Coming Home to You

by Fay Robinson

  James loudly let it be known he wasn’t going anywhere, but the Morgan woman put a restraining hand on his arm and whispered something that silenced him. Finally he stood, and with a look at Marianne that warned her he’d be back if things got out of hand, he followed his stepfather and sister out of the cavernous dining room.

  “Ms. Morgan…” Marianne had been prepared to tell the woman off the moment they were alone, but recalling James’s attentiveness to her all afternoon, and his startling announcement that he was in love with the creature, Marianne decided it would be wise to ask a few questions first. “Would you like a glass of port?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Marianne went to the sideboard and poured them each a glass. They strolled, glasses in hand, looking at the eighteenth-century tapestries that covered the walls, tapestries Marianne had gone to a great deal of trouble to find to make the house bearable.

  “Your furnishings are exquisite,” the woman said.

  “And the house itself?” Marianne asked, curious at the answer she’d give.

  “Awful. The ugliest house I’ve ever seen.”

  Marianne laughed. She couldn’t help it. No one had dared say that to her face before, although they extracted great joy from saying it behind her back. “You’re very straightforward, Ms. Morgan. Can we be straightforward about the things we have to discuss?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Conner. I came prepared to do that.”

  “Good. Then let me start by admitting I’m very distressed that you’ve uncovered our little secret and equally distressed about this relationship you’ve undertaken with my son.”

  The woman smiled, rather than appearing offended. “I’d be surprised if you were happy. You must be greatly concerned about what I plan to do.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  The woman walked silently for a moment, then said, “I don’t know. I’m in a very difficult situation, both professionally and personally. I don’t want to hurt James, yet I have a commitment to his biography that I need to resolve.”

  “I see.”

  “I won’t reveal he’s alive, though. Nor will I tell anyone what you and Mr. Conner did. That’s not something you need ever worry about. For what it’s worth to you, I give you my word on that.”

  “That surprises me a great deal.”

  “I don’t believe you hurt anyone but yourselves by switching the records and concealing James’s survival. No good will come of telling the truth now.”

  “I must say I’m finding this all very hard to accept. I’m particularly overwhelmed to learn James was helping you with your book even before you discovered his identity. It’s unlike him to lie to us.”

  “Are you aware James discredited himself in those interviews?”

  Marianne stopped, completely astonished. “No.”

  “I didn’t think you were. As hard as you work to preserve his memory, I can’t imagine you’d go along with something so ridiculous.”

  “How did he try to discredit himself?”

  “By telling me wild stories about James Hayes and his countless encounters with women and booze. He wanted me to present him to the world as a drug addict and a drunk who never possessed a creative thought and took credit for music Webb Anderson composed.”

  “You’re not serious?”

  “Oh, yes, and I think you should know he went to great lengths to make sure I had a very favorable, almost saintly, image of Bret.”

  Marianne sighed. That troubled her even more. “I can’t believe he thought he had to do that.”

  “Can’t you? Mrs. Conner, I don’t want to hurt you, nor am I without compassion for Bret and what happened to him. I know that despite his problems he was your son and you must have loved him very much. But he was responsible for his own life, for the choices he made and for his own failures. So I can’t understand why, even though he’s dead, all of you are still making excuses for him and shouldering the blame that’s rightfully his. From what I’ve seen here today, he’s manipulating all your lives.”

  Marianne started to disagree, but stopped. The woman was right. Bret still had a hold on all of them because of the guilt they felt about what they’d done.

  She’d loved Bret as much as she loved James and Ellen, but she couldn’t deny there’d been a weakness in her younger son. In Bret’s eyes, the blame for every unpleasant thing that happened to him belonged to someone else. It’s not my fault. How many times during his childhood had she heard him say that when he did something wrong? And they’d all allowed him to get away with it.

  Even as an adult, when he lost job after job because of his hostile attitude, he always claimed the boss hated him or else someone got him fired out of jealousy. Never did he take responsibility.

  “Would you like grandchildren, Mrs. Conner?” the woman asked, startling her.

  “Grandchildren?” Marianne could barely say the word.

  “I want children. James’s children. And perhaps even some adopted ones. But he doesn’t believe he deserves any. He started Pine Acres and the other ranches to perpetuate Bret’s name in a good way. I also think the reason he chose those specific charities was so he could have personal contact with children.”

  “I didn’t…I never realized.”

  “After Bret’s death, James gave up his dream of a house full of his own children and condemned himself to a solitary life on his little farm.”

  “I suppose I’ve allowed myself to believe he lives alone out of fear someone will recognize him.”

  “He’s convinced himself of that, too, but I think it’s more punishment than fear of discovery. Despite what he says, he wants children very badly, and it’s a crime for him not to have any. He’s so good with them.”

  “Is he?”

  “Oh, yes, he’s wonderful.”

  “Like his father,” Marianne said, unable to conceal her smile. That had been what attracted her to David, the easy way he had with children.

  They came to the doors of the sun parlor. Marianne opened them and went through, needing the warmer brighter colors of the haven she’d created in this dark and depressing house. She crossed to the table by the window and sat down, motioning for the woman to take the chair across from her. The lights of the city punctuated the darkness below them. A barge moved slowly along the river.

  “You’ve surprised me, Ms. Morgan, and I’m not easily surprised. You’re telling me things about my son I didn’t know, things that upset me very much.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for not knowing. James doesn’t want you to know. He’s not willing to tell you how badly he hurts.”

  “Why, then, are you telling me?”

  “Because he loves you, and he needs you to know so he can begin to heal. He wants to put Bret’s death behind him, but he’s not sure how to go about it. I’m convinced that subconsciously he wanted me to find out who he is, and that’s why he gave me so many subtle clues. He revealed his identity in a hundred different ways.”

  “But it doesn’t make sense for him to want to expose the truth after so many years.”

  “It doesn’t make sense to us, but in James’s mind, it’s a way to force something to happen. For years he’s confined himself to this emotional prison he’s created, and he hasn’t let himself out of it. But now there’s an external force—me—with the power to do the job. By allowing me to discover his secret, he handed me the key to his prison door.”

  “I’m beginning to understand.”

  “James knows he should have died instead of Bret, and that only a twist of fate put his brother on that plane. He also feels a tremendous amount of guilt for having assumed Bret’s identity.”

  A tear formed at the corner of Marianne’s eye, but she compelled it by sheer will not to fall. “I was only trying to save him, to give him a chance to start over.”

  “I know, and it took incredible love and strength to do what you did. I’m not sure I could have done it, had they been my sons.”

  “Once we’d switched the records
, it was too late to go back.”

  “Did you know about Bret’s drug use before then?”

  “Lord, no. If I had, if I’d known they’d find drugs in his body when they did the autopsy, I never would have let the world believe it was James.”

  “I don’t think James really cares about the drugs. He’s dealing with too many other issues.”

  “Is he so unhappy?”

  “Only because he can’t get beyond what happened that night or his inability to help Bret. I’m hoping, once he realizes he did all he could for his brother, he’ll find happiness. He enjoys his business and the freedom of his new identity. He doesn’t miss the life he gave up.”

  “Then what I did wasn’t all for nothing.”

  “No, I think you and your husband probably saved him, just as you intended.”

  Marianne took a calming sip of wine and stared out into the darkness. This woman truly seemed to care about James, to want him to be happy. But could they really trust her? So much depended on it.

  “This book of yours,” Marianne said. “You’re required to finish it?”

  “Yes, although I haven’t come up with a way to be honest or complete in what I say and still protect James’s identity. I need to figure that out.”

  “Could you not abandon it?”

  “I wish I could, but I don’t see how I can without making the people close to me suspicious. And to be truthful, I want to finish it. You, more than anyone, might understand my reasons.” Her face softened. “I love him, Mrs. Conner, and I can’t stand the idea of people thinking badly of him. This book can’t right all the wrongs that have been done to him, but it can remind the world how special he is. With all my heart, I believe that.”

  There was such conviction in her voice that Marianne was inclined to believe it, as well.

  WHEN BRET DIED, James had assumed that Bret’s few belongings had been stored up in the attic. He was surprised now to find them displayed in the bedroom he’d used while he was still living at home, as if Bret was away and expected back anytime.

  Sports trophies and school pictures decorated the bookcase and the walls. A scrapbook lay on the desk, opened to a yellowed newspaper clipping of the third-grade district spelling contest, in which Bret had been a finalist.

  This room held many memories. Good memories. And James smiled as he sat on one of the twin beds and slowly turned the pages of the photograph album he’d found. He came upon a shot of him and Bret with their arms around each other’s shoulders, standing in front of one of the band’s buses. He remembered this one, taken the summer after Bret graduated from high school; he’d joined James on tour. They’d been close then, not only brothers but friends. Why, he wondered, couldn’t things have stayed like that?

  “I still have difficulty believing he’s not coming home,” his mother said from the doorway. She crossed the room and sat on the bed next to him. The open album made her smile, and she pointed to a photograph on the opposite page—one of him and Bret riding double on an old mule at what had been their grandfather’s house outside Shelbyville. “What was it your grandfather called that mule? Bessie?”

  “Beulah. Bessie was the goat that used to pull us around in a little green wagon.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You learned to ride on that old mule, didn’t you?”

  He nodded, smiling at the memory. “She had to be thirty years old, but gentle as a lamb. That’s what started me wanting a horse of my own, visiting Pop and Granny Mag in the summer and helping take care of the animals.” He studied his mother’s tired face and red-rimmed eyes. “This has been hard on you. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  “We shouldn’t have come.”

  “No, I’m glad to see you. You know that.”

  “But not Kate.”

  “I can’t say I’m happy she knows what she does, but she seems to care for you very deeply. I can only pray this will somehow resolve itself without hurting anyone.” She smiled tenderly and patted his hand. “I hoped one day you’d come home, Jamie. And finally here you are. George and I aren’t as young as we used to be. Visiting you is getting harder and harder.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry I haven’t come before. I finally realized I couldn’t keep avoiding this trip forever.” He glanced at the doorway, wondering why Kate hadn’t sought him out after her talk with his mother. “Where is Kate? You didn’t dissect her and feed her to that cat of yours, did you?”

  “Darling, you make me sound absolutely predatory. The young woman can hold her own, as I’m sure you’ve already discovered. I left her in the parlor in one piece. She wanted to call her family and let them know where she is.”

  “She’s probably calling her brother Marcus. She’s been pretty upset about having to lie to him, and it tears me apart because I know it’s my fault.”

  “You’ve come to love her very much, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, but she’s loved me even longer.” He related the story of how the two of them had met years ago and how she’d spent most of her life preparing to write this book. “And now the book is the very thing between us.”

  “Have faith that things will work themselves out.”

  “I don’t see how. I’m beginning to think we’d all be better off if I confessed everything and got it over with. At least, that would solve Kate’s problems.”

  “Please, don’t even think that. You would never be happy going back to your old life. You’d only risk your health again.”

  “But Kate’s running out of time. I’ve got to find some way to help her.”

  “You’re frustrated. Wait a few days. I’m sure if we all put our heads together, we can come up with a solution.”

  She was right. He was frustrated, frustrated by his inability to provide Kate with an answer to her dilemma. She was giving up her chance at a normal life and a family to be with him. He wanted to give her something back. But what? How?

  “Do you ever regret what we did when Bret died?” he asked his mother. He’d wanted to ask her that question for a very long time, but had never had the courage.

  She sighed and gave him a sad smile. “My only regret is that you haven’t been able to come to terms with it, to forget what happened and go on with your life. Until today, when I talked with Kathryn, I didn’t realize how difficult things have been for you.”

  “I’ve been okay.”

  “Have you really?”

  He shrugged and said yes, but he glanced away so she couldn’t see into his eyes and know he was lying.

  “Jamie, look at me.” Reluctantly he did. “You can’t continue to grieve. You did everything you could to help your brother, and you have no reason to feel guilty. You always spent time with him and took an interest in whatever he was doing, even when you were on the road. He loved you.”

  “I know he did,” James said, but a part of him wondered if it was true.

  She gave him a hug and stood. “I guess I’d better go find your stepfather. He’s likely to embalm himself with Kentucky bourbon if I don’t keep an eye on him.”

  “I’m sorry we caused such an uproar. Kate fussed at me—said I should call and warn you she was coming.”

  “I think we’ll survive.”

  “Ellen doesn’t look good. Did that guy she’s living with put those bruises on her arms?”

  “I suspect he did, but she claims she fell.”

  James shook his head and swore. He wished he could get five minutes alone with the jerk. He’d make sure he never touched his sister again.

  Ellen was the gentlest person he’d ever known. He owed her his life, and he hated to see her abused. She’d come to Alabama and taken care of him after Bret’s death, when he’d mired himself in depression. She’d helped him find his way out of the blackness.

  “Why does she let him do that? I don’t understand it.”

  “Everyone handles their guilt differently, Jamie. Ellen gets involved in unhealthy relationships, George drinks too much, and y
ou wrestle your demons in your own way.”

  “What about you? How do you deal with your guilt?”

  “One day, darling, perhaps I’ll tell you all about it. But not tonight. Let’s not spoil your homecoming.”

  When she left, he went downstairs to see if Kate wanted to go for a ride and maybe see where he’d grown up. The house was a museum now and he didn’t want to go inside, but he’d like to drive by and take a look. Or maybe he’d show her where he’d lived at the time of the crash, or his high school.

  The door to the sun parlor was ajar. He started to push it open and go in, but Kate’s distressed voice as she talked on the telephone stopped him.

  “…not crazy. Things aren’t going like they should, and I think I should abandon the book before I waste any more time on it.” She paused to listen, then said, “I realize that. Yes, I know what’ll happen if I don’t fulfill this contract.” She sighed and he could hear her heels tap the floor as she paced. “Marcus, calm—No, he didn’t influence my— Marcus, I don’t care about that! Will you shut up!”

  James stood there for several minutes and listened with growing concern. It wasn’t hard to figure out what was going on. Her brother was trying to talk her out of dropping the book, pointing out the serious consequences if she did. A reputation she’d spent a lifetime building might be ruined.

  Because of him. He’d done this to her. She was giving up her work, risking everything, because she refused to hurt him or reveal his secret. Somehow he had to find a way to fix that.

  KATE ROSE LATER the next morning than she’d planned, the strain of meeting James’s family and fighting with Marcus in the same day having wrung her out emotionally.

  She hadn’t slept well, anyway. She’d insisted she and James stay in separate rooms while under his mother’s roof and that, too, had made it difficult to rest. Expecting him to ignore her edict and slip into her bedroom in the middle of the night, she’d slept lightly. But he hadn’t come. Not last night. Not this morning. She’d wrestled with her problems—alone.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe on the sideboard in the dining room and sat at the table where Mrs. Conner was reading the newspaper. “We have sausages, eggs and muffins,” the woman said without looking up.