Someday Home

by Lauraine Snelling

  And she was still tired.

  She dragged herself out of bed and made it, did her bathroom thing, and propelled her weary body to the kitchen.

  Breakfast? Hardly worth it. Lunch. Compared to her fridge at home, this one was a cornucopia. Lynn did love to cook. She chose some good-looking stuff at random and arranged a plate for the microwave.

  Lynn and Homer came bouncing into the kitchen with their usual exuberance. Angela turned with a partial smile. “Good morning. Barely.”

  “Good morning. What are you having?”

  “Leftovers from last night. And toast, I can’t get enough of your bread.”

  Homer strolled over and plopped down beside her.

  “Warm up enough for both of us, then, please.” She nodded to the dog sitting by Angela’s feet. “You have a friend.”

  Angela leaned over to pet Homer and got a slurp on her chin. “Eeuw, I really don’t like dog slobber.” She wiped her chin. “Judith seems to have taken it upon herself to walk him, but with her gone, I can do it. I’ll take him out later.”

  “Good. Thank you.” Lynn fetched another plate from the cupboard. “I love leftover pot roast. Well, I love pot roast no matter what.” She set the table out on the deck and helped carry the meal out. Homer followed closely, riveting his gaze on the pot roast.

  Angela and she sat down; it was cool and cloudy, the sky cover growing ever thicker, but still gorgeous out here. Lynn looked down at a monster-sized paw on her knee. “No, Homer, none for you. You already ate this morning.” He answered with his well-practiced soulful whimper and sniff. Those lugubrious eyes rolled up toward her. His thick tail beat out an affirmation. “Sorry, fella, won’t work.” Resigned, he flopped down beside her. “Thank you, Angela. Great lunch idea.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  End of conversation.

  But then, Angela could not feel less like chatting.

  As they were finishing their meal out on the deck and dark thunderclouds were gathering, she glanced at Lynn; she was being studied.

  “Angela, are you all right?”

  She shrugged. “All I want to do is sleep. I could go back to bed right now, I think. At least when I’m sleeping I can’t think of the mess my life has become.”

  “Interesting. Why do you say a ‘mess’?”

  “I have no job, therefore no income.”

  “You had said you’d check with Realtors here.”

  “I know. But right now the thought of starting all over in a new place where I know nothing and no one and have zero contacts makes me realize, I don’t really want to do that anymore. I was trying to become the successful woman Jack wanted, but I don’t like the woman I became. I guess more precisely, I don’t like real estate as a career. And obviously, after I changed everything, Jack didn’t like the new me, either.”

  Lynn’s mouth dropped open. “Wait. You became a Realtor just so you could be successful?”

  “It sounded like a good idea at the time. And he seemed to like it at first.”

  “You mean Jack?” Lynn snorted. “Of course, but I don’t even like to say his name, unless I put jerk behind it.”

  That made Angela smile. Jack the Jerk. She wasn’t the only one to think it. “Thanks.” She picked up the last half of toast and spread jam on it. “He likes his women thin—svelte, he calls it—so here I am, watching my weight carefully. On the other hand, I don’t want to gain and be frumpy again.”

  “Hard to think of you as looking frumpy. You look good in whatever you put on.”

  Angela stared at her. “You mean that?”

  “Of course. I never say something I don’t mean. Forthright is a term I’ve heard used to describe me.” She dabbed up crumbs with a dampened finger. “It would be easy to be domineering, but God seems to be working on that.”

  “You’re a very strong woman.”

  Lynn smiled. “Right, on the outside. Marshmallow interior.”

  Angela giggled, then sobered. “I understand your Paul was still in his prime, and those photos of him, he looked so young for his age. The shock must have been especially bad since he’d not been sick.”

  “It still is.” She changed the subject quickly. “Did you see that box addressed to you? It’s on the counter.”

  “Why, no, I didn’t look.”

  “There’s a knife in the block by the stove.” Lynn picked up their plates and carried them inside to load the dishwasher while Angela opened the box.

  “From Gwynn and Charlie.” She peeled back the box flaps and stared at the box within. It looked to be about basketball size. But when she tried to lift it out, it was stuck.

  “Here, I’ll hold the outer box.”

  Angela opened the card that was taped to the top of the dusty blue box. “To our mom, because we love you. Welcome to your new life.” She looked to Lynn, shaking her head.

  “Well, open it.”

  Angela slit the tape with the cutter and lifted up the lid. “Tissue paper.”

  “They didn’t want it to break.”

  She peeled back the first layer of paper to find another envelope and pulled out a…“Fishing license!” Another layer yielded another envelope. “And a gift certificate to Cabela’s for a fishing pole.” Nestled on the bottom of the box was still another box. She opened it. “A fishing reel.” She read its cardboard packaging. “For fly-fishing. Do they fly-fish here?”

  “Sure do. And Phillip asked if we wanted to go out in the canoe tonight. How does that sound to you?”

  “Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to intrude.”

  “Angela.” Lynn took her hand. “There is no pressure here to perform for anyone.” She blinked. “My friend, you can heal here and truly begin a new life. Your kids are wonderful, and they are welcome to visit. Charlie loved it here; those years ago that were only yesterday.”

  Angela stared at her. She sniffed and blinked, and in spite of her efforts, a tear rolled down her cheek. “I-I feel so worthless.” She shook her head slowly. “So very worthless.”

  Lynn took her by the hand and led her over to the leather couch that faced looking out the window. She sat down and pulled Angela against her. “Now, cry it out.” She picked up a box of tissues off the huge square coffee table and handed it to her.

  “If I— If I start crying, I might never stop.” The tears ran faster. She hiccuped.

  Lynn wrapped her arms around her. “They run out eventually.”

  Angela let loose great gulping sobs, mopped, blew, and kept on crying, punctuating everything she tried to say with more huge sobs. “I-I didn’t expect…I mean, I thought our life was all right and he…he was lying to me. I hate him and I hate her and I hate hating. I don’t hate people!” She melted into Lynn as she had melted into her mother when she was a small child. She needed Mom now, she needed comfort, and there was no comfort, no peace in the whole world, and…Sobbing. She could not stem the sobbing. And Mother held her close, stroking her back, purring platitudes about God. She needed the cosseting if not the platitudes.

  Homer sat by her knee, kissing her elbow, whining, his tail thumping. He lurched up onto the leather sofa cushions and snuggled his head under her arms to lay it in her lap. The more she cried, the more he whimpered, then sat back and, nose in the air, broke into a full-throated basset song.

  Angela sat straight up and stared at Lynn, who was fighting to keep from laughing, then at the dog, who stared back at her and then gave another abbreviated howl, like a coda to his performance.

  Still getting surprised by random sobs, Angela sat up away from Lynn’s arms, feeling a bit awkward. She reached over and patted Homer, earning herself a hand lick. “This is one loving and lovable dog.” She blew her nose. “I’m using up all yo— The tissues.”

  The room had darkened during her childish crying jag, and a distant rumbling made her look up. Lightning zagged in the east.

  Lynn’s eyes suddenly went wide. “Did you open your window?”

  “I did.” Both women leaped
to their feet, one to charge down the hall, the other up the stairs.

  “Check Judith’s room, too, please,” Lynn called.

  Angela did so, even though she felt ridiculously invasive to be entering someone else’s private quarters. What if someone simply walked into hers? If she trained the children in one thing, it was to respect others’ property. But Judith’s window stood wide open, ready to welcome the rain. Angela closed it and was impressed with how smoothly this wood-framed window operated. Excellent construction.

  A howl from downstairs called her back. She found Homer cowering behind the sofa, whimpering and shaking. When the thunder crashed again, he howled so mournfully she called him out, sat back down on the sofa, and brought him up into her lap, petting him and crooning comfort. “Poor guy.”

  Lynn was out on the porch, simply standing there, head up and eyes closed, inhaling deeply. She came back in. “Dog’s afraid of thunder and lightning.”

  Lightning lit the room again and the thunder crashed right overhead. Homer yelped and tried to dig into the couch. Lynn laughed. “No, boy, you can’t do that. Come on, it’s all right.” She sat on the other side of him and rubbed his back. More mothering. Now that Angela was attuned to it, she could see Mother in much of what Lynn did.

  Lynn said, “I think there is something we can give him to make this easier. I’ll ask Herb tomorrow.” The rain continued, the wind churning the lake into a sea of whitecaps. The dock bobbed on the power of the incoming waves.

  “I don’t think we’ll be canoeing tonight.” Lynn leaned over and clicked the switch on the lamp. Nothing. “Well, good thing we have a gas stove, because right now, we have no electricity. The lightning must have struck somewhere close enough to take it out. If you have your computer on, go turn it off and your cell phone.”

  “I’ve never seen a storm like this over water. How utterly beautiful.”

  “Especially when we are in a solid house, wired to not burn down if lightning strikes. I’ll get the fire going; the chill sure comes in fast, too.” She looked down at the dog in her lap, who was now snoring softly. “Wore him out.”

  A chirp from the kitchen and Miss Minerva strolled into the room, tail straight up, and, ignoring the dog, she leaped up on the sofa and settled in Angela’s lap. Homer raised his head and slid over the side onto the floor.

  The rain still drummed on the roof, heard from even that high above them. Once the fire was snapping and crackling, Homer went to lie on the braided rug in front of it. The women moved over to the two recliners in front of the soaring stone fireplace and Minerva climbed back in Angela’s lap.

  “Looks like you’ve made a good friend.”

  Angela smiled. “You don’t mind sharing?”

  “Not at all.” Lynn dug into the quilted bag beside her and pulled out her knitting. The click of the needles, the soft crackle of the fire, and the rain drumming on the roof and the windows—so homey, even if Angela’s home was never quite like this. She realized now that when she showed a house she referred to as homey, it was not often like this.

  Was this crying jag a turning point of some sort? Or a step in the right direction, at least? Angela would have explored that thought further but she fell asleep.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Visiting the cemetery was not Lynn’s favorite part of Memorial Day, mostly since Paul had been buried there. But honoring the family ancestors was not a problem. She’d been out at dawn to cut the lilacs, both purple and white, and now the house was filled with the fragrance. She picked enough to leave one bouquet at home on the kitchen counter. When Phillip arrived, he helped her load the buckets in her SUV and drove them to the cemetery. They weren’t the first ones there. Since the gates weren’t locked, people came when they wanted.

  They greeted the other early birds and stopped at the earliest family plot, where they placed jars of lilacs on each of six graves. At the next, where the immediate generation before Lynn lay, they set out five jars. She and Paul had purchased the lot adjacent to his parents, but his sister had already volunteered to decorate those graves, so she moved to where Paul’s marker lay.

  “You know why I don’t really have trouble coming out here, unlike a lot of people I know?” Phillip asked.

  “No, why?” She arranged the vase with lilacs and turned from the rear of the car.

  “Because they’re not here. Their bodies were buried here but they are not here. And when I think of the celebration that went on in heaven when Dad went home, I’m glad for him.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “But sometimes I miss him something fierce, and that’s what’s hard to handle.”

  “Me, too.” Like right now. She and Paul used to do this together. She sniffed and set the vase in the stand. Her last lilacs went on the small grave next to Paul’s. She knelt there and rubbed the grass clippings off the marker. Amanda Lynn Lundberg, who at six months had died of crib death. Lynn stared down at it. “I am so certain God has a special place for little ones like this. Just think, she was a year younger than you, so she would be…”

  “Thirty. You’ve been through a lot.” He helped her to her feet and kept an arm around her shoulders.

  “We never expect things like this to happen to us. I mean, there we were with our little son who was the cutest little towhead you ever saw and this beautiful baby girl. Healthy, laughing, she stole everyone’s heart. Well, both of you did. We have that one portrait of the two of you.” Lynn inhaled the potpourri of spring, the fragrance of lilacs, newly mown grass. “Life changes in an instant and we have no control over it. The amazing thing is that God holds us even closer when the pain is so devastating.” She tissued away the errant tears.

  “And then Dad died, also unexpectedly.”

  “But at least I knew then about grieving. The process wasn’t such a shock. And I knew that when God got me through the first one, He wouldn’t fail me this time either or any time.” They strolled back to the SUV. “Now let’s put these leftovers on some graves that no one ever decorates.”

  Back in the car on the way home, Phillip asked, “You have your stuff ready for the parade and picnic?”

  “Pretty much. Just have to load the cooler and pack the basket.”

  “Is Angela going to come?”

  “I hope so. She said possibly.”

  “What about the shindig later tonight?”

  “Well, it will be at our house, so how can she miss that? We agreed before beginning this project that the house is to be used for family stuff.”

  When he parked the SUV and opened the door, they could hear Homer barking along with a howl thrown in for good measure. “Glad that dog is working out. See you in a while.”

  A bit later, Lynn tapped on Angela’s door. “I’m leaving for the parade in fifteen minutes. You said you wanted to go along.” No answer. She pushed open the door to see the mound of human still in bed. She stepped inside, walked silently over to the bed, and leaned in close, watching Angela’s breathing. She didn’t seem ill, just sleeping heavily. Lynn left.

  Her phone rang as she returned to the kitchen.

  “You ready, G’ma?” Miss Priss bounced, even on the phone.

  “Got the cooler and the picnic basket all loaded, so anytime.”

  “Yay, Mommy says ten minutes.”

  “Okay, sweetie, see you then.”

  “Can Homer go along?”

  “Not today. We’ll take him out with other people in smaller doses first. Big crowds like the parade might scare him.”

  “Oh, bye.”

  And big crowds it was. They never tried to park downtown because it was easier to find on-the-curb seating farther along the parade route. They found their usual tree in front of a friend’s house, unloaded the car, and Phillip drove off to park.

  “I can hear the band!” The little girl jumped up from the curb where her two brothers and two cousins sat. Travis had his long-distance squirt gun at the ready. All had bags to pick up the candy to be tossed from all the floats.

 
“You go sit down before someone grabs your place,” Maggie said after a flash hug from her daughter.

  “G’ma, you could sit with us.”

  “That’s okay, I’m right behind you. Curb sitting and your grandma aren’t the best of friends anymore.”

  Her pixie face wrinkled. “You don’t like parades?”

  “Sure I do, just like lawn chairs better than curbs.”

  “There they come!” The boys all jumped up as the mounted sheriff’s posse led the way with the flags flying above them. The huge U.S. flag half covered the rider in the blowing wind. The horses jigged, and spectators along the way stood with their hands over their hearts, including all the children. The Detroit Lakes High School band marched behind the horses, separated by a clown with a pooper-scooper.

  Lynn felt her eyes go liquid as they always did when the flags went by. She mopped after she sat back down.

  “Me, too,” Maggie whispered.

  After the high school drill team led by girls with spinning batons, the veterans still able marched while the trailer with the oldest of the veterans, some in wheelchairs but all in uniforms, returned the salutes offered by many of those along the way. Every time she saw them, as the numbers grew fewer, Lynn and so many others called out “thank yous” over and over. Part of her gratitude was the safety of all her men. Her father had never shared his experiences of the war in Korea but returned home a wounded hero and now was one of those no longer in the parade. Tom was still troubled by his experiences on active duty a few years ago. He chose not to march, and when she glanced at him, he watched respectfully but was not cheering and waving like his boys.

  “Here he comes,” Travis hollered, and hoisted his water gun. A clown on an adult tricycle pumped up a water gun to spray kids and anyone else who got in his way. He zigzagged back and forth, bringing shouts of laughter and screams of “eek.” Travis raised his gun. The clown laughed and the two dueled it out. Travis ran out of water to end it.

  “You need a bucket and a pump,” the clown hollered as he passed.