Home is a Long Time Ago

by William F Lee

  "Okay, you have my word, and you know I keep my word, right?"

  "Right, and sometimes that's not the best course of action."

  Pete starts to respond. Sean holds up his hand, palm outward. "Just listen." Then he tells Pete of his experience this morning with Grace. By the time he's done, his eyes have turned steely. He finishes with, "Pete, you should have told me. The moment you suspected. When you knew. Should have told me, Pete. It was that important. That vital. You should have written, called, whatever was the quickest or easiest. You should have told me, dammit."

  Pete drops his head. Actually it had been slowly sinking or sagging as Sean was telling him of the morning's event. The final drop of the head, chin resting on his chest is timed with the "dammit". Pete looks up, tears leaking down his cheeks. Lower lip quivering ever so slightly. He wipes the tears away with his forearms. "Sean, I gave my word."

  "I know that, Ponzio. But what's more important? Your word or my life? Or Grace's? Or the boy's?"

  "I always keep my word."

  "Ponzio, George was dead. Is dead. We're alive."

  The old man sits, weeping. "Sean, you're right. I should have, but I gave my word to George. Just days before the storm. Then he was gone. And my Maria. I couldn't break my word. I didn't think . . . wasn't thinking straight. My word, Sean."

  "Did Maria know?"

  "Yes."

  "Does Anna know?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you broke your word, but not to me. And who needed to know most of all, Pete? Them, or me? Or Grace, or the boy?"

  Pete is openly weeping. Body shaking in his large chair. Head in his hands with elbows propped on his knees. Sean gets up, walks to the side of the old man, squats down and puts his arm around his shoulders. "Okay, Pete. Okay. Enough said. No more secrets from one another. We've cleared the air. Now it's time to resolve the matter."

  Pete nods an affirmative. Sean hugs him tightly. Releases, pats him on the shoulders and says, "I don't know what I would have done had I known. Don't know for sure what Grace would have done, but I can guess. Hell, I'm not sure what will happen now. I do know that the boy has a right to know, and Grace is going to tell him. Possibly this evening, or later tonight. Not sure. But he will most likely know before the sun sets tomorrow."

  Pete looks up. Wipes away the last tears. Croaks, "Then what?"

  "Well, I will talk with the boy after Grace does." He pauses for a moment. "Then I'll find out where we are. We, meaning the boy and me. Then where Grace and I are, I guess. After that, life will move on in some fashion. I hope the boy, and Grace, will forgive me."

  "They will. It's God's plan."

  "Pete, if it is, or whatever is God's plan, let Him tell me in whatever fashion is His choice, or style, or whatever. You can pray, but stay out of it. Deal?"

  "Deal, but if God--"

  "Pete!"

  "I'll stay out of it."

  "And?"

  "I'll tell you whatever I know or am thinkin'"

  "Good."

  "Most of the time."

  "All of the time if it concerns me." Sean slaps him on the shoulder and adds, "Let's go over to the restaurant and see if that bartender has something stronger. And we need to take a good look around the restaurant and get comfortable with where we are. The opening is only days away. As is your wedding."

  Pete gets up, wipes his eyes once again. Puts his arm around Sean's shoulders, says, "Son, I love you. Didn't ever mean to hurt you."

  "I know, Pete. And I love you... like a father. Like my dad."

  They clamber down the ladder, then each put their arms around the other's shoulder, and they amble towards Gallagher's, chattering away.

  * * *

  After a drink at the restaurant, and a walk-through, Pete and Sean part for the evening. Pete apologizes once again, and while doing so he also tells Sean how happy he is that it is all out in the open, or will be soon. And how he will pray that it works out for the three of them. Then he smiles, says, "Oh, boy. I can see the five of us having a great time. Fishin'. At the beach. At the restaurant. Just livin' . . . laughin'"

  Sean smiles. "Pete, not so fast. We'll see what life has in store. Don't you go getting your hopes too high. This is going to be a heavy blow to the boy. It's already been a severe blow to Grace. I hope not mortal. And, I'm . . . I'm stunned to say the least."

  "It'll work out. God will--"

  "Pete."

  "Got it. See you in the morning. Can I tell Anna?"

  "Yes, but please ensure that she, and you, do not say a word to anyone. Not a hint. Not a smile. Nothing. Until Grace, then I, have talked with Colton."

  "Call him, Colt. He likes that better."

  "Okay, Colt. Promise? Your word?"

  "My word." And Pete strides away for his pick-up, mumbling to himself, and gives not one, but two fist pumps toward the ground as he goes.

  Sean watches. Can't deny him that. Well . . . Shouts, "Pete, don't--"

  The old man nods his head, throws out his arms in the baseball safe gesture.

  Sean grins, then as he passes the power pole next to his boat the phone rings. He picks it up, says, "Wanderer, Sean Gallagher."

  "Sean, it's Grace. Are you alone?"

  "Yeah. Standing on the dock. What's wrong?"

  "Well, nothing serious, but first, did you give Colt your truck?"

  "Pick-up. Yes, of course. As you asked and he's left for home. I hope."

  "Okay, good. Well, something did come up but not a huge problem. I forgot I have a Chamber meeting this evening. I won't be able to keep our dinner date, but--"

  "Grace, we have--"

  "I know. Listen, it'll work out just fine. I'll come over after the meeting. Colt knows I have the meeting, plus I will leave him a note to remind him. So, there is no need for me to tell him where I am going. At least not just yet. We can still get together and talk this out."

  "Okay. When do you plan on telling, Colton?"

  "I think you should start calling him Colt. Everyone does. Anyway, it sounds warmer and may help when you two talk. Don't ya think?"

  "Yeah, you're probably right. I will. So, when?"

  "I'm not sure. Later tonight. Tomorrow morning. Or later tomorrow. We'll talk about it tonight. Okay?"

  "Yep. It's up to you, but I wouldn't wait too long. I had a talk with Pete this evening. He of course knew, but he has the whole story now. He took it pretty hard. He's hurt. I cut him deep with my remarks. But, he's promised to keep a lid on it until I, we, say something."

  "What about Anna?"

  "He asked and I told him he could tell her. But she knew anyway, at least knew what Pete was thinking. And Maria before her. Have to assume they told no one. If they had, you would have known it by now for sure. Anyway, he promised he'd ensure she will keep quiet. I trust Anna. She's a wise ol' gal."

  "Okay. See you about eight-thirty or nine. Have a scotch ready. Weak, lots of ice."

  "It will be waiting, as will I."

  "Sean, my heart is pounding." And she is gone.

  He looks at the silent instrument. Puts it back on the hook and closes the box. Takes a step. It rings again. He opens the lid, lifts the receiver from its hook, and before he can utter a word, he hears, "Sean, it's Rachael. I'm sorry. So sorry. I'm coming over. We need to talk. I love you." Another click. He looks at it again. Puts it back in the box. Waits. Shakes his head after a few moments and it doesn't ring. Mutters, "Busy day." Checks his watch, it's already six-thirty. Slams the lid closed.

  Timing is everything, my friend. And so far, mine ain't good.

  He climbs aboard his boat, hustling to the shower to clean up, change, and have a drink himself. Something stronger than a cold beer.

  CHAPTER 33

  Colton, unlike many teenagers, does exactly as he is told. He drives Sean's truck directly home. His arrival, different only in that he didn't arrive by bike, is signaled by his normal shout, "Hi, Mom. I'm home." When he hears no reply, he shouts again as he wanders into the kitchen and se
es the note on the table. It tells him that she is at a Chamber meeting and to warm the Chicken Fettuccine that's in the fridge at 350 degrees in the oven for about fifteen minutes. The note goes on to say that she will be home late but for him to stay up because she has something important to talk to him about. It's signed, "Love, Mom," with a smiley face. When leaving a note, she always draws the face, and ordinarily a smiley one. On occasion when she is upset, it might be a stern or straight-mouthed face or one with the mouth turned down. These are infrequent because he is a good kid.

  Colt heats the fettuccine and as usual heaps roughly half of the dish onto his. Shovels it in his mouth on its passage to the ever burning furnace. This and another smaller helping along with two large glasses of cold milk. He hits the shower after cleaning up the kitchen, and dresses in khaki shorts and a Valley Forge Military Academy tee shirt that all the school jocks wear. Down the stairs two at a time and flops on the couch to watch TV. The NFL preseason has started and the New York Giants are playing; a must-see for him for several reasons. The Giants had nearly made the playoffs in '70 with a 9-5 record, and they have Fran Tarkenton returning at quarterback, his position. Colt is a scrambling QB as well and his last season at Valley Forge is coming up. A day is set aside this week for the football team members to report for physicals, draw uniforms and get dorm assignments. That is for those close enough to commute to the campus. Those that can't will do so the first day of training which is a week before classes start.

  * * *

  Also home is Pete, telling Anna all that has happened when he returned from fishing. At times he's excited, and depending on where he is in his rendition, remorseful, ashamed or bewildered. As Anna puts his dinner on the table Pete slides into the chair without stopping his animated explanations. Anna says, "Eat, relax and please don't talk with your mouth full, Ponzio. But tell me all of it. Every word. And no tears. You have done nothing wrong."

  Pete tries but can't stop a few tears from flowing nor can he talk in any manner other than an animated one. And sometimes with his mouth full. Anna listens intently as he repeats his entire conversation with Sean, verbatim. She rises in her chair when his voice goes up an octave or two, and she settles, slumps, when he becomes repentant. Tears in her eyes matching his.

  When he's finished she says, "Well, it is as you said. So, you should be happy. Of course he's also angry with you. He's hurt. But, he's probably over it already. Over being angry with you. Not the . . . the . . . the idea, the revelation. So, be happy. Joyful. I'm so overjoyed for you and Sean . . . and for Grace . . . and the boy. The boy, my goodness, he's going to have a real father. I could cry." She pauses, puts her hand to her forehead, "I think I will . . . some more." She does, whimpering not quite silently. Then says, sniffling, "It's God's plan that's working. Now let it alone, and just watch."

  "I will. I will. But, if--"

  "If nothing, Ponzio. You do and say nothing from here on out. You gave your word, as I give mine to you that I will say nothing. Righta, Ponzio?"

  "Yes, but--"

  "Nothing. Starting now. Now."

  "Yes. Yes."

  "Gooda, but Io non la penso cosi . . . I don't think so, but try reala hard."

  "I will. I will. This is good pasta. Can I have some more? And you, Anna darling, haven't touched a bite."

  * * *

  Sean has quickly showered and changed into tan slacks, a white polo shirt and loafers, no socks, and is sitting on the deck outside the master suite waiting for Rachael. He watches her pull into the lot, park, and half jog and stride purposefully toward the boat. He waves, and motions her up.

  Sean meets her in the salon area, they hug, and he asks, "C'mon, let's sit outside. The breeze is refreshing this evening."

  "Okay."

  "Can I get you something to drink?"

  "What are you having? I need something strong. How about a Martini, gin, with a ton of olives? I'm famished. Have you eaten?"

  Sean chuckles audibly, "Okay, a Martini it is with a truckload of olives. Can't break the habit, can you? God, I love you for it."

  "What? Do you, really?"

  "The multiple questions. A cute quirk. And to answer but not in a manner to bring on your wrath . . ." He smiles, "I'm having a glass of Chianti. Opened the bottle and it hit the spot. I did eat. Anna left a dish of macaroni and cheese, made with smoked cheddar and some bacon bits. Can't get enough, want some?"

  "Maybe, but just the Martini for now. You didn't answer the other question. Do you love me, for it or for any reason?"

  "Rach, c'mon. Let's get settled. I'll make that drink," and he leaves Rachael sitting at the deck table and goes to his bar in the suite's lounge. He leans over behind the bar getting what he needs and when he rises up after placing the jar of olives on the bar, he finds Rachael sitting on one of the two stools, gazing at him. "I thought we would sit outside?"

  "I feel more comfortable in here . . . warmer atmosphere and closer to the bedroom."

  As he mixes her drink, Sean says with a grin, "That sounds mischievous."

  "It was meant to . . . I thought maybe--"

  "Here's the best of my Martini's, and with four plump olives. A meal in itself." He comes from behind the bar and notices for the first time that Rachael has brought his glass of wine in from the table outside. "Are you sure you don't want to sit outside?"

  "Non, excuse the French, but here is more comfortable." She takes a sip, mocks a shiver, and says, "Excellent." Puts it down on the bar, sucks an olive off the plastic pick in a seductive fashion that few olives experience.

  Sean shakes his head and gives off a contained, sly grin. Like chrome from a trailer hitch. Raises his glass, says in Gaelic, "Slainte," and takes a sip. Then, propping his elbow on the bar top asks, "What's up? You mentioned we had to talk."

  Rachael gazes at him for several seconds, takes a large sip of the drink, sighs, turns to face him. "Sean, I apologize for my remarks and actions earlier. I was upset. Extremely upset. Way off base."

  "I know you were. I'm sorry. I--"

  "Please, this is difficult for me. Let me finish, please?"

  "Sure, I'm sorry. Go ahead," and as she plucks another olive off the pick with her lips, he smiles, "Please, I'm goin' to need a cold shower just watching you eat those olives," and laughs.

  Rachael smiles, says, "For now. But no promises for later," and a coy grin eases across her face. Holds it for a moment. Then in another sensuous movement of lips and mouth, slowly sucks the pimiento from the olive, then the olive itself. Smiles again, then continues, "Anyway. Sean, as I said, I apologize. I was upset. I think I love you, and I need to know where we stand. How you feel, now. I know what I feel and believe when we make love, but that is one thing. Where are we?"

  "Rach, I don't know. I thought I did, but I don't. I'm entrenched here now. The boat, the restaurant . . . financially tied to the Cedars, and finally, home. Home, it just seems to fit. I belong here."

  "Darling, I know that but we can do all this and more. Come with me to Paris. I still have my apartment in the Francois lere area, in the Triangle d'or. A beautiful place. Wonderful area between the Champ Elysees and the Seine. You'll love it. We can live free . . . make love. Travel. Have a wonderful life."

  "Rach, I--"

  "Please, think about it. We can see the city together. You'll love it. The cafes, bars, the galleries of boutiques. This time of year is wonderful, and we can be together in both areas, and then decide what we genuinely want. I think you will change your mind about being here."

  "Rach, it sounds great. Perhaps more to you than me. And I've never been to Paris and a visit might be nice, but the truth of the matter is, I like it here. I'm comfortable, and I've started a business with my boat and Pete's. And more important, the restaurant is a huge investment and undertaking, and it's about to open. I have a lot of time, sweat, and money tied up in that dream. People are counting on me. I can't throw that all away and just go off on a lark to Paris."

  "A lark?"

 
"You know what I mean. I just can't do it. Can't do it. And, Rach, Paris is not me. Hell, I only know two words, oui and non, and I've heard that Parisians are more than a little snobbish with those that don't speak their language"

  "Oh, that's just tourist hearsay. Besides, you can learn, and will want to but it's not necessary. I speak the language. We'll be together. We can find out about ourselves; where we stand. Sean,--"

  "Rachael. You're not listening, or I'm not making things clear. I'm staying here. I can't leave. Not now for sure, and probably never. And never is a long time. Rach, I'm home. Finally."

  "Do you love me, Sean?"

  The abruptness of the question stuns him. He pauses for several moments. The pause alone answers the question, however he replies, "I don't know. I was headed in that direction for sure, but . . . but, your remarks about children. About here. I'm not sure." He stops abruptly, takes in a short breath, noticeably regroups. "No, that's not fair. Not shooting straight. Rach, I don't think so."

  "It is her, isn't it? Cela saute aux yeux."

  "Her, meaning who? And what does that mean?"

  "Please. Stop it. Holli Callahan. Who else for Pete's sake. Talk about shooting straight."

  "You're right. And what was that French line?"

  "Cela saute aux yeux. It means plain as day."

  "Well, whatever. As I said, you're right. My answer was BS. No, it's not her. But, to be perfectly honest, it might be. I'm going to find out. And, Rachael, regardless of the outcome, I'm staying right here. In Harvey Cedars with my boat, my restaurant, and with Pete . . . and his Anna. I'm at peace with myself. And I don't hear the rumble of the cannon anymore. I grew up here. I'm back and I'm staying. Have seen all of the world I want, at least for now. Hell, I haven't even seen my own country. Need to do that first, besides, I'm home. In my country. It's the place for me to be."

  Rachael takes another long sip of her drink. Twirls the two remaining olives, gazes at Sean with that seductive smile, sucks an olive off the pick. "Sean, come with me. I want you. And yes, in this short period of time we've had together, I believe I love you. I do. I love you, Sean. Laisse - toi faire!"