The Winding Road Home

by Sally John

  Sidney smiled and glanced at his watch.

  “Would you like to see my apartment? It’s just next door.”

  “Why not?”

  A few minutes later they had finished the store tour, gone out the back door, into the pharmacy’s back door, and upstairs to his place.

  Tanner showed him around. Back in the kitchen he asked, “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Uh, no thanks. I need to get home. So, you’re comfortable here?”

  “I am. It suits me. The community is friendly.”

  “Does that redhead live here?”

  “Kate? Here? No. She lives in town, but only temporarily. She’s moving to Washington next month.”

  “That’s too bad. I liked her. The kids haven’t stopped talking about her. Seems like she’d be fun.”

  Tanner kept a straight face, hiding his surprise. Who would have thought? “She is.” And I miss her.

  Sidney cleared his throat. “How about…uh…the other…”

  “I’m not drinking.”

  Relief showed clearly on his father’s face. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  Another window of opportunity? The average number of Sidney’s approachable moments in one setting hovered between zero and point five. Tanner knew he had to jump at the chance.

  “Dad, I’ve been thinking. I want to apologize for all the problems I caused you through the years.”

  Sidney blinked, rumbled a nervous chuckle, jingled the change in his pocket. “I didn’t know kids apologized for being kids.”

  “Being a kid isn’t an excuse. And…” He inhaled deeply. “I forgive you for leaving us.”

  The jingling grew silent. He glanced at his feet and then looked out the window. “I made some mistakes of my own.”

  Men being men? Tanner refused to let him off the hook. But a few seconds later, the man removed the hook himself.

  “There is some good though, eh? Marnie. Little Sidney. Well, I’d better get home. We have some benefit to attend tonight.”

  “Sure. I’ll walk you down.”

  After a few minutes of generic chitchat, the man drove off in his late-model Lexus.

  Tanner stood on the sidewalk, fingers wedged in the back pockets of his jeans. He gazed at the square across the street, smelled the greening grass, and the damp spring earth, noticed the bright bed of blooming tulips and daffodils.

  After a time his heart slowed. The burning sensation about his ears cooled. A smile began somewhere in his unconscious, emerging gradually until it pulled at the corners of his mouth and dislodged his resistance.

  Kate would be proud. Yes…she would.

  Thank You, Jesus.

  Thirty-Seven

  Each footstep required effort. Graham made his way across the parking lot at Fox Meadow.

  On the horizon, across a neighboring barren field, the eastern sky glowed. It would be a magnificent sunrise. He should stop, take time…

  He listened to his own advice and halted. A sliver of pulsating yellow radiated on the earth’s edge.

  Why hadn’t she called? Why hadn’t she come? He and Rand thought they had prepared themselves. How naïve, to think they could prepare for the incomprehensible. How naïve to not believe Adele could actually walk out.

  It would kill Rand. Could he recover? Hang on, give her more time?

  They had misjudged the timing. Graham had misjudged Rand’s decision-making ability. The old coot had been more fearful than anything, postponing the inevitable. He should have insisted on pushing up the timetable. But when had Rand Chandler ever been fearful?

  The sunlight blinded him now, and he headed into the nursing home. The corridors were empty. In Rand’s hall, he caught sight of the nurse and night orderly in someone else’s room. No one was at the desk. He stepped quietly into Rand’s room.

  It was like another sunrise.

  Adele slept, with an afghan about her shoulders, curled up like a kitten in the big chair. She had shoved it against the bed. Rand also slept, his hand atop the covers…Adele’s atop his.

  Graham smiled and backed out of the room.

  “Who’s there?”

  Adele opened her eyes to see R.J. blindly studying her without his glasses. It was the second time she had awakened that morning. The first time had been at home, long before dawn. That time, the instant her eyes opened, she knew the decision had come sometime during her sleep. It never would have come about in the hours of wakefulness when self-righteousness stood guard.

  Kate had fortuitously left her a note and car keys, urging her to take the car. She dressed and drove to the nursing home in record time.

  She leaned in closely now. “It’s me.”

  “Addie?” His eyes looked different without his thick glasses. They were smaller, more like the ones she remembered.

  She shook off the hint of revulsion. “Can I get you something?”

  “My glasses.” He moaned slightly. “In that drawer.”

  Twisting in the chair, she opened the nearby nightstand drawer. “Do you want some water? Coffee?”

  His breathing was labored. “Will you put them on?”

  She slid the glasses onto his face. “There. Is that better?” He smiled.

  Her stomach lurched. The unfamiliar smile was at odds with the familiar memories. Ambivalence rendered her speechless.

  “You came, honey.”

  The endearment washed over her. She soaked in it, the dry pockets of her heart drinking it up.

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t.”

  She touched his hand again.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know you are. I…” She had to let the past go, once and for all, now, in reality, up close. Not in her head, not separated by miles and years from the one who had hurt her as a child. She had to say the words aloud. They came out in a whisper. “I forgive you, R.J.”

  Tears seeped from the corners of his eyes.

  With one hand she dabbed a tissue on his face, with the other she held a hankie to her nose. “No more crying. I did enough yesterday.”

  “Will you call me Pops?”

  She laughed. That wasn’t a term she had ever considered. Daddy had evolved directly to R.J. by the time she was nine. Dad had been too intimate, Father too deferential. The name her mother called him fit best. “You want me to call you Pops?”

  He chuckled his raspy laugh. “It’s true. I always wanted to be called that.”

  “Okay. Pops it is. Hey, Pops, it’s Easter. I thought we could go to the service together. Are you up for that?” She felt an ache, an imaginable longing that he was up for it.

  “Yes. Honey, I love you.”

  Evidently she hadn’t cried enough yesterday.

  A short while later Adele went to the home’s kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. R.J.—make that Pops—wanted the orderly to help him dress.

  She greeted the cooks only briefly. They were busy preparing breakfast. She was busy processing emotions. She sat in a vacant dining room, sipping her tea.

  Graham walked in, cup in his hand.

  Graham Logan. She’d forgotten about him.

  He stopped at her table, smiling hesitantly. “You came.”

  She tilted her head.

  “We wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t. But I’m so grateful that you did. Thank you.”

  “Thank you for bringing him.”

  “I’m sorry for the deceptions.”

  “I’m sorry for falling for them.” She squeezed the warm teacup between her hands. “I guess that’s the way it is when you’re naïve. You fall for any nice guy, for any story…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Do you want to talk?”

  Talk to him? Not now. Maybe not ever. All she could think of was the numbered days ahead, of living through them with her new father, of introducing Chelsea. She hadn’t even thought of Graham for hours. He was a stranger who didn’t fit. “No. I don’t have any space for you. I don’t know where to put you in the scheme of things right now.”<
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  “I understand. You have a lot to deal with. Perhaps later.” He turned to leave, and then he came back. “Adele, there were only three deceptions. I’ve called your father Rand for years. It’s what his close business associates called him. Obviously, we lied about his last name. I’m not a professor. I’m not from Chicago or Buffalo. Everything…” He paused, his blue eyes never wavering. “Everything else was true.”

  She held back her teenage retort. Whatever.

  Thirty-Eight

  Kate slipped out a side door after the Easter morning service, bypassing the pastor’s main-door handshake, perfunctorily greeting others, intent on finding the right spot.

  She hadn’t enjoyed the service one iota. What should have been a glorious celebration only deepened the conviction that she was one lousy representative of the risen Christ. She owed apologies all over the place, but Friday night’s atrocious display of rudeness hung over her like a thundercloud. If she didn’t take care of it soon, surely lightning would strike.

  She strode across Main, leaped over the curb onto the sidewalk outside the hardware store, and turned. Minutes ticked by as she watched cars stream out of the church parking lot. He must be one of the last ones out. He certainly seemed to be getting the hang of going to church.

  Finally, she saw him coming. He looked nice in a pale green polo shirt and tan slacks. With a start she realized the sun was shining and the temperature was warm. When had spring sprung?

  The problem with the particular apology before her was it involved Tanner Carlucci.

  The guy she loved. The guy who sent shivers up and down her spine by looking at her.

  Such things tended to mangle emotions and eliminate words from her vocabulary.

  He crossed the street, smiling at her. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” She waited for him to reach the sidewalk. “I wanted to apologize. I’m sorry for what I said Friday night.”

  “Not a problem. I’m sorry for what I said—”

  “No, don’t be. Everything you said was true.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “Everything?”

  Avoiding his eyes, she shrugged out of the trench coat and twisted it around an arm. “Everything. I can’t accept gifts. I treat people like news stories. I keep them at arm’s length and hide behind God’s so-called plans. And I have…Galahad issues.” She took a breath.

  “I exaggerated. I shouldn’t have—”

  “Don’t interrupt. And you’re not Mr. Macho Cool.”

  “Aww, shucks. I wanted to be.”

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, you’re not. Not in a derogatory sense anyway.”

  “Is there a good sense to being him then?”

  “Tanner! Just accept my apology, okay? Please?”

  “Apology accepted.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. What are you doing today?”

  “Uh, going home to soak my head and try to figure out how to be nice to people.”

  He laughed. “Don’t overreact, hon.”

  The nonchalant endearment zinged through her. Lightning had struck after all.

  He must not have noticed. “Wasn’t church amazing? And afterwards three people invited me over for Easter dinner. Three. Do you believe it?”

  She gave him a quick smile. “That’s great. I’ll see you—”

  “But I turned them all down because I had other plans. I made lasagna, and I hoped you would help me eat it.”

  She swallowed and turned her head, watching the sparse traffic. “Uh…”

  “Come on. It’s my grandmother’s authentic recipe. You’ll love it. And it’s baking even as we speak.”

  With her whole heart she wanted to spend the day with Tanner. That was the problem—with her whole heart. Could she fake it for a couple of hours? She caught a glimpse of those dark-lashed eyes, the velvet brown-black, and hesitated. But then…given the fact that she was a pro at holding people at arm’s length, faking it with him for a few hours should be no problem.

  He went on, “You know the best way to figure out how to be nice to people is to just do it. Say yes.”

  “Okay, yes.”

  “Thank you. You get a point for being nice. But that was an easy one. I knew you couldn’t turn down food.”

  Today she could have. Today she wasn’t in the least bit hungry. Not a good sign.

  By the time they reached his apartment, Tanner knew something was seriously wrong with Kate. He had chalked up last week’s strange behavior to her hectic trip to Washington followed by six days of newspaper work packed into three. That had all culminated in their argument Friday night. But they had just made up. Normally, Kate would have bounced back by now.

  They climbed the steps, her feet dragging ahead of him.

  “Hey, how’s Helen?”

  “Still dead.”

  “Did they give you a loaner?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  All of her answers were like that, nearly monosyllabic.

  In the kitchen she glanced around, her eyes growing wide at the table already set for two, but she didn’t comment. Kate always commented.

  He said, “Go sit down. I have to put garlic bread in the oven and finish a Caesar salad.”

  “I’ll help.” She sounded as pathetic as she looked. Pallid all the way around.

  Placing his hands on her shoulders, he steered her to the adjoining living room area, gently pressed her down into the recliner, dropped the Rockville Sunday paper in her lap, and pulled back on the handle. The footrest popped up, jerking her back. “Stay put.”

  She looked like a little urchin sitting there in the big chair. Resisting the ever-increasing urge to take her in his arms, he strode back into the kitchen and yanked the lettuce out of the refrigerator. He slapped it onto the cutting board and began chopping it while berating himself.

  Physically moving her had shades of macho cool. Setting the table—with candles in the middle of the day—and rescuing her from an afternoon of soaking her head smacked of Sir Galahad. Kissing away her frown would definitely send her over the edge. He’d better strike a balance fairly quick before he scared her away once and for all.

  Should he pray? What had he read in one of those new books? That he could pray about anything. Well, this qualified. Lord, You know how I feel about her. Give me a chance with her? She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. By the way, remember I said she could live wherever? I take it back. I want her here. I really want her here. This past week without us connecting has been… Man, if I hadn’t had You to talk to—

  “Tanner? The buzzer’s going.”

  “Whoops. Thanks.” A few minutes later he had water glasses filled and food on the table. “It’s ready, Katelyn.” He pulled out a chair and waited.

  She pushed on the handle to release the footrest. It didn’t budge.

  “It sticks. I’ll get it.”

  “I’ll just climb—”

  By then he was across the room and leaning over her to push the lever.

  She was half out of the chair when the footrest clunked down. The rocking motion of the chair threw her against him. “Oomph.”

  He caught her in his arms. “Sorry. Galahad the klutz to the rescue.”

  A look of terror crossed her face, and she pushed herself away from him, shoving her glasses back up her nose. “The lasagna smells great.”

  He followed her to the table, deciding against holding the dining chair for her. He’d better quit. She was holding him at least two arm length’s away.

  “I didn’t know you could cook.”

  “I’m full of surprises.” He sat across from her. “Guess who came for a tour of the store yesterday?” He cut a generous portion of steaming lasagna from the casserole dish between them and slid it onto her plate.

  “Who?”

  He grinned. “My dad.”

  “Really? Did you invite him?”

  “I did.” He set down the spatula. “We should pray.”

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nbsp; “Yeah.” She folded her hands. “It’s your house.”

  “Okay.” He thrust his hands across the table.

  She stared at them.

  “We held hands at Adele’s. And at your parents’ house.”

  “But that doesn’t mean we have to.”

  “But it’s my house and I want to.”

  She frowned but slowly unfolded her hands and placed them in his.

  “You know this is my first time, right?”

  She nodded and bowed her head.

  “Dear Jesus. Thank You for this food and for this day and for Kate. Help her to feel better. Amen.”

  She jerked her hands away. “I feel fine.”

  “You don’t appear fine.”

  “Well, I am.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine!” She picked up her fork.

  Tanner watched her for a long moment as he took a bite of salad. She didn’t move, but simply stared at her plate. Another minute ticked by while he tasted the lasagna and drank his water. It was a record for Kate Kilpatrick silence.

  He wiped his hands on a napkin. “Kate, hon, you’re not fine.”

  Her fork clattered against the plate. “I am.”

  He went to her, placed his hands on the arms of her chair, and leaned down until he was at her eye level. “Look at me and say that.”

  She tried to scoot the chair back, but he held it firmly in place.

  “Why won’t you look at me? You haven’t looked at me all day.”

  “Let me go.”

  “You’re doing it again. Holding me at arm’s length. Or further. Try the length of a football field.” He palmed one side of her face and gently tilted it. “Kate, don’t you know by now that I don’t ever want to be that far from you?”

  At last she raised her eyes to meet his. It was the unfamiliar crease between them that gave him hope. “What?”

  She really didn’t know! “Oh, Kate. Kate! I adore the ground you walk on, to say nothing of you. And if that’s too Galahad for you, deal with it.”

  “But I’m not your type!”

  He smiled. “Says who? You’re everything I could ever hope for in a woman. Why are you so afraid?”