LOVER COME BACK_An Unbelievable But True Love Story

by Scott Hildreth

  The city was primarily occupied by seasonal visitors. The average age of the permanent residents, according to Wikipedia, was sixty-seven. I checked the school system. Federally, the schools throughout the nation are ranked on a scale of one through ten, with ten being the best.

  The private schools in Wichita were the best the city had to offer. They were ranked a four. Even so, the cost of attending was fifteen thousand per student, per year.

  The public schools in Naples were a ten.

  When Jess returned from swimming, I put my phone away. “Do you like it here?” I asked.

  “At this hotel? Yeah, it’s really nice.”

  “No,” I said. “In Naples.”

  “Oh my Gosh. I love it. It’s like paradise.”

  “Would you want to live here?”

  Her face lit up. “Could we?”

  After Charlee’s birth, I decided I didn’t want Jess to work any longer. My career had advanced enough that she didn’t need to. I wanted to have both of us at home, playing an active part in raising our daughter.

  She soon began designing book covers for other authors. Then, she began designing graphics. Building websites. Designing and publishing coloring books. Before I knew it, she had a full-time career, and could barely keep up with what was in front of her.

  Thoughts of returning to the beach shot through me. Visions of playing in the sand with the kids, seeing them develop a love and respect for one of God’s greatest gifts, and watching Charlee hunt for sea shells ran through my mind.

  My heart raced.

  I straightened my posture and cleared my throat. “We both work from home,” I blurted. “We can live anywhere.”

  “What about the big kids?” she asked.

  They were all enrolled in college at Kansas State University. It would be Derek’s freshman year in the upcoming August.

  “They’re all away in college. This is when parents often leave. When the last kid goes to school.”

  “I’d love to live here,” she said. “Want to look at houses?”

  We spent the next week looking at homes. Our criteria was difficult to meet. A bedroom for each of the children, a yard, an in-ground pool, and we preferred the home be in one of the city’s many gated neighborhoods.

  During that week, we found not one home that qualified.

  Two weeks after we arrived, and two weeks before we planned to leave, the realtor called. According to him, he’d found the perfect place.

  We came to a stop at the manned guard shack. Thirty-foot palms lined either side of the professionally landscaped entrance. Two fresh water lakes were within view, complete with fountains.

  “Good morning,” the guard said. “What can I do for you?”

  “We’re here to look at a home.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’ll have to be accompanied by a realtor. When he or she gets here, I’ll gladly let you in.”

  We moved our SUV to the side and waited.

  “They’re not going to let us live in a place like this,” Jess said. “Look. There’s tennis courts and a clubhouse. This isn’t for tattooed authors that write smut.”

  A few minutes later, when we pulled in the driveway of the home, Jessica’s jaw was in her lap. Upon walking through the entrance, she gasped.

  I didn’t need to go any further. “Call her,” I said. “Tell her we’ll take it.”

  Jess spun around. “Can we afford to live here?”

  “Tell her we’ll take it,” I said. “Call her right now.”

  “There’s only one more step that you’ll need to take,” the realtor said.

  “What’s that?”

  “The neighborhood association will need to do a background check. If you pass the check, they’ll let you move in.”

  I glanced around the newly remodeled home. I was quite certain a background check wouldn’t produce favorable results.

  If nothing else, it was nice to dream.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  After returning home from our vacation, we waited for news from the neighborhood association, fearing the worst, but hoping for the best. Every morning, Jessica would check her email before she made her coffee, only to find that no contact had been made.

  Days passed. Then, a week.

  Then, another week.

  “They’re not going to let us move in, are they?”

  “If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.”

  “I really want to live there,” she said. “I love that house. The kids can come home from school and swim. Even in the winter. It’d be so nice.”

  I could care less about the home. I’d live in a coastal city in a cardboard box.

  “We’ll just have to see what happens,” I said.

  I put the finishing touches on book one of my new series, yet another book about a motorcycle club. This time, it was set thirty minutes north of San Diego, in Oceanside. The men would share my love for the beach, find God in the waves that washed ashore, and be well-endowed bikers.

  My readers, I told myself, would love it.

  Halfway through editing the manuscript, my phone beeped. I paused, picked it up, and swept my thumb across the screen. The email we’d been waiting for stared back at me.

  INBOX: Longshore Lakes Community

  With reluctance, I pressed my finger against the screen.

  Mr. Hildreth,

  Welcome to the neighborhood! We at Longshore Lakes pride ourselves…

  I didn’t read any further. I jumped from my seat and shouted.

  “Jess!”

  She was ten feet away.

  “Stop it, Scott. You scared the crap out of me. What?”

  “Pack your bags,” I said. “We’re moving to Florida!”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  I sat across from the foot of my father’s bed. My knee was bouncing a mile-a-minute as he watched the end of a baseball game.

  “Something bothering you, Son?” he asked without looking up.

  “No.”

  “I raised you,” he said, meeting my gaze as he spoke. “That knee starts doing that when you’re thinking. I don’t see your laptop in front of you, so my guess is something’s eating at ya.”

  “I need to talk to you when the game’s over.”

  He pointed the remote at the television and turned it off. “There. It’s over.”

  I looked at Jess, drew a long breath, and then met his curious gaze. “The kids really liked it in Florida.”

  “When are you moving?”

  I didn’t know how to continue.

  I stood. Jess came to my side. I looked at my mother and then my father. “We liked the city. The schools are second to none, and the crime rate is non-existent. I want to take the kids there for the same reasons you took us from San Diego. It’s what’s best for the family, Pop.”

  He pursed his lips and nodded. “I’m happy for you, Son.” He looked at Jess. “Congratulations.”

  “Are you okay with it?” I asked.

  “Would I like you to stay? Sure. I’ve grown kind of fond of you over the years, Son. But. I want what’s best for your kids no differently than you do. Your older kids are all in school, and there’s not much that ties you to this God forsaken city. Move somewhere that inspires you to write and do what you do best.”

  “So, it’s okay with you?”

  He sat up and opened his arms. After giving me a hug, he hugged Jess. When he released her, he gestured at Landon.

  “Lan-dino will be hunting snakes and lizards, just like you did. Mark my words.”

  The thought of leaving him was difficult to digest. I fought back tears. “Probably so.”

  He could see my emotional struggle.

  I could also see his.

  With our eyes locked, he forced a smile. “It’s what’s best, Son. Swallow that lump in your throat and give your mother a hug, I’ve got a ballgame to watch.”

  The next weekend, we told the big kids. Alec explained that the best time of his life was when he’d
spent spring break with his brother in the Gulf of Mexico, on the Texas coast. Derek agreed. Erin was excited for us and went on to explain that she wanted to move to Boston as soon as she graduated college.

  It was settled.

  We were moving.

  We signed the paperwork, sold our home furnishings, and packed the remainder of our belongings into a U-Haul trailer.

  With the trailer hooked to the back of Teddy’s truck, we began our journey. Teddy and Heather drove his truck. Jess, Charlee and Lily drove her SUV, and Landon and I drove my car.

  Three days later, we stepped through the threshold of our new home. I took photos, emailed them to my mother, and then called my father.

  “We made it,” I said.

  “Kids excited?” he asked.

  “You’re going to like this one,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  “There’s lizards everywhere. Landon’s hunting them. Already caught three.”

  “Chip off the ol’ block, isn’t he?”

  The phrase, of course, meant that Landon was like his father. I wasn’t Landon’s biological father, but in the time that had passed since Jess and I were together, he’d forgotten about his father.

  My father always said the ‘sperm donor’ didn’t deserve to claim the children, and that I was their true father. I agreed wholeheartedly.

  I gazed into the yard. Landon was chasing Lily through the grass with a lizard clutched tightly in his hand. I’d done exactly the same thing with my sister.

  “He sure is,” I said.

  “Son?” My father asked.

  “Yeah, Pop?”

  “I need to tell you something.”

  “Okay.”

  “When I die, I don’t want a funeral.”

  “Pop. That’s something we can discuss one day. We don’t need to do it now.”

  “Promise me.”

  “Pop…”

  “Promise me, Son. I know if you do, you’ll honor it. No funeral. I want to be cremated. Immediately, too. I don’t want anyone looking at my dead ass.”

  “Pop…”

  “Promise me, Son.”

  I sighed. “Okay. When you die, no funeral. Cremated immediately, with no one looking at ya.”

  “Alright. Now that we’re done with that, let’s see. Oh, your mother and I celebrate our fifty-ninth in two weeks. Long time to be married to one woman, isn’t it?”

  “Sure is Pop. Congratulations. What are you two planning? Big Scrabble game?”

  “Nope. Homemade dinner for two.”

  “She catering it in?”

  “No. I’m going home.”

  I jumped up. It had only been three days since I’d seen him, and I knew they hadn’t fixed his knee in that time. At least I thought they hadn’t.

  “They get your knee fixed?”

  “Fuck these dip-shits. I’m done waiting. I walked to the end of the hallway yesterday. That’s what they required, so that’s what I gave ‘em. They’re working on my paperwork right now.”

  “Well, good for you. I’m proud of you, Pop.”

  “I’m proud of you, too, Son. Give Jess my best. I’ve got shit to do, I can’t sit here and yack all day. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Talk to you soon, Pop.”

  “I love you, Son.”

  “Love you, too, Pop. Tell mom I love her.”

  The following Sunday, we talked. He was at home, right where he belonged. Midway through my current novel, HARD, he gave praise for what he’d read. The bikers in the group were vigilantes. They took the law into their own hands and administered punishment as they saw necessary.

  I’d dedicated the book to a woman I didn’t know. She was raped at Stanford University by a man who was then sentenced by the judge to sixty days in jail. I explained in the dedication that I couldn’t correct what happened, but I could acknowledge her being raped twice.

  Once by the man, and once again by the court.

  It sickened my father that the judicial system could sentence him to sixty days in jail, and me to three years in a maximum security federal prison.

  We ended the call with me explaining that I was going to Hollywood, and then Las Vegas for two back-to-back book signings the following weekend.

  “You’ve come a long way, Son. I remember when you said you’d never do a book signing.”

  “Jess made me.”

  “Career took off after that, huh?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Kind of, my ass. Give credit where credit’s due, dip-shit. She’s a good woman.”

  Charlee was crawling through the house giggling, and Jess was chasing her playfully. I glanced at them, smiled, and then agreed.

  “She sure is, Pop.”

  “Give her and the kids my best. I’ve got an anniversary to plan. I’ll talk to you soon, Son. Have fun in Hollywood.”

  “Will do, Pop.”

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  We stayed in the historic Roosevelt Hotel on Hollywood Boulevard. The book signing was a huge success. We were scheduled to leave in a rental car the following morning. Four days of mingling with fans and readers in Vegas would follow before the book signing began at Planet Hollywood.

  My father was right. I’d come a long way since I wrote my first book. I’d gone from writing good stories that were terribly written to writing great stories that were well-written. My count, at that time, was forty full-length novels. I yearned to reach a point that I wrote great stories that were greatly written.

  Keeping my nose to the grindstone was the recipe for success, according to my father. Maintaining a humble attitude. Listening to those who were perceived as better than me. Learning from my mistakes. Practicing humility.

  Following the Hollywood signing, Jess and I fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  I woke up, confused. My phone was ringing. I looked at my watch. It was four am. I leaned to the side, lifted my phone from the nightstand, and looked at the screen.

  It was my sister.

  With reluctance, I answered the phone.

  It was silent.

  “Amy?”

  “Just a minute,” she said.

  I didn’t like the emotion in her voice.

  She cleared her throat. “Dad died, Scott…”

  She continued, but I didn’t hear a word. I didn’t sit up. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I couldn’t.

  I simply stared at the ceiling.

  “He lived long enough to celebrate their anniversary, and then he died. He came home to die. He didn’t want to do it in that care home. His heart quit in the middle of the night. Mom found him on the floor beside his chair. Matt went over and picked him up and put him back in it. She didn’t want the ambulance attendants to see him on the floor.”

  I stared.

  “He said there’d be no funeral. Said he made you promise. He told mom you promised. Did you promise him, Scott?”

  I managed to respond. “I did,” I whispered.

  “That grumpy prick,” she said with a laugh. “He hated the celebration of death, just like you hate the celebration of birthdays.”

  Laying in the dark beside a sleeping Jess, I swallowed hard and nodded, even though I knew my sister couldn’t see me.

  “You’ve got a signing in Vegas, don’t you?”

  “I’ll be home tomorrow,” I whispered, being cautious not to wake Jess.

  “You better go to that signing,” Amy said. “You said you’d be there. You gave your word. If dad thought you went back on your word, he’d throw a fit.”

  She was right. My father was a man of his word. I, too, was a man of mine.

  I sighed. “You’re right.”

  “He told mom he wanted you to write the eulogy. Can you do that?”

  “I can.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you go. Enjoy the signing as much as you can. Call mom tomorrow once it’s morning there. It’s six am here, right now.”

  “I will.”

  “I’m sorry, Scott.”


  “Me, too.”

  She hung up.

  I dropped my phone onto my chest. I was numb. He was my father, but he was also my best friend.

  Silently, I stared at the ceiling.

  “Was that your phone?” Jess asked, her voice hinting that she was half asleep and half awake.

  “It was.”

  “Who was it?” she asked.

  I didn’t want to say. I knew if I did, she’d figure something was wrong. I wasn’t ready to talk about it.

  “Who was it?” she asked again.

  “Amy,” I said.

  She sat up, turned on the light, and looked at me.

  I stared at the ceiling. I couldn’t do anything else.

  “Scott?”

  I stared.

  “Scott?”

  I looked at her.

  She saw it in my face.

  Her face contorted. “No.” She sucked a breath. “No!”

  I nodded.

  “Oh my God.” She gasped. “No!”

  She collapsed at my side, blubbering and crying against my chest. I held her in my arms, keeping my eyes fixed on the ceiling. After a few minutes, she sat up.

  “I’ll need to get this stuff packed so we can fly back there.”

  I coughed a laugh. “We’re going to the Vegas signing.”

  “What?” she said. “We can’t. Your father just died.”

  “If we don’t go to that signing, he’ll be glaring down at us from heaven with fire in his eyes.”

  She laughed and cried at the same time. “That sounds like your dad.”

  I sat up.

  The world around me collapsed.

  I looked at Jess.

  She opened her arms. I leaned against her. “He was a good man,” I said.

  “He was,” she said. “And, he raised a greater man.”

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  In the months that followed my father’s death, I couldn’t write. I doubted I would ever publish another novel. I’d never suffered from writer’s block, but I was suffering from something, that much I was sure of. I sat on the back deck on Sundays and stared at my phone.