by S. L. Scott
“Odd jobs. Here and there.”
She knows when to stop pushing for answers I’m not going to give her. Standing, she asks, “Are you hungry? I was just about to make grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup.”
“That sounds incredible.”
“You go settle in and clean up, and I’ll make dinner.”
I grab my bag and head down to the hall but stop when she adds, “It’s good to have you home, son.”
Home.
There’s that word again. It’s a word I haven’t known in some time. Am I home? I’m not really sure anymore, but my mom has always been a haven, so she deserves to hear that from me. I smile and say, “It’s good to be home.”
2
Jason
My childhood bedroom is a memorial to my golden years—the football star, devoted son, all-around favorite. I was the envy of this town.
The fall from grace was inevitable. I was set up for it with every win, trophy, and accolade I received.
Looking around the room, I take off my shoes and clothes, leaving my briefs on as I make my way down the hall to the one bathroom the whole house shares. It takes a week for the water to warm up, but when it does, I let it pound the stiffness from my shoulders. One hand on the tile, and my head lowered, I wonder why I came back. Why do I bother?
My mom?
Sure. It’s always good to see her. Doesn’t matter what I’ve done or how long it’s been since we talked, she’s open arms, all smiles, and still proud of me. She’s a good woman who works too hard.
No one else in this town mat—
I can’t complete that thought.
I know it’s a lie. Everyone knows it’s a lie. I saw it in their faces down at Red River. They can see through me when it comes to Delilah.
My only true weakness. Even after all this time.
The one weakness I can hide when I’m not here.
Married.
I push the thoughts of how I got my feelings all fucked up back to the dark compartment I keep them buried in. I think that’s my heart, but I’m not sure anymore.
Can a man that’s killed another man really have a heart? It’s a mystery, even to me, if I’m allowed to feel anything other than remorse, and I just can’t reason that emotion into my psyche. Not when that same man wanted to kill the people I care about. I remind myself that it was part of the job, but not the job I signed up for. Who did I become once I left home? And is that guy truly gone forever?
The water rains down, and I hope to have some sense of myself once the wicked is washed away, if it can be washed away. I have my doubts.
After showering, I wrap the towel around my waist and head to my room. I dig through old drawers until I find some boxers and flip through the hangers, choosing a black T-shirt that’s not too faded. Grabbing a pair of black jeans from a stack on top of a crate in the closet, I pull those on too.
The leather of my shoes is wet from the road, so I grab socks and head out to the living the room. My mom is setting down two mugs of soup and two plates with the hot sandwiches on top. She made me two and browned the edges making them extra crispy how I like them. They’re better for dipping in the soup that way. Less soggy when you pull them out.
She smiles, looking surprised. “And here I thought that dirt was freckles.”
“Ha. Ha.” Sitting on the couch, I lean forward over the coffee table, my stomach growling. “This looks good. Thanks, Ma.”
“It feels good to cook for someone else again.”
Despite the distraction of dinner and Wheel of Fortune playing on the TV, I can feel the slight tension in the room. I take one of the sandwich triangles and dip it in the soup before taking a bite that almost finishes off half of it. We’re casual people, the kind that manners matter, but when we slip up, we’re forgiven. So I keep eating and glance over at her. “What’s on your mind?”
That catches her attention and gives her the opening she’s been waiting for since I showed up on her front porch. “You going to tell me why you’re home and why I didn’t get a heads-up?”
“Can’t a son visit his mom?”
“Any time, any day. You’re always welcome. I haven’t seen you in a long time, so I didn’t know if I should be worried or not.”
I take a sip of my tea, the ice crashing around the glass. “No need to worry. Just stopping by on my way through.”
“Through to where?”
“Not sure. I’ve got no plans right now.”
Reaching over, she pats my leg. “Then stay a while.”
“I might. Not sure yet.”
She sits back with her mug of soup, sipping it quietly and staring at the TV. “Aurora Borealis.”
“What?”
“The puzzle. It’s Aurora Borealis.”
I smile. “Sure is. Good job.”
An hour passes with ease, but my body is starting to give up the fight to stay awake. I’m road weary and the thought of that bed in there is heaven. I gather our dishes and clean up the trash. I refill Mom’s glass and get her the blanket from the couch, helping her settle in for the night. “You staying up?” I ask.
“There’s an old Cary Grant movie coming on I want to watch, and I’m halfway through a very intriguing book. Are you going to bed?”
“I am. I’m tired.”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“You don’t work. Anything I can do around here for you?”
“I have a whole list we can start on if you don’t mind.”
Walking toward the hall, I reply, “I don’t mind.”
“Maybe we can talk about the subject you’re so eager to avoid, too.”
Maybe not. I’m not used to having anyone care about my thoughts. That probably won’t or shouldn’t change while I’m here.
“Yeah, maybe. Night, Ma.”
“Good night, Jase.”
After readying for bed, I climb under the covers and let my body sink into the mattress. It’s a cheap bed, but it’s worn in all the right spots to fit my body. Delilah used to complain about rolling into the middle. Secretly, I loved it. I loved holding her close like that, my lips against the back of her neck, my nose full of her scent—vanilla with a hint of oranges—my arms cradled around her with no space left between us.
I didn’t expect to have such a visceral reaction to being home again, especially while lying in this bed alone. It almost feels like I never left.
Almost. Until I remember what I’ve been doing the last three years, what I’ve done . . . It’s a life I can never drag anyone into much less my mom or Delilah. Not like she’s an option anyway, considering she’s married.
I get up and squat down next to the mattress. Lifting it, I dig around a few dirty magazines until I find what I’m looking for. The blinds are cracked open enough to let a little moonlight drift inside the small room. I lie back down and hold the photo above me. Those little summer dresses Delilah wore back then drove me wild.
Easy access is the term that comes to mind, but it wasn’t like that with us. She was never easy in my eyes . . .
Every day our sophomore year Cole, Billy, Daryl, and I followed the Noelle sisters and the other cheerleaders from the high school to the diner downtown. We never talked to them as we ate burgers and drank milkshakes, but boy, they were pretty. Easy on the eyes was an understatement. The brightest star in our country corner of heaven was Delilah Rae Noelle.
I’d catch her eyes on me when she thought I wasn’t looking. She was a straight-up distraction during football season, but man, she did that short skirt justice.
. . . By seventeen we were having sex, but every time I lay down with her, I felt air leave my lungs and my heart beat faster. She took my breath away.
I’m not sure how it got out of hand so fast. Four years, almost to the day we started dating, we were breaking up. Junior year in high school to junior year in college. Football season. One minute we were fighting about me getting a full ride scholarship to a state university and transferring the next semester, and then she
was walking back to town with me driving behind her, begging her to get back in the truck.
She never did.
That whole situation was a clusterfuck. It didn’t matter how many times I called her, texted, or stopped by her house; she shut me out. As a last resort, I poured my heart into a letter I never had the fucking nerve to send. Billy brought the beers. The letter became a part of the night when I poured beer on it and threw a match on top. I watched it burn, like I was watching my heart catch fire. The ashes floated toward the sky, and I wished the pain I felt inside would go along with it.
I was almost convinced I could move on from loving her, but four years isn’t easily forgotten, especially in a small town where everything held a memory of happier times.
On a cold day just before New Year’s Eve, almost three months after the worst day of my life, I detoured by her daddy’s farm in one last sad attempt to talk to her.
I then realized why my best friend had been too busy to hang out. Cole Cutler’s truck was parked proudly in front of her house. I’d been wondering why he hadn’t returned my calls, and why he wasn’t hanging out with the guys when we went out. He never showed up for our Sunday fishing trips. It was all too clear. Cutler also got called out in football practice for unnecessary roughness against the quarterback—aka me.
Every guy loved the Noelle girls. By our junior year, Daryl had the gumption to ask one out every day on that walk from the diner before we all split off in different directions to head home. “Might today be the day that the beautiful Delilah Rae will accept my offer of a movie and a drive over to Kerbyville?”
Every day the girls giggled. Shelby Noelle was never shy and was happy to smart back. “You know, Daryl, if you put this much effort into playing football as you do begging my sister to go out with you, you might make first string.”
Cole hit his shoulder. “She’s got your number, Satters. Step aside and watch the master.”
. . . I never confronted him. I didn’t get the chance. They made their couple debut on a Friday night at Red River, even though we had told each other how much we loved each other and would always love each other. Even though she never allowed me to see her and apologize and sort out what-the-fuck ever happened that night. There she was. Forget Cole and him fucking over his best friend while trying to fuck his girlfriend. Despite all that, she walked into Red River with him. Her eyes found mine the minute she showed up and mine found Cole’s. McGilley is strict on the no-fighting rule, but I was the only one thrown out that night.
My best frie—former best friend—stood there with blood running from his nose and a new black eye to match his dirty deeds. I sat in my truck parked across the street for thirty minutes, watching him and Delilah argue on the sidewalk. Guess the honeymoon phase of their courtship had already worn off.
From what I heard from Billy the next day, she walked home from the bar that night. But Cole’s truck was back on that farm the next night when I drove by as if I had business out in the middle of nowhere.
It was strange to think about us graduating high school together and starting college as a solid group of friends. Now as juniors we were divided and broken beyond repair. I headed off to college a few days later, ready to start training with my new team and determined to forget how good she felt in my arms. I tried to forget how my sheets used to smell of her and how our bodies were made for each other.
But coming back that next summer was tough. My mom needed help around the house with a new fence, so I came home. It was the longest summer of my life. I became a pro at avoiding all the places we’d frequented as a couple and adding the loss of one of my friends into the mix didn’t help matters. Our friends felt divided, so I bowed out most of the time to make it easier on them. For the life of me I couldn’t understand how Daryl and others took Cole’s side on this. They knew how much Delilah meant to me. They knew better than to touch another man’s girl.
Billy remained by my side, the only one I trusted. He hung out with me all summer. He didn’t talk about Delilah, but let me when I felt the need. Made me realize that it wasn’t about the quantity of friends I had, but the quality that mattered. We built my mom’s new fence with all the spare time we had to burn before I returned to college in the fall.
I said goodbye to my mom and almost took the long route out of town, passing by the Noelle farm. Almost.
Instead, I took Main and hit the highway. I was gone and had no plans of coming back. I would play college football on a scholarship and then get drafted into the NFL.
Sometimes life doesn’t go as planned.
Sometimes you don’t end up playing pro ball.
Sometimes you don’t get the girl.
I drop the photo on the nightstand, giving it more respect than being buried among my old stash of magazines. Maybe I should stop by the farm while I’m in town. Maybe I shouldn’t. I scrub my hands over my face and get up to check the window.
The moon is bright, lighting the backyard. I scan the area, and my gaze lands on the swing I use to sit on with Delilah late into the night. Sometimes you find yourself living a life you never expected.
Sometimes you wish you could go back and change the things that you regret the most.
I wiggle the lock on the window, testing its strength. The blinds are bent, but the seal is solid around the glass. The house is safe, but I’ll double-check it once my mom goes to bed.
Because sometimes you become a man who has an exit plan at all times to escape the life you’ve created.
3
Jason
Roosters crow in the distance as I walk around the back of my mom’s house inspecting it. She’s almost paid it off, and it’s going to be the place she lives for the rest of her life. I need to make sure it’s in good shape for the long haul. She’ll be fifty this year, and hopefully has another forty or fifty ahead of her.
My mom’s been the one constant in my life. When I graduated from college, though, I didn’t look back. Well, didn’t look back until thirty-six hours ago. I drove away from the Kingwood Manor at peace with my role in that situation. And I don’t really know what made me come back, not even after a good night’s sleep, which was one of the better nights I’ve had for a while.
I don’t understand why, but I’ll take it.
Kicking a loose board on the side of the house with the toe of my boot, I mark it to replace and move to the front. I’m wondering how long I can keep my mind occupied on tasks to do and not on the woman that’s lingering at the back of my mind.
Not long apparently. There’s a honeysuckle bush growing wild at the corner of the porch. Honeysuckle.
The flowers are wrapped in a band around her head. Delilah has spent the better part of an hour creating her floral halo and it was worth it. She’s beautiful. Hovering above my head, she’s upside down and smiling at me. “What are you doing, Jason?”
“Watching you.” While lying down, I reach up. “C’mere.”
She moves around and kneels next to me. Plucking a flower from the wreath in her hair, she says, “Want some nectar?”
“Thought you’d never offer.”
The flower is between her fingers when she starts to gently pull it away from the stem. I lift up and rest on my elbow and watch the satisfied smile appear. But when she offers the nectar to me, I say, “You taste it first and then I’ll taste you.”
My favorite pink—Delilah blush—covers her cheeks. She’s so enticing. I watch as the nectar touches her tongue and then she teases, her eyes on me, her lips tantalizing. I sit up and run my hand through the back of her hair and kiss her, tasting her honey mixed with the flower’s sweetness.
. . . The screech of the screen door cuts through the mire of my thoughts. “Are you hungry?” my mom calls.
“Sure am.”
“C’mon. I’ve made you some eggs and bacon.”
I add the front steps to my list. They need replacing before I leave again. Inside, I wash my hands and sit at the table in the kitchen. I’m served a
glass of apple juice, which makes me smile. I could really use a cup of coffee but don’t ask for it. My mom wants to serve her son, and I’m happy to play that part for a few days.
She sits down after setting a plate in front of me. I take a big bite and then look up. “Are you not eating?”
“I ate while I was cooking.” She smiles.
I’m about to take another bite, but it’s time. I set my fork down and swallow some juice. “Let’s do this so we can get past it.”
She’s always direct. I like it. I’ve been called direct. Guess I got it from her. “Are you going to see her?”
“You want me to drive over to the farm and just walk up those steps like I have business there? Ma, she’s married.”
“She’s not married.”
“What?” My neck jerks back.
“She’s not married, Jason.”
“But you told me once—”
“Well,” she starts while fiddling with the loose threads of the placemat, “she was then. Now she’s not.”
I get up for coffee. Apple juice isn’t strong enough for this conversation. After filling a mug, I lean on the counter, my palms pressing into the tile as I stare down at the stained grout. Mentally, I add this to the list of things to fix, right after I add Delilah Noelle. I don’t think that can be fixed by a visit to the hardware store, but it’s tempting to find out.
Looking back at my mom, I ask, “They’re separated?”
“No, divorced. Finalized two months back. She’s out on that farm by herself. He moved across town to a rental on the east side behind The BBQ Shack.”
“Why are you telling me this? I’m not going to be here long enough to spend my time thinking about the past.”
“I think you already are. I also think she might be the reason for this spontaneous visit.”
“She’s not.” I cross my arms over my chest and lean my ass against the counter, facing her. “I thought she was married.”
My mom shrugs. “Call it kismet. I think something inside you was unsettled, and we both know the best way to get settled is to visit the one that caused the uproar in the first place.”