The Caretaker's Son

by Yvonne Lehman

  He accused her of not caring about him for his own sake. She’d only taught him, talked to him because she couldn’t have her real son. He was cardboard to her. “Just a substitute.”

  “So was I,” she rebutted. “For your real mom.”

  “I don’t like the word substitute,” he said.

  “You, the wordsmith, don’t like a word that is one of the most precious in all of language, all of history?”

  He knew where she was going before she said it.

  “Jesus,” she said, “was the greatest substitute the world could ever know. He took our place on that cross.”

  On a much smaller scale, Symon had taken Toby’s place. Miss B had taken his mom’s place. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad word after all.

  “I know you feel used, and hurt. As if I wanted you to be Toby. And I did envision that when you became an adult, you’d find him for me. Not for him to replace you. But you two could be like brothers. I had to let you know about him because you both are my family. And I had to know if he or any descendants needed anything.”

  They talked freely, clearly, and he admitted, “I couldn’t have made it without you.”

  She shook her head. “I thought I couldn’t make it in those young years after I had to give up Toby. I felt like my parents abandoned me, like you felt your mom abandoned you. My parents put political career ahead of me and their own grandchild. That’s what hurt so much.”

  “How did you get past that?”

  “Only with the Lord’s help. He brought you to me the first time. Now he has brought you to me again. For the purpose you just fulfilled for me. You and I are bonded, by choice. You may leave me. I may leave you. But if you choose Jesus, he never will.”

  He felt like he was in Sunday school again. “I’m not a child anymore.”

  “Oh, yes. We’re all God’s children. Little needy kids, no matter how old we get.”

  There was no need to run off to New York. He would begin looking for a place. His initial reasons for returning were still the same, honoring Miss B with The Cherry Tree and that yearning for family.

  Having made that decision, he decided to go where his friends went Sunday morning. When the song ended and they bowed for prayer, he took a seat on the back row and his eyes scanned the sanctuary. Paul must have been looking for him. He looked back at him and motioned with his head, indicating he’d saved him a place.

  Symon didn’t want to walk all the way down the aisle and in front of others to sit by Paul on the pew. Lizzie was beside Paul. Megan and Michael were there. In the row in front of them were Aunt B, Annabelle and Wesley.

  No picket fence separated any of them. And yet...he felt separate.

  They were friends...and family.

  Lizzie leaned forward and said something to Annabelle, who slowly began to turn. He looked straight ahead. With time, he’d forget that for a moment she’d seemed to be his.

  And then a man walked out of the choir and stood behind the podium. He began singing about being able to stand only when he was on his knees. The air seemed to throb with the words, “I can’t even walk, without You holding my hand.”

  Then the preacher chose the worst verse he could for his sermon. “Jesus is the truth....”

  Symon had had enough of that lately. He’d come here with a lot of “what-if’s” and now he’d discovered more truths than he’d been prepared for.

  Truth? He was a hindrance to Annabelle. He saw it on her face the night of the dinner. She’d been distant the night he returned from Paris. She wasn’t comfortable with him anymore. He’d spoiled that.

  Truth? He couldn’t be a friend to Annabelle. He couldn’t see her and pretend he hadn’t touched her, hadn’t wanted her for his own.

  His explanations to himself hadn’t erased it any more than they had erased what moved into his heart. No, he couldn’t pretend that. He couldn’t sit there and listen to a sermon and pretend to be something he wasn’t. There were many places he didn’t belong and this was one of them.

  He should go.

  He got up and hurried out of the church and returned to the cottage. He went to the creek. Remembered his dad, who’d done his best. And a lot of what he’d done had been very good.

  He touched the rock where his little sister was buried. He thought of his mom, who had abandoned him. Now, he thought her abandonment had been much like his dad’s. It wasn’t him she had abandoned, but her own inability to accept some things in life or to change them.

  He thought of Annabelle’s laughter. It had echoed through the trees. It bubbled out like the creek caressing the rocks in the stream. The leaves clapped their hands.

  Now they just shivered, trembled or drooped, still like moss hung after a rain, dripping like teardrops falling from the trees. The leaves didn’t clap in glee; the Spanish moss let their tear drops fall.

  His own teardrops stuck in his eyes, burning and stinging his cheeks.

  He looked at the creek. He would take all his memories and put them into character. Kill them. Even Annabelle in the creek. And so, looking at the creek where he and Annabelle had stood, muddy, wet, cold, he felt the warmth of the girl he wanted. The one he wanted in his arms, in his life, and he didn’t know if he’d ever get her out of his heart. He couldn’t have her.

  And he looked at the creek where he and his dad had worked together. They’d been family. And he remembered scattering his dad’s ashes and watching them float away down the creek.

  He thought of how Miss B had managed. Without her son. Without her parents. Her brother. Her husband. Him, for a while.

  And him? Without his mom. His dad. Miss B recently when he believed she had abandoned him, not loved him. Annabelle.

  Was being Sy DeBerry the answer?

  He turned. The toe of his shoe caught on a rock and he stumbled. Only slightly. Just enough to make the air throb with, “I can’t even walk without You holding my hand.”

  Then it came.

  And he looked at the Miss B’s creek and knew it wasn’t hers at all; it belonged to God. And it was his burning bush.

  He was not a stupid man. Well, maybe about himself and others at times. But not so stupid as to turn away from a burning bush. And so, he walked over to the bench beneath the trees and he dropped to his knees and propped his forehead on his closed fists and shut his eyes tight and heard only I Am.

  He lifted his hand. And felt as if he was being pulled to his feet standing, while still on his knees. The world was blurry. He was looking through a glass darkly. He was like Spanish moss. Swaying, adrift.

  But he was attaching to the mighty oak.

  Good was winning over bad.

  And as if the sun broke through a storm cloud, he knew the word Miss B had wanted.

  He didn’t just know it.

  He experienced it.

  Chapter 29

  After church, Annabelle stood with the others, talking about what they might do for lunch. Michael suggested the cafeteria. He liked to pick and choose. Paul looked back. “Symon was here, but I don’t see him now. I’ll go see if he’s in the parking lot.” He hurried away.

  “Unless he’s out there and goes with us,” Aunt B said, “I’ll just go on home. I think he might be thinking of leaving.”

  “Leaving Savannah?” Annabelle said.

  “At least the cottage. He’s still uncertain. But he’s done what he came here for.”

  “Surely he wouldn’t just go. I mean, without saying goodbye.” And she remembered Friday night, thinking that was the meaning of his good-night. “I mean, to all of us.”

  “Well, he still could. He wouldn’t just drive off. I meant soon.”

  “Tell him I need to talk to him before he goes.”

  Aunt B nodded and slipped out of the pew.

  Wes said,
“I think I’ll pass on the cafeteria idea.”

  Megan looked at Michael and he said, “Okay, see you later,” and they left.

  Lizzie grabbed her purse. “I’d better find Paul or I’ll be walking home.”

  Wes moved to the aisle and Annabelle followed. “Where we going?”

  “Where you wanted to go,” he said.

  He opened the passenger door for her, closed it, got inside and started the car while Paul and Lizzie stood looking at them. Wes looked stoic, so she asked, “Are we headed for another argument?”

  “No,” he said without looking at her, while driving out into after-church traffic. Her thinking that he might dump her off on Jones Street changed when he headed toward Aunt B’s.

  “We going to eat with Aunt B?”

  He gave her a sidelong glance as if she’d said something stupid. She knew she had.

  He pulled onto the property and up the long drive. Symon’s car was there by the cottage. Wes pulled up farther, near the walkway, and switched off the engine. They got out and walked to the steps, where he stopped.

  She turned toward him.

  He gave her a long look. “I’m not going to argue with you anymore, Annabelle. I’ve acted like a jerk because I’ve seen the difference in you. It started when I first saw you on the porch with him, relating, laughing, looking less uptight than you have in a long time. I’ve seen it more than once. That spark in your eyes when you talk about him.”

  She opened her mouth to defend herself but didn’t when he shook his head. “You were more excited about hearing from an editor than you were about getting a ring from me. I feel like the diamond is a rock on your finger. A heavy one. I know it’s not your fault. It’s mine. It’s life.”

  Her head was shaking. “He doesn’t even talk to me anymore.”

  “I can’t read his mind, but I know a lot about you. And I know this—you’re every man’s dream.”

  She had been Wes’s dream. They both had dreams. Plans.

  But she wanted to be someone’s reality.

  Blinking away tears, she saw the sadness in his eyes, on his face. She wanted to comfort him like he’d done for her after her parents died. He’d been a safety net. He’d been there when grief returned and threatened to overwhelm her. He and Aunt B and her friends.

  “I don’t think you need me anymore, Annabelle. Do you?”

  He waited.

  She could only stare.

  “I love you. I’ve waited until you would be ready. You still aren’t. You’ve had excuses. I’ve tried to be what I thought you’d want.” He shook his head.

  “Oh, Wesley. I do love you. You’re the most generous, kind, sweet person—”

  He held up a hand. “You’re right.”

  They both made sounds akin to uncomfortable laughter.

  “I have a lot of reasons you should love me. But do you love me without a reason? Do you want to marry me?”

  Her breath came labored. Her right hand was trembling against her left one.

  “Annabelle, I’ve wanted to see that special spark again. Maybe it was there a long time ago. And then there was the death of your parents. College to get through. Your ambitions. Mine. Your friends’ problems. Aunt B’s needs. There’s always something.”

  She wanted to be held, and she leaned forward. His arms took hold of her shoulders. She lifted her face. His lips found her forehead. She felt them, warm, sweet, kind. And then he moved away.

  She could only stare at him.

  Until...she took off the ring.

  He took it. Her future, her life, her hopes and dreams turned and walked to his car, and she couldn’t even lift her hand until he waved first.

  He drove away.

  He was gone.

  Wes was gone.

  She hurried into the house.

  Aunt B was in the kitchen.

  “He’s gone.”

  “Who?”

  “Wesley.”

  “Oh.”

  She knew Aunt B felt like she felt. Some things, some people, when they’re gone, they’re gone forever. Wes was still in the world, but he was gone. Who else was gone forever?

  “I’m not engaged anymore. I did love him.”

  “I know,” she consoled, with a comforting hand on Annabelle’s arm. “And you would have had a good marriage...if.”

  “If the weeds hadn’t grown in my emotional garden. I never was good at telling weeds from flowers. I’ve really messed everything up.”

  Annabelle stepped back and stared at Aunt B, who asked, “Are you all right, hon?”

  She shook her head and let the tears fall. “I feel bad because I don’t feel worse.”

  Aunt B’s face was sympathetic. “How was Wes? Angry? Hurt?”

  She contemplated that. “No. He knew it was coming before I did. He seemed the same, but he saw a change in me. I think he’s just...sorry.” She had to sniff and wipe her eyes again. “I am. Both sorry and...what’s the word?”

  “You’re sure it’s over for good?”

  “Yes.” She grimaced and looked down at the tissue in her hand, adding quietly, “Regardless.”

  “Then the word you’re searching for might be...relieved?”

  Annabelle nodded. “I think he feels that way, too. He’s ambitious and our goals are going in different directions. He’ll be okay.”

  Aunt B smiled and nodded, confirming that. “Yes, he will. He’s a fine man.” She paused. “Remember what I told you when you asked how I was doing after learning that Toby died?”

  “You said when some things are final, it’s healthy to grieve, but think on positive things and concentrate on good memories if the situation calls for that.”

  “Now,” she said. “I was getting ready to fix some lunch. Why don’t you call Symon and see if he’d like to eat with us?”

  Annabelle scrunched up her face and shook her head.

  Aunt B smiled. “You said you wanted to talk with him.”

  “He will leave, won’t he? I mean, he has to.”

  Aunt B motioned to the window. Annabelle looked and saw Mudd and SweetiePie lying together on the patio as if all was well. “Maybe he’ll at least let us keep the dog. Oh,” she said, “there he is now.”

  “I’ll go patch up my face.” She headed for the bathroom.

  Chapter 30

  Symon changed into jeans and knit shirt, aware he’d have to take the suit pants to the cleaners for the dirt stains on the knees. Maybe the Lord would be able to clean up after the mistakes he’d made. At least he was forgiven. He could ask that of Aunt B and Annabelle.

  Walking out back to the path he didn’t see a car in the driveway, which probably meant no one else would be at the big house. He’d check to see if Miss B was there.

  She arrived at the back door before he knocked.

  “Come on in, Symon,” she welcomed him.

  He followed her into the kitchen, but didn’t sit although she did. He held on to the back of a chair opposite her.

  “I know the word,” he said.

  A small gleam appeared in her eyes, but she waited for him to say it. “You’re right. The opposite of evil is not good. The kind of evil I deal with in my books needs that balance.”

  She waited.

  “The opposite of evil is holy.”

  She sat still. “Evil comes from Satan so holy can only come from God.”

  Aunt B’s cheeks plumped with her smile. “I think you were taught that a long time ago. The most awesome thing in the world is being a child of God.”

  “I have known it,” he admitted, “but it hasn’t been an active force in my life. I want it to be. I couldn’t see this before, but now I can see how my books will be so much better with that trait in them.”
/>
  “How do you intend to do that?”

  A rush of gratitude for her swept over him. She taught best by asking questions, making him think. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Since forgiveness has been on my mind a lot lately, maybe something like the ending being more than court justice wins. Characters might forgive the villain who takes from them.” He shrugged. “I’ll work it out. Right now, I have to work on this.” He patted his chest and then pointed to his head.

  “You’re not alone in that, Symon. We never stop learning.”

  That didn’t matter. “I’ve acted immaturely. Was about to again. Run back to New York or—” he lifted his hand, indicating nowhere in particular “—but I like my original idea of finding a place around here. I want to relate to you. It doesn’t have to have a label. I love you for who you are and what you’ve been to me. I cherish our relationship.”

  “Oh, Symon.”

  She was getting up. If she wasn’t careful she’d make a grown man blubber. She held out her arms and he was already there to embrace her. “Apart from my other son, or your mother, you and I are like mother and son to each other. There’s no denying it. That will always be.”

  That did it.

  He reached for the tissue...and someone...handed it to him.

  Annabelle?

  Okay, first he was scum in the creek and now he was a baby.

  “I—I need to—”

  “I—I want to—”

  They both began to talk at the same time and stopped. Miss B said, “Why don’t I whip up some lunch while you two go out back and talk. Any requests?”

  Annabelle said no and hurried out the back door. Symon leaned toward Miss B. “Depends on how much crow I’m going to eat first.”

  “Oh, just wash it down with a little creek water,” she said and winked.

  He could appreciate the humor, but the timing was definitely off. Reminded him of Lizzie having poked Annabelle at the dinner. Maybe they’d all laughed about it. But Miss B had seen it.

  He grimaced and went outside to join Annabelle at the white table.