Home is a Long Time Ago

by William F Lee

  The meeting ends, Sean leaves Barto in his office, and he drives to see his boyhood home, still standing after the battering it took from the storm years ago. It has been kept in excellent condition by Pete, with its one extraordinary tenant. She is the widow woman, Anna Bertonelli. She has been the sole renter since Sean left in 1952. Ponzio has spoken of her with affection many times since the mid-sixties which has led Sean to believe that the two have something going. They are both widowed, about the same age, and both Italian.

  Having called ahead from Barto's office, Sean stops at the cottage. Anna greets him with a hug at the door as if she has known him forever. In a way she has and invites him in with a guiding hand. She is a short woman, barely five feet, not thin but lean, the deep tan of a person spending time in the sun. Strands of grey, like frosting, in her black hair. Thin nose and lips but a wide grin. She encourages him to wander through the cottage encapsulating his youth although much has changed. He spends several moments in his old room, now a guest bedroom and not as sparsely furnished or decorated. He remembers only his old hand-finished bed and chest of drawers. Both taken down with paint remover, then sanded and varnished. They're gone now. And even more time in the kitchen, where he mutters, "A lot of great meals and talks with my Dad in here. Lots of lamb, lots of lamb. And of course some fresh fish, especially on Fridays." Anna listens to his meandering remembrances and easily understands Sean's mind drifting back to his youth. She asks, "Mister Gallagher, do you intend to--"

  "Anna, may I call you, Anna?" he interrupts.

  "Yes, of course. Peter has told me much of you. I feel as if I have known you as long as he." She has a noticeable accent when she speaks. Not all the time, only when she's nervous or under stress, and she's nervous now meeting Sean for the first time after years of stories from Ponzio.

  "Anna, I think I know where you're going. I don't know what I'm going to do with the cottage. I do know that I have nothing planned other than leaving things the way they are until the end of the year, for sure. Probably longer. And I give you my word, beyond the bounds of the lease, I will let you know way, way in advance of any plans to change. Okay?"

  "Of course. Thank you. As I said, Peter talks of you often. You mean everything to him. You're likea son to him. I've never seen the man as happy as he's been these last several weeks. Ahhh, Mamma Mia, hesa been ranting on and on what you and he will do. I hope you don't steal him away from me."

  "Ahhh, I see, Anna. It sounds as if you have plans of your own for my dear, old friend."

  Much calmer now, she says, "Actually, not just me. We. Both of us are widow people and have much in common, and we have found love for a second time in life. That is precious. But, I must stop talking since Peter wants to be the one who tells you. Please, don't say anything to Peter that we've talked. Promise?"

  "Promise." And with that Sean gives Anna a warm yet polite hug. "I promise," reiterating his vow. Then leaves and as is so natural to him, strides purposely to his pick-up.

  She calls from the doorway, "Benvenuto a Harvey Cedars." Then louder as the distance increases, "Oh, and Peter has a big job today. He won't be back until near dark."

  "Okay, I'll meet him at the dock." He waves and climbs into his pick-up and drives up to the historical old lighthouse at the north end of the island. There he turns around and slowly drives the length of this spit of land called Long Beach Island. Through Harvey Cedars again, south through Surf City, and Ship Bottom and even further south to North Beach Haven and Beach Haven. It's all changed in one sense, reality; but not at all in some. It's still the Jersey shore. Still has the same smells and the freshness of its ocean breeze. He feels good, rejuvenated, even if the Corps might not think of him as able-bodied.

  His past journey has been long and eventful. From his Marine recruit training at Parris Island, South Carolina, to the end in San Diego. Early on, Korea and wounded for the first time. The anguish of remembrances, lost friends and comrades in the two-company raid and the pain being wounded badly in the arms and legs. Then back on line again until the cease fire, and the end. No one likes war, especially those that actually do the fighting. To them it has no glory, only hardship and death. Sean was nineteen years of age then, but life and experiences made it seem like he was going on twenty-six.

  Then back to Pendleton and as a rule his time spent in reconnaissance units. Then was selected for a commissioning program, an officer, which meant time on the east coast. Then once commissioned as a Lieutenant, back to the west coast and Recon. Seven years raced pass as a Lieutenant and Captain and suddenly back to war. This time in Vietnam. Three tours, three times wounded, and finally back to California. Before he knew it, twenty years was gone. He was officially retired but felt cashiered. Worthy but unworthy. Proud but pissed. Plenty left but left alone.

  Retired and finished with war, he's single. Alone. Except for the old man. And now, home to begin a new life. He mutters, "Where did it go? Time sped by so fast it seems it didn't exist, except for the scars." He pauses and in his mind repeats his earlier thoughts of war. It's nasty. Dirty. No one realizes how so unless they have been there. And, it diminishes the humanity in a person, and they never in truth fully recover. It is an inner scar, on the soul.

  Sean will share his new life with the old man; perhaps with Rachael if she returns and settles. When he is honest with himself, he can't see her staying in the Cedars. Not a fast enough track for her, regardless of how they have melded. If not Rachael, possibly no one. That's possible. More than possible. I'm not old, but I'm damn sure not a spring chicken any more. Thirty-seven came around quicker than a cold beer turns to sweat on a hot day.

  His nomadic thoughts while driving have erased his actual journey, and he finds himself at the marina where Pete has his boat slip. It's changed in appearance. A large marina; rows of docks; masses of slips now, but the smells are the same. Nothing really changes; it's still fishermen, boat people and salt air with the tang of the marshes tantalizing the nostrils. It's near dark, and he sees Pete's boat lumbering in to the marina. He recognizes it from pictures Pete sent him years ago. He had loaned Pete half of the money so he could purchase it after the storm took his old boat. Sean has continually found ways to stall Pete from repaying him. Now they will be partners in two business ventures. And as a safety valve, he'll have the properties his dad left him.

  He'll soon get to greet Pete after all these years . . . since 1952. Nineteen years. A life time to some, now a fleeting moment to Sean. It will be like a homecoming, much like a father and son reuniting. They will eat and spend the evening catching up and going over their plans for the Belle Maria II, the Matthews boat Sean intends to purchase tomorrow assuming all goes well, and the restaurant they will purchase. Sean has some definite plans in mind for the restaurant. Bigger than perhaps Pete is envisioning.

  Sean glances at his watch. Rachael's probably just getting to Paris about now. Wonder what she's thinking. I wish she were here, I might need a companion.

  He pauses, thinking of her earlier mention of her trip. She's got more business there than meets the eye. Another guy . . . none in New York but someone in Paris. . . I think. It's probably him or me, and there or here.

  He takes a deep breath, says aloud, "Hell, I'm home. At last."

  CHAPTER 11

  "I can't wait to dock! Can't wait to see my boy. Tell him about Anna and me. He'll be happy for me; for both of us. And we need to get to work. We have much to do. What is that old saying he always spouted? Oh yeah. 'Plan your work and work your plan.' And he always did, even as a boy. He always will, I suppose." Pete pauses, the smile gradually leaves his face. He stares grimly into the evening sky and mutters, "And get him away from that Satan worshiper."

  "Hey, Mister Pete. Who you talkin' to up here?" The boy, Colton, has climbed up to the bridge to find out when they will be turning about and heading for home. They have been out in deep water today going after kingfish, and as is sometimes the case they load up on sea bass when the kings aren't running
good. Both catches are okay with the anglers. . .besides, the customers are worn out from the sea air, a scorching sun, and dragging up sea bass from near the bottom, two, three at a time.

  He smiles at the boy. "To myself, Colt. Old men do that when they're happy, and today is the best day of my life. My boy is coming home. In fact, he's probably already here and at the dock waiting."

  "Well, that's great Mister Pete but you need to be careful about talking to yourself. They put people in the booby hatch for doing that."

  "Not out here they won't. I'm a ship's Captain and can do anything I want at sea. Well, just about anything but for damn sure I can talk to myself. No arguments. And no sass." He laughs.

  "You're right about that, Mister Pete." He stops talking as he sees the old man turn it hard-over to port and head through the strait at the Barnegat Light. They have made good time. The sea was calm and now the bay is like glass. The wind has long since settled for the night, for it too must sleep on occasion.

  "Colt, let our guests know we're headin' in, and see to cleaning the catch. Save a couple bass fillets for you and your mom. And three for me. The customers won't mind."

  "Aye, sir. Will do." The boy scampers down the ladder and skips aft to get about his chores.

  The old man is smiling. A broad grin shows his wine stained teeth but they don't detract from his sparkling yet misty dark brown eyes. He hums a meaningless old sea ditty to himself, handed down by Gloucester fishermen. His mind at work, ditty be damned, thinking about all the years he waited. Worried. Fretted. And now it is over, except conceivably for Satan's temptress. He mutters, "Just want to give him a big hug when I see him and let out all my joy. Then we'll get to work. I will marry Anna and he will be my best man, and perhaps even give my Anna away. Then, I will settle in and watch God work his plan." In his excitement after turning out of the channel and towards the marina he has unintentionally inched the throttles forward.

  The boy's head pops up barely over the edge of the deck on the fly bridge. Barely enough to see as he stands on the ladder. "Hey, Mister Pete, we're makin' a wake. Be careful."

  "Ah, yes. Was lost in my thoughts. Perhaps you are right, they should put me away." He eases back the throttles. No sense getting a warning from the marina. He knows better and always scowls and shouts Italian profanities at the summer boaters when they violate the no-wake regulations.

  * * *

  Chuck Barto is excited. It's been a good day for his business and will be even better on the morrow what with Sean Gallagher about to purchase a huge boat and the old bar and grill down near the marina. And although Gallagher won't let him arrange a parade and all the trappings to welcome him home, Sean has agreed to meet with the Chamber and that's enough of a feather in Barto's Harvey Cedars cap. The town is booming. Sitting on the verge of explosive growth what with all the dune repair and rebuilding, the planting of dune grass, and the installation of the wooden wind fences on the dunes to help maintain their stability. And of course the sewer system finally being finished. Property values will streak skyward like rockets on the Fourth of July. At any rate, Chuck Barto is all smiles as he bounces up the steps to Holli's Real Estate and Property Management firm (GHC Co.). He enters, smiles at the receptionist, says, "Hi, Ellie. Is she in?" Before Ellie can answer, Barto is at the door to Holli Callahan's office. He half bellows, "Great day for the town. He's here and about to make a wake."

  Although she knows exactly who and what Chuck Barto is talking about, Holli asks with an attitude, "Who's here? And where is, here?"

  "You know who. I announced it at the meeting. Major Sean Padraig Gallagher is in town. What a name. What a life he's lived. It's like a storybook, a movie or something. Anyway, he arrived today. Already picked up his truck. Got all his financial dealings in order. Ready to spend a big chunk of cash here in town. By golly, he's going to brighten up this ol' town."

  "Yes, I remember. The meeting. The one where, as you recall, I fell ill. Be that as it may, I wouldn't forget if I were you, Charles, that I have more than a few developments going on at present. And also that I have my antique shop in town and will be opening a small summer clothing store in town next week. And that I, and this town, and the world, haven't been standing idly by all this time waiting for the conquering hero to return. Let alone mentioning whose tax dollars you've been spending as Mayor. Not his."

  "I know, Gracie."

  "Charles Barto, you know I despise that nickname. It's Holli, dammit or Ms. Callahan, and if you've nothing else, I need to get down to the dock and pick up Colton. I drove him to work this morning."

  "Well, good. Then you can meet the Major and welcome him to town also. He's going down there to meet the old man when he comes in."

  "Well, on second thought, that old man can bring Colton home. I do have some shopping to do." She pauses, reflects for a second, then continues. "No, I'll pick up Colt. Best I get on with it. Besides, I wouldn't recognize the man if I tripped over him. And, I have to get dinner ready for my son. He'll be famished tonight after the long day they've had out there. The salt air and ocean always makes him hungry." She pats Barto on the arm as she brushes past him. Looks at her receptionist and says, "Ellie, please lock up for me tonight. I'll see you in the morning." She hurries out the door not even closing it behind her, and is somewhere between a trot and a lope by the time she reaches her car.

  Chuck Barto stares after her. Shakes his head, mutters, "That woman, she needs a--"

  Ellie finishes for him, "A man." Chuck Barto shrugs. Ellie adds, "She thinks only of work, of making money, and of course, Colt." She raises her eyebrows, "Colton, Colton, Colton. Colt. Colt. Colt. She hasn't had a date since I've known her. All work and no . . . never mind, Chuck. Take me to dinner and then lose me forever, or whatever that line is."

  * * *

  G. Holli Callahan, or in reality, Grace O'Riley, is beginning to not know who she is these last few days. She sits in her car in the parking lot and watches Chuck Barto and Ellie leave her office, hand-in-hand, laughing. They amble up the street, off to wherever or whatever. Probably prattling on about the news. The news. Good Lord, what am I going to do? My life is spinning out of control.

  Holli's pretense of not knowing who Chuck Barto was talking about when he whirled into her office may have fooled him. Possibly Ellie as well. It did nothing for Holli but to cause her blood to race through her body, her heart beating louder than kettle drums at a symphony. Then of course, she had seen Sean Gallagher earlier today as he was leaving his meeting at the bank with Barto.

  It was a bit too much of a distance to get a good look at him but she knew that blond hair, that purposeful stride, and the air of confidence about the man. He had that same aura about him when he was eighteen, a Marine sergeant. Now he's larger and stronger appearing. She was positive she could see his blue eyes piercing through the Harvey Cedars salt air as he glanced about, like he did years ago. Always watching. Always on alert. Beside all that, her heart had virtually jumped out of her body. Like it is now, and like it was when she first saw him at the Marine Memorial Club in downtown Los Angeles, all those years ago. Good God he was gorgeous. And my Colt looks just like him.

  In English, instead of in the "Irish", she mutters an old saying, "May the cat eat you and the devil eat the cat." She turns the key and starts the car. Let's out a breath. I don't mean that. Goodness.

  Grace or Holli, O'Riley or Callahan is now a beautiful and certainly Irish woman. Thick auburn hair. Fair skin. Slender nose. And the classic beauty artists search for. Soft lips, not too thick or thin, and enough curves to her breasts to entice some lover. Like a young Sean. Or now, any man strong enough and with a passion for a still sassy Irish lass.

  She shifts the car into gear and eases out onto the road. Nonetheless her mind still wanders. She remembers what the young Sergeant said to her the first evening they met. He gazed into her eyes on the dance floor and whispered, "Your eyes are grayish blue, like a mist covering a field of heather, possibly on the Irish highlan
ds." She had smiled and blushed then, and he made matters worse by adding, "I don't think I can ever forget your eyes."

  She trembles at the thought as she drives. My God. Why is this happening?

  A horn blares. She swerves back into her lane. Gathers herself and heads to the dock to pickup Colt.

  * * *

  The old man sees Sean standing at the dock. As Pete throttles back, he is bursting with excitement. His ruddy complexion flushes red, making his leathery skin brighter than Mars on a clear night. A broad grin stretches across his face, eyes glistening with joy. He says aloud, "My boy is home . . .from a long time ago. I can hardly wait."

  Pete brings the Belle Maria II about, and maneuvers her into the slip, stern first. Colton scampers along the aft end, leaps onto the dock and begins tying off the boat. Then up to the bow, doing the same. He glances at the man standing on the dock, mutters, "Damn, he's big. Hard lookin' dude." The man stares at him. Colton nods an acknowledgement of his presence, turns and leaps back aboard and goes about his chores.

  The old man looks down from the fly bridge. Waves and slides down the ladder, both feet on either side of the hand rails, until his rubber soled boots strike the aft deck.

  "He's home. Thank you, Lord. Thank you."

  Workin' the plan, Lord.

  CHAPTER 12

  Sean is standing dockside waving as the old man brings the Belle Maria II into the slip. When he hears the engines shut down, Sean pops to attention, salutes the old man and shouts, "Well done, you old coot."

  Pete has seen and heard everything but is sliding down the ladder from the bridge as expertly as a fireman down a pole. The boy is handling the lines and tying her fast, first aft, then forward. He glances at Sean again, is startled for a moment. It's like looking into the future. A time warp. After the momentary shock, Colt nods precariously and goes about his work of helping the customers in debarking and hauling their gear and catch ashore to their parked cars.