No Coming Back

by Jessie Salisbury

  Wendy followed them out. She came up behind them in the lobby and said in mock surprise, “Why, Ken, Archie. Now nice.”

  “You alone?” Ken asked. “Where’s Frank?”

  “He’s meeting me outside. He had some business person he had to talk to and this isn’t his kind of movie.” She walked to the door with them, then asked soberly, “Ken, have you seen Rich?”

  He shook his head. “Not since he left rehab.”

  “How is Jim taking it?”

  “Not very kindly.”

  “I didn’t think he was. How’s Mother? I should stop by.”

  “She’s all right, but you know how she feels about things like that.”

  “Yeah.” She waved at a dark-colored car approaching them. “There’s Frank? Coming over?”

  “I suppose I have to.”

  They walked together, Ken tense, feeling out of place. I’m where I shouldn’t be, but he doesn’t know that, does he? He nodded at the thin young man with horn-rimmed glasses trying to hide his distaste. “Hi, Frank.”

  Frank Powers returned his stare. “Hello, Ken, Archie.”

  Archie grunted, not quite impolite.

  “Come on, Wendy,” Frank said, “it’s getting late.”

  “I’m ready. Bye, guys. Say hi to Mom and Jim for me.”

  “Sure.”

  Frank drove off without further comment and Archie made a rude noise. “That’s what I think of him.”

  “For once, Archie, I agree with you.”

  Ken drove home in silence. What did Wendy want me for? She sounded desperate, but she did the other time, too. Frank is so dedicated to whatever-it-is that his company is doing he doesn’t have time to see what kind of wife he has. If a girl like Wendy can’t get through to him, who can? And why, oh, why, did she marry him? What could she have ever seen in that self-centered, overbearing a stuffed shirt?

  6.

  Feeling the need for a change, a broadening of her horizons, and maybe something more exciting than routine bedside nursing, which she had always enjoyed, Laura Boutelle applied for an opening in the emergency room of the hospital where she worked. She had never served in that area and she found the never-ending parade of mostly minor injuries and illnesses intriguing, and helping calm down anxious parents was satisfying. Since it was a small hospital, any serious injury, an automobile accident, for instance, was almost immediately transferred to a Boston hospital, once the patient had been stabilized.

  She tended the line of broken wrists, asthma attacks, bad cases of flu, potential heart attacks and suspected appendicitis, always wondering with anticipation what would show up next.

  “It’s interesting,” she told her cousin Susan during one of their occasional lunch meetings. “Always something new, but at the same time, everything is basically the same. A broken arm is a broken arm. If it isn’t, if it’s something more, off they go for surgery.”

  “Not my thing,” Sue said. “I don’t know how you stand it, all that blood and gore.”

  Laura laughed. “And quite a bit of vomit.”

  Sue feigned a grand shudder. “Eeyoo.”

  “You get used to it.”

  “Not me.”

  Laura told the hovering waitress, yes, she would like more coffee. “So, what’s going on? Pete all ready to get to baseball?”

  “They’ve started practice but the field is still kind of muddy. Their first game is in the middle of May, another couple of weeks. There are a couple of college kids who play with them and they get out about then.”

  Laura contemplated the remains of her sandwich, wondered if she wanted to eat the crusts and decided that she didn’t. “Have they found another catcher? How’s Pete holding up without Rich Summers to pitch to?”

  “He’s still pretty broken up. They were a team for years, since high school.” Sue stirred sugar into her new cup of coffee. “He stopped in to see him a few days ago. At his new apartment. He says it’s pretty dreadful.”

  “How is Rich doing?”

  “Okay, as far as Pete knows. Rich, of course, didn’t say. He’s working somewhere and I guess he has a roommate to help with the rent.”

  “Anyone we know?”

  “Pete didn’t say.”

  “It’s so sad.” Laura recalled the quiet boy she had known in school, and the young man she had seen once or twice at a ballgame. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. I wonder if he’ll ever get that back, find another outlet. “And his brother?”

  Sue visibly crumpled. “I haven’t had even a glimpse of him. I sort of mentioned him to Pete one day, but he said he hadn’t seen him. I can’t really ask about him, can I?”

  Laura laughed. “There must be someone else out there.”

  “There probably is, but I haven’t seen him, either.”

  “Anyway,” Laura continued, “Willie’s taken an interest in baseball. Maybe Pete can give him a few pointers and help him out. But he’s small for a twelve-year-old, and I don’t think he knows a darn thing about the game.”

  “Your brother? I thought he was too into chess and robotics and such stuff to play sports.”

  “Seems his friends are all going out for Little League. He wants to try, too. To be with them. I think it’s a good idea. He needs a lot more exercise.”

  “Well, good luck to him.”

  “And you, too,” Laura said.

  When they parted at the door of the café, Laura went on with the list of errands for her day off, but continued to think once in a while of Richard Summers. There should be some way I could help him, old school friend kind of thing. I wonder if he even remembers me?

  7.

  Jewel Weston had a bad week. She had tried not to be concerned about Richard’s failure to return home, but little things kept nagging at her, reminding her of him at odd times. He was not a particularly good cook, had never liked getting his own meals.

  Is he getting enough to eat? Is he eating properly? Who is doing his wash and cleaning his apartment? If he can’t drive and doesn’t have a car, how is he getting to work? Is the girl he left with living with him?

  She tried to keep her concerns to herself, not trouble Jim with them. She knew Jim wouldn’t ask, and she did not bring Richard into their conversations. Jim had not been able to accept his leaving and it was a sore spot.

  She took Richard’s high school graduation picture from its accustomed place in the living room and put it on her porch table. Jim didn’t comment.

  Jewel spent much of the week on the sun porch. It had always been her favorite room and most of her personal items were there. Here, too, she had a view of her gardens, the gold fishpond, the rose hedge beyond an expanse of lawn, and from the door, the flagstone path that led around the pond to a gate in the hedge and to the swimming pool which it concealed.

  Ben Hoadley had been to see her twice. He came the day Richard had been released from the rehabilitation center.

  “Don’t worry,” he’d said. “Rich will make out all right. I’ll try to keep an eye on him.”

  He would come tomorrow for his Thursday poker session with Jim and Larry Peterson, his attorney and longtime friend. Last week Ben had admitted, reluctantly, that he had not seen Richard, didn’t know where he was living, and, Jewel happened to learn, left a small bottle of capsules for her “to be used just in case.” She hadn’t seen them, Jim didn’t mention them, but she knew what they were. She was determined, this time, she would not need an anti-depressant. The night of Richard’s accident had been different. There had been too many questions then, too many uncertainties. I won’t break down this time. I won’t. I can’t.

  Viola Evans came to the door with a white box in her hands. “This came for you, from the florist.”

  She opened it with mild curiosity and lifted out a
white and lavender African violet in its foil-wrapped pot. The card was in the bottom of the box. She picked it up, shook off the dirt, and opened it. “Stop worrying. R.”

  A weight was suddenly lifted from her chest, a hundred windows opened letting in the sun and air. There was no need now for any medication.

  “Richard sent it.” She smiled at her housekeeper. “Let’s put it there on the windowsill where I can see it.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Viola went back to her kitchen again, happier and free from some of her worries, the tension eased a little.

  She had lived in this house a long time, weathered a lot of crises, and was feeling old and tired, not so able to cope as she once had. She reflected that it was close to twenty-five years since she had come here as a home health care aide to care for a two-year-old boy and his dying mother. She recalled the first Mrs. Weston with love. Ken’s mother was a tiny girl, dark-haired, sweet tempered, and generous, but cancer is no respecter of youth and beauty, and Janet had died, leaving a heartbroken husband and a frightened little boy.

  Vi had never asked, always said it was none of her business, but she knew that Jim Weston was not Ken’s natural father. She knew Jim had adopted him shortly after his marriage to Janet. She had never heard the name of Ken’s father, not once in those twenty-five years.

  Vi had come here to live permanently when her husband died. Ken was five then, a shy, withdrawn little boy, and he had been like her own.

  She had considered leaving when Jewel and her children came, but her leaving kept being postponed, first by Archie’s arrival, then by Jewel’s accident. She reflected that it was nice to be needed, wanted by someone, when you had no family of your own.

  She had accepted the fact that she would care for Rich, too, when he came home and felt a little cheated when he didn’t come.

  But it’s nice that he sent his mother that plant. Jewel looks so much better, like her life has returned.

  Vi set about getting dinner. Jim was fond of hot gingerbread and so was Ken . . .

  8.

  Philip Summers had often said that life is a series of little problems. If you faced them head on, took care of them as they came up, you never had any big ones you couldn’t handle. But what do you do, Rich asked himself, when you get half a dozen little ones all at once while you’re trying to get yourself out of a big one?

  First there was the problem of Tex. In a moment of weakness, or was it a little drunkenness, and with more than half an eye on his finances, he had agreed to let Tex move in with him, share the expenses. It wasn’t Tex who was the problem. He was good company, lots of fun, and kept Rich from getting bored. Or morbid. Tex was good for him.

  No, it wasn’t Tex who was the problem, it was Gina. She had been unhappy lately and she didn’t approve of Tex’s moving in. “You have enough troubles now,” she’d said petulantly. “I thought I was company enough for you.”

  “You are. Tex pays the rent.”

  “But we have no privacy now. No place for us.”

  They had, so far, not really needed any, but Rich knew the problem. Gina was a lively girl who liked partying and dancing. She was tired of sitting, watching others play, waiting for him to improve. The shine had worn off, her life was dull, and she was bored. And he had seen her looking speculatively at Tex. And Tex looking back.

  And there was someone else he didn’t want to think about, Peter Randall. Thinking about Pete was too painful, too close to his heartache. Pete had been his best friend since they were in junior high. Together, playing for the Wolverines, they were known as “the deadly duo,” or “the S and R combo,” Summers catching, Randall pitching.

  Pete had come to see him several times since the accident, in the hospital and in the rehab center, but he knew baseball was Pete’s love, his life, and Rich would never play again. He had tried to discourage Pete’s coming, knew his going would leave an empty aching place, but Pete had stopped in yesterday.

  He was understanding, sympathetic, and his greeting was warm, friendly as it always was and Rich was happy, comfortable, to be with him. He did not like to admit his loneliness, even to himself. But he couldn’t return to their former status. Pete’s life was baseball, as his had been. When Pete could no longer play, he would become a manager somewhere. Even now he coached Little League in his spare time. He couldn’t talk to Rich forever and not mention baseball. It was too much to ask of anyone.

  He had hinted as much and seen the hurt in Pete’s eyes.

  ~ ~ ~

  Tex brought in a pepperoni and onion pizza and a large bottle of Pepsi for supper. “Tired of your attempts at cooking,” he said. “Help yourself.”

  “Thanks.” Tex shared the household chores, including cooking, equally, but Rich didn’t mention it. He liked pizza and helped himself to a large slice oozing melted cheese. Tex clicked on the early evening news.

  As they were finishing, Tex said, “You’re quiet, Rich. Something wrong?”

  “Only the usual.”

  Tex shrugged and when they were through, he gathered up the box and paper plates. “Well something’s bugging you. Sleep on it. I’m going out.”

  “New girl?”

  Tex grinned. “I’ve met them all, there are no new ones. No, it’s bowling league.”

  Rich suspected he was really going to a ball game since he rarely bowled. “Have fun.”

  “Don’t wait up.”

  Rich managed a grin for him. Massage your knee, he told himself. Read the book you brought home. Take two aspirins and go to bed. Forget it, forget them, forget it all. And forget Gina. She’s probably with Tex anyhow. No, she’s working tonight. Relax, get some sleep.

  It didn’t work. He awoke sometime during the night with the distinct impression that he was back in college and studying for an exam in ancient history. He was wide-awake and his leg hurt.

  He closed his eyes and thought about his four years at the state university, a mostly good four years, in spite of his disagreement with Jim about his college choice. Even a good scholastic record—he generally made the dean’s list—hadn’t made Jim as happy with Rich’s degree in education as he was with Ken’s in business administration. But Jim had come to graduation and seemed to be genuinely pleased.

  His mother had come to graduation, too, and he recalled the very expensive watch they had given him. It had not survived the accident. I didn’t, either? What good is half a man?

  Rich had said from the beginning that he would not work for Weston Construction Company, and except for one summer, he had not. That was Ken’s place, not his.

  His current job was a far cry from teaching physical education and the occasional sports health classes. At least it pays the rent and buys the groceries.

  He wondered for a moment if he should apply for permanent disability, but the idea was repugnant. He had always taken care of himself, as his father had always said a person should, and didn’t want to rely on a dole. Not if I can do anything else.

  He was getting sleepy again and he thought about Pete Randall in spite of his resolve. Pete had a younger sister, a kind of pretty girl named Susan. He didn’t really know her, he had always been too involved with ball games, and she was not a baseball enthusiast, even for her brother. I’ll have to look her up, get her a date with Tex if she’s not seeing anyone, take his mind off Gina. Or get myself a date with Sue.

  He changed position to relieve pressure on his knee. Damn that thing. He was able, after a few tries, to find a position that didn’t hurt too much.

  He fell asleep thinking of Susan.

  9.

  Ken Weston, awakened by his alarm at five-thirty, reached over and shut it off. He lay still a moment, savoring the half-sleep, then heard Vi calling his father, announcing breakfast in fifteen minutes. He kicked the cover off and sat up, stretching, knowing how
easy it would be to go back to sleep, but knowing, too, what his father thought about tardy people, especially first thing in the morning. The last thing I need this morning is sarcasm.

  He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, but he was thinking of Wendy as he had seen her last night: warm, desirable, charming, bringing back all the feelings he had had for her in high school. It was an innocent meeting at the library. She had known he would be there as he usually was on Tuesday when the library was open late. They stood on the steps after he had chosen his books for the week.

  “I get so lonely,” she’d said. “I can’t talk to Frank. All he can think of is his work.”

  “Maybe he has to right now. He’s just getting started and wants to advance.”

  “Don’t make excuses for him, Ken. I’ve been doing that for two years now.”

  “You’ve only been married a little over a year.”

  “I know. I was making excuses for him before I married him.”

  Thinking about that now, he didn’t believe it. She had been so much in love with Frank she couldn’t tell what he looked like. She had been that way ever since Jim had brought Frank home one evening. His father was an old friend who had retired to Florida. Frank was in town to conduct business for his company with Jim. Wendy had had eyes for no one else since.

  He turned off the water, wrapped a towel around his waist, and went back to his room to get dressed. He didn’t think any further. He couldn’t cross that bridge until he came to it. Right now the hollow, aching empty place was filled a little, and as long as no one knew, and nothing came of it, and he made Wendy feel a little better, what harm was there?

  He went downstairs to breakfast having no excuse to dally. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard his name and stopped. “Yes, Mother?”