The Road Home

by Susan Crandall

  The phone rang and Lily nearly jumped out of her skin. The balloon of her emotions exploded. She snatched the phone from its cradle so quickly it fell from her grasp and she had to chase it across the kitchen counter.

  Her voice sounded breathless to her own ears when she answered.

  “Come get me.” There was something just short of tears in Riley’s voice.

  Her heart stumbled in its beat. “What’s wrong?”

  The phone went dead in her hand.

  Chapter 4

  Lily’s nervous fingers had a difficult time getting the key in the ignition. All of her apprehension over seeing Clay again had flown out the window the instant she’d heard distress in her son’s voice. A million disastrous scenarios flashed through her mind as the key finally slid home.

  As she started the car, she heard the first rumble of thunder. Glancing at the western sky, she saw towering black thunderheads moving quickly in her direction. By the time she turned from the long unpaved driveway onto the road, the first fat drops of rain hit the windshield, sounding like the car was being pelted with overripe grapes. The wind whipped the trees, sending a shower of seeds and spring-green leaves skittering across the rain-dotted pavement in front of her.

  Lightning forked across the darkened sky and the clouds let loose. Lily had to slow nearly to a crawl because the windshield wipers, even on high speed, couldn’t keep the windshield clear enough for her to be certain of the road. This narrow old blacktop had no shoulder, the weeds coming right up to the driving lane. Those weeds were quickly followed by a ditch. Lily knew from experience, once she had her car off the edge, the only way back was with the assistance of Hank Brown’s tow truck.

  Her stomach was knotted and sour by the time she turned into the marina. There were no cars left in the parking lot. Through the slashing rain, she caught sight of a form huddled under the tiny awning over the door to the office. That form unfolded and made a dash for the passenger door before Lily had time to realize it was Riley.

  “My God, you’re drenched! Why on earth were you waiting outside?” she asked as she brushed the dripping hair back from Riley’s forehead.

  “The door’s locked.” He swiped the water from his face.

  Lily grabbed his hand and looked at it. His skin had the look of a second-degree burn. “What happened to your hands?”

  “Had to use acid on the boat—he made me do it all day.”

  “No gloves?”

  Riley shook his head.

  “Where’s Cl… Bud?”

  “Gone.”

  “Gone? He left you here alone?” Lily flashed hot.

  “Had a dinner to go to. Come on, Mom. I’m freezing. Let’s get home.”

  As Lily turned the car around, she bit back the words of anger she wanted to unleash against Clay. Riley was already hostile enough, he didn’t need any fuel from her. She opted instead to probe a little more and see if there was more to this story.

  “Did you like the dessert I packed in your lunch?”

  He shrugged. “Didn’t eat.”

  “Why not?”

  “Didn’t have time. Man, my hands hurt. Mom, I can’t go back there again tomorrow.” His voice cracked. He finished just short of a sob. “It was the worst day of my life.”

  There was a sharp stabbing pain in the center of Lily’s chest, in the place where panic always centered when Riley had been hurt. She gritted her teeth against it. “Well, you don’t have a choice. But I’m going to set a few things straight with Bud. Don’t you worry about that. Tomorrow, things are going to be much more reasonable.”

  Riley sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his reddened hand.

  That bastard. Left a kid out in a storm alone, all because he had a hot date with the chica from the café. Lucky for Clay she needed to get Riley home, fed and dried out; she’d most likely strangle him on sight.

  Clay sat in the single upholstered chair in his apartment on the second floor of a hundred-year-old house near the center of town. He was trying not to be ashamed of himself for making Cassie wait. He’d used the storm to justify his delay when he called her. Truth was, he wished he could take back the hastily said words that agreed to go to this church supper in the first place.

  He didn’t attend church on a regular basis. Hell, last Sunday had been the first time in years that he’d even set foot inside one. The last time he’d looked up at a cross over a church altar had been seven years ago, inside a bombed-out shell of a building near the border of Bosnia. That’s where he’d found the dead boy. That’s where he’d discovered there was no God.

  With a shiver, he shook off the memory. He would not allow himself to go there in the light of day, when he had control.

  Instead, he brought Jason McGuire to mind, a living, breathing boy, one Clay could help. He had only gone to church last week because Jason had invited him when he and his dad had been fishing at the marina the Saturday before. Jason was going to say a special piece during the service and wanted everyone he knew to be there to hear it. One look at those slanted blue eyes and that sweet, innocent smile had made the lame excuse dry up in Clay’s throat.

  So, there he’d been last Sunday, uncomfortable as hell, waiting on the front steps of the Methodist church to tell Jason what a good job he’d done, when Cassie nabbed him. Clay didn’t think for a single minute her timing was coincidental when she asked if he’d go with her to the benefit supper right when Jason came up and took Clay’s hand. Cassie had tried just about every avenue of attack in her campaign to get him to go out with her. She just didn’t seem to see that he wasn’t worth the effort.

  His original intention had been to make a cash donation and skip the dinner. The proceeds were to send Jason to a special-needs camp for Down’s kids. But, at that moment, there had been no way out. He knew it was better to hurt Cassie’s feelings now than later. Cassie had… expectations. He knew it. She knew it. What she didn’t know was that he was in no way capable of meeting them. But, damn, he just couldn’t disappoint Jason.

  Besides, in this little town there would be no casual sex, no one-night stands—not when the woman wanted it otherwise. And Cassie wanted otherwise, he could read it in her eyes. Damned if he knew why. He’d done nothing to encourage her, had bordered on rude most of the time just to warn her away.

  Clay rubbed his temples. The storm was obviously not going to blow out anytime soon. Might as well get on with it. He reached for his shirt. The sooner he picked Cassie up, the sooner he’d be dropping her back home. And the sooner she’d begin to get over the idea that he was what she wanted.

  Just as he was headed to the door, his telephone rang. He let the machine pick up; it was probably a telemarketer. In the year he’d been in Glens Crossing, nobody ever called him at home. Nobody knew Clay Winters. They only knew Bud at the marina, the grouch who took care of business and never made a friend. Only Jason had been impervious to his indifference, but Jason never looked upon anyone with derision. He obviously couldn’t see Clay for the ugly, unbefriendable soul he was.

  Clay hadn’t bothered recording his own greeting on the machine. It picked up and an impersonal, electronic voice asked the caller to leave a message.

  It beeped. After a short pause, a voice stopped him halfway out the door. “This is Lily,” she paused, “Holt.” As if he wouldn’t recognize that voice if it echoed across a thousand miles of barren desert. “I just picked Riley up. He’s drenched and starved. How could you leave him out there in a storm like that? I don’t think this is what the sheriff had in mind.” There was a pause, as if she were looking over her shoulder to confirm she was alone. “He’s in the shower now. I don’t want him to overhear what I have to say to you, so call me back after elev—”

  A blinding blue-white light and a loud crack of thunder cut off her voice and the power at the same moment. Clay stumbled toward the phone, unwilling to let the sound of her voice go. The answering machine clicked off. He felt around for the phone, picked it up, unsure if he was goi
ng to say anything or not. He didn’t have to make the decision. The phone was dead.

  For a long moment, he stood there gripping the receiver. The gloomy darkness seemed to hold an unnatural weight of its own, making it difficult for him to breathe. On a normal day, it wouldn’t yet be dark. But with the storm, his living room looked as if night had fallen. He hated night, endless with its darkness, its torment… its memories. Never did he allow his place to fall into full darkness. The TV, sound muted, always kept the dark away while he tried to sleep.

  Slowly, he replaced the receiver. Lightning continued to flash, giving his movements a jerky appearance, like a strobe light in a funhouse. His hand lingered on the phone.

  Once he pulled in a full breath, the wonder of her voice began to dissipate and the meaning of her words sank in. What on earth she was talking about? The kid in the rain? He had to admit, that thought held some appeal. Wouldn’t hurt the kid to toughen up some. But he sure as hell didn’t leave the kid locked out. Riley had said his mom was on her way. Clay had left him inside the marina office, with instructions to just pull the door closed behind him when he left, it would lock automatically.

  He recalled the surprised look on Riley’s face when he told him he was leaving him alone. Clay knew it was a risk, but he wanted to start things off right. Riley had to know he wasn’t his jailer. He had to know that until Riley did something to make him do otherwise, Clay was going to trust him.

  The day had gone pretty much as Clay had expected. Riley had moved sulkily about his work, casting hateful glances Clay’s way when he thought Clay wasn’t looking. A couple of times Clay saw him swipe his eyes, but he concealed his frustrated tears behind a veneer of silent attitude.

  Riley Holt hadn’t lived a life that bred toughness. It was a stretch for him to manufacture it. By the end of this summer, Clay hoped to forge a little strength to the boy’s mettle. Clay had seen what weakness could do to a person. Better Riley learn early on what it really takes to be a man. But it wasn’t going to be easy if Lily was going to make a habit of playing mother lion each time the kid got a little shook up.

  Just for a moment, Clay thought the family life of his childhood, the one he’d always considered cold and disappointing, might have been for the best. If his mother had lived, had his father been the kind of warm and nurturing man Clay had always wished for, perhaps he wouldn’t have had the strength he needed to survive the life he’d led. Maybe his father had done him a favor. Then a little voice popped up from the back of his mind, And maybe you wouldn’t have led this life at all.

  Immediately he cut off that avenue of thought. Perfectly fruitless. No sense in rehashing what could never be.

  He left his house dreading the evening even more than before. Lily’s voice had slipped under his skin and was making him feel like his bones were itching, a profound discomfort that there was no way to scratch.

  By the time he reached Cassie’s apartment, situated over the garage of one of the biggest houses in town, he was in no mood for small talk—or any talk, for that matter. He felt like a heel when she ran out with an umbrella before he could get out of his truck. She slipped in the passenger side, pulling the folded umbrella in after her.

  “Whew! That’s some storm. Raining ponies and elephants. That’s what my grandma used to say… much worse than when it rains cats and dogs.” She gave a nervous little laugh. Before Clay could say anything, she went on, “I didn’t see any need for both of us to get drenched. My power flickered a minute ago. I hope the power is still on at the church. Jason is such a sweet kid. I hope the weather doesn’t keep people away. I really want to thank you for coming with me.”

  Clay mustered a smile. Ponies and elephants. That pretty much described the stampede of words from Cassie’s mouth. At least if she was chattering along, that meant he didn’t have to come up with anything to say himself. God, he wished this was over.

  As they got closer to the church, the streets fell into darkness. No street lamps, no house lights. Clay’s hopes inched higher.

  Then shame crept up his cheeks when he heard the genuine concern in Cassie’s voice. “Oh, no. Please let the church have lights. Jason is going to be soooo disappointed.”

  The parking lot at the Methodist church was full—and dark.

  “Well, no sense in getting drenched,” he said. “Looks like the party’s over.” He pointed to the group huddled under umbrellas headed toward their cars.

  “Maybe the power will come back on,” Cassie said. “Maybe we should just sit here for a bit and see. You know, it usually doesn’t stay off too long. Except when we have ice storms. Then sometimes it takes days to get things back up and running.”

  Clay interrupted her before she gave the entire history of the electric company in Henderson County. “Like you said, no sense in risking life and limb in this storm.” As if to punctuate his comment, a loud clap of thunder shook the truck. “I’ll just get you back home where it’s safe.”

  She started to open her mouth, but he was quicker. “Don’t worry about Jason. Looks like they had a good crowd already.” Besides, he planned on making whatever donation was needed to get the kid to camp. Didn’t have anything better to do with his money.

  “It’s just that he wants to go to this camp so badly. You can just see it when he talks about it. Last week, I ran into him and his mom down at Kingston’s Market. He couldn’t talk about anything else.

  “I remember when I went to camp. Well, I went to camp lots of times. But the first year, let’s see, I was seven…”

  And as she went on to list all of the camp activities she’d ever participated in over the course of her entire life, Clay thanked the raging storm for knocking out the power.

  He was a horrible human being.

  After he declined Cassie’s effusive invitation to come inside so she could make him dinner, Clay started driving. He was much too restless to go home and listen to the silence of four bare walls. If not for the rain, he’d go home and exchange the aging truck for his motorcycle. Speed always had a way of untangling his troubles. A year ago the rain would have made no difference. He would have climbed on the bike and ridden until he was soaked to his bones. But this past year, living in the comfort of clean sheets and regular hot meals had softened him.

  He headed out of town, to lose himself in the darkness on unfamiliar roads. After taking several turns, an astonishing realization hit him. No matter how far he drove, none of the roads were alien to him. For the first time in his adult life, he’d been somewhere long enough to make it his. That thought irritated his consciousness like a grain of sand in the eye. Was that what he wanted? To be a part of something permanent? He’d never thought so. At least, he mentally chided himself, he never admitted it, even in his dreams.

  The storm continued and he let himself fall to the hypnotic rhythm of thunder and lightning and the steady thump of his windshield wipers. Not as calming as an eighty-mile-an-hour wind in his face, but it finally began to soothe the sharp edges of his thoughts. When he once again focused on his surroundings, he realized he’d driven to Peter’s old lake house—Lily’s house.

  Just as he neared the lane that led through the woods to the house, a car pulled out onto the road without its lights on. If it hadn’t been for a flash of lightning, he wouldn’t have seen it at all. When it got about a hundred yards away from the drive, the taillights came on.

  Clay wasn’t close enough to tell what kind of car it was, but it wasn’t the one Lily had driven that morning. She’d been in a champagne-colored Toyota Camry, three or four years old with a four-inch scrape on the driver’s-side rear quarter panel. He remembered because he always remembered details, even when he wasn’t concentrating on them. A holdover from his past.

  The car that pulled out of the drive was dark, low and fast.

  He glanced at his watch. Eleven.

  Stopping his truck at the end of the drive, he sat there for a few seconds, debating. He rested both hands on the steering wheel and laid his
temple on them, looking down the lane to see if there were lights on in the house. The heavy foliage prevented even the slightest flicker from reaching the road.

  If the car belonged to someone Lily had been entertaining, why keep the headlights off until it was away from the house?

  He pulled his truck off the road and got out. Something just didn’t feel right about that car. He started down the lane. He’d just take a quick look and assure himself everything was all right. It was something he’d do for anyone, he told himself, out here, relatively isolated.

  Reaching the point where the woods thinned enough to see the house, he stopped. Not because he didn’t want to be seen, but because he simply could not make himself go one step closer. He’d avoided this side of the lakeshore as much as possible. He’d always taken care not to look at the Holt cottage and its well-maintained emptiness in his comings and goings along the lake. It took a concentrated effort, considering he serviced all of the boats currently sitting on expensive lifts all up and down this stretch of water.

  Now here he was, face to face with it, and it robbed him of his breath. The old sting of humiliation and pain colored all of his memories here. Damn Lily for taking that one precious sliver of peace away from him.

  The rain picked up in intensity again, plastering his hair to his head. He let the cool drops run down his face and slide inside his shirt collar. Finally, he moved. There were no lights on, on the first floor. He circled around the house. On the lake side, a weak light shone from Peter’s parents’ old bedroom. All of the first-floor windows were intact. With practiced stealth from another lifetime, he carefully checked both the front and back doors. Locked.

  Satisfied, he walked back to his truck.

  Who in the hell had been sneaking around here at this hour? Another thought bloomed. Perhaps Lily had a lover and didn’t want her son to know. The guy had to resort to sneaking in and out.

  Somewhere deep in his chest, he felt a twinge of deep-seated pain. It came and went like a flash of lightning overhead.