a thing.

  He grabbed a pair of jeans, a shirt, and a jacket, and ducked back into the little entryway and stripped. As soon as he was dressed, he began trying to get into the employee lockers to look for money, but they were all locked.

  Then he heard voices coming toward the back and ran out into the alley before he got caught, wearing blue jeans, a black pullover shirt, the tan jacket, and his prison-issue black canvas slip-ons.

  He dumped the orange jumpsuit in the first trash dumpster he passed and walked out onto the street. His clothes were clean, but he was broke and needed a ride.

  Hoover walked for what felt like miles on his way out of the city. He was on the outskirts of Savannah when he saw a parking lot full of cars at a bar and grill.

  “Bingo,” he said, and headed into the lot, looking for an unlocked car.

  It didn’t take long to find one. When he got inside and shut the door, the first thing he did was check to see if the keys had been left behind the visor, or in the console, but no luck. Then he thought to look beneath the floor mat.