by John Herrick
Like most roads in the community, a single lane occupied each side of the road. The town square, which spanned about three small blocks, rested in the center of the community. For a few blocks, maps referred to Route 91 as Main Street. On his left stretched a tiny retail row populated with mom-and-pop shops; on his right, the town green with its gazebo and historic clock tower. An all-brick structure, the clock tower appeared no taller than a three-story building and served as the punch line for countless jokes among teenagers, who threatened to paint it black.
To Jesse, Hudson served up a slice of Americana; its century homes and resistance to modernization befitted an ode from Norman Rockwell. In the middle of rush hour, he could count the number vehicles that preceded him for the next mile.
He continued north to pass over the Ohio Turnpike, the muted rumble of which brought a whirr to the otherwise calm environment. His sister, Eden, lived off of Route 91 near the northern edge of town. She did not expect company; he hadn’t informed her of his trip, nor had he mentioned his latest struggle before he’d left California.
No one here knew of his suicide attempt, nor would he tell anyone. This marked a fresh beginning, and Jesse determined to leave his memories in the past.
A lost soul had returned home.
Shit—his father. He’d have to face him too.
Take it in stride. One day at a time.
Jesse pulled into Eden’s driveway and found the garage door open, her car parked inside. Her single-story house, quaint and of partial brick, had occupied this spot for decades—Jesse remembered it from his youth. He had driven past it on countless occasions, but not once had he pictured his sister living here in years to come.
As he walked to the front porch, his stomach fluttered. He knew Eden to be nonjudgmental, but the humility of admitting his dreams had failed hit him hard.
Small flower beds, which bordered Eden’s porch on its left and right, had started to bloom in vibrant colors for the spring. After he rang the doorbell, he turned and listened to the moderate flow of cars that rolled along the road. He wondered if he’d gone to school with any of the drivers. Then he glanced at his own car as it sat on the driveway: a California license plate. That would send ripples of speculation around the block.
He heard footsteps tap inside, which sent his heart in a race with newfound anticipation: He hadn’t seen his sister in several years, not since her last visit to the coast.
Eden opened the door halfway, then peeked around it to scope out her visitor. When she saw who stood on the other side, she swung the door wide open.
“Jesse, you’re—home!”
Unsure what to say, Jesse nodded and reciprocated her grin.
Eden planted her arms around her big brother and squeezed him hard.
He remained silent but held her close and savored the moment. How many years had it been since someone had embraced him with authentic love? He felt a warm, moist spot on his shoulder, where a tear had escaped from Eden’s eye.
But she didn’t cry. Instead, she wiped the corner of her eye, sniffled, and stepped back to take a look. As Eden gazed at him—at his face, his hands, his clothes—Jesse could tell she sought indicators of well-being. When she focused on his face again, she looked like she had located a clue in his eyes but couldn’t decipher its meaning. Jesse assumed she must have felt too stunned by his visit to ask.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming home. How long ago did you leave?”
“Day before yesterday.”
Jesse waited for a reply, and before long, Eden caught herself staring at him. “I’m sorry,” she said, “you caught me by surprise, that’s all. Come on in.”
Before she followed him into the house, she peered at his car filled with boxes and clothes on hangers—the same imagery from the day he had left town when Eden was fifteen years old.
An enthusiastic Eden showed him around her home, which featured notable feminine décor in both of its bedrooms. The living room, its walls accented with soft shades of burgundy, hosted an array of cherry-finished furniture. A plush, ivory-colored sofa beckoned Jesse to curl up in its cushions and take a nap after his drive. When Eden concluded her guided tour, she led Jesse to the kitchen table, where she poured a glass of diet cola for each of them.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I just got home from work, so I haven’t cooked dinner. But there’s food in the fridge.”
“No thanks, I’m fine.”
His sister—all grown up. This was the first time he’d witnessed Eden in her own environment. He had missed out on the minor changes in her life while gone. Now twenty-six years old, Eden was thin and possessed a natural beauty. She wore minimal makeup and didn’t require any. She could pulverize Jesse with the honesty in her brown eyes. Her hair, a light honey brown, curled at her shoulders. Eden was the sort of girl whose personality and features had gone underappreciated until high school.
“How’s Jada?”
“It’s over.”
“I’m sorry. Are you okay with it?”
Jesse shrugged. “Our relationship had become strained toward the end; we were both ready to part ways. I guess when you cling to something long enough, it’s hard to let go until you need to.”
Eden paused. “Have you seen Caitlyn since you’ve been back?” Though Eden had begged Jesse to keep in touch with Caitlyn when he headed to California, Jesse had refused.
“No, I drove straight here.” Eager to change the subject, Jesse grinned, then shook his head. “When did you grow up, kid? We lost too much time.”
She snickered. “I should have visited more often. After I finished college, I got so consumed with work.”
Eden had lived her life right—the quintessential minister’s daughter. An honor-roll student. Once she earned her degree in social work, she took a job with a private adoption agency, one operated by a Catholic charity. She still worked there, where she placed infants with families.
From the corner of his eye, when he took a sip of his drink, Jesse caught Eden steal a glance at him, but he pretended not to notice.
Nervous, Jesse hoped Eden didn’t realize more went on inside him than his breakup with Jada. Her social-worker instincts tended to kick in when she talked to people. Daily she dealt with unmarried mothers who found themselves alone. She talked them through fears and concerns; in a matter of minutes, she could recognize when someone sorted through hurt or confusion. And Jesse struggled with both.
Eden’s palms hit the table. Once again, vibrancy returned to her eyes. “Where are you staying?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“In that case, stay here! You can crash in the extra bedroom. Won’t that be fun?”
“I don’t want to get in your way. I intended to figure something out on my own.”
“Are you kidding? The room will sit there unused if you don’t move in. And you can stay as long as you need.”
Already Ohio’s cultural difference struck him. “Okay, thanks.”
“On one condition.”
“Which is?”
She leaned forward and locked eyes with his. “Go see Caitlyn.”
“I will.” In jest, he lifted his glass. “Here’s to the Barlow kids.”
“To little sisters who come to the rescue with housing arrangements.” She giggled as she clinked her glass with his.
They heard the front door creak open, followed by the jingle of keys. Eden looked at the clock.
“Oh, I forgot!” she said.
A tall, slender guy, who Jesse recognized immediately, walked into the kitchen.
“Blake?”
Hands on his hips, the guy’s upper lip curled in the corner in apparent shock. “Jesse?”
The two shook hands and clapped each other on the back. Jesse and Blake were the same age and had played together on the high-school basketball team. They lost touch once Jesse departed. Then again, Jesse had lost touch with everyone except Eden and, to a minimal extent, his father.
“T
he movie star! What are you doing in town?”
Tongue in cheek, Jesse countered, “What are you doing letting yourself into my sister’s house?”
Eden wrapped her arms around Blake. “We’ve been dating for five months.”
Self-absorbed in L.A., the last few months in particular, Jesse had asked Eden precious little about her own life.
Jesse turned to Eden, gestured to Blake with his thumb, and quipped, “You could do better.”
“Ha.” She stood on her tiptoes and laid a kiss on Blake’s chin.
Jesse shook his head at the sight of his old friend and asked, “Where do you work nowadays?”
“I’m a nutritionist. I own a shop on Main Street—herbs and other health-nut stuff. You should stop by; we’ll catch up.”
“Definitely.”
Eden interrupted them. “I forgot Blake had promised to come over for dinner. Why don’t we go out instead?”
“Sounds good to me,” Blake said. He nudged Jesse. “How about you?”
“I’m exhausted. I drove in from St. Louis today, so I’ll scrounge up a bite to eat, empty out my car, and go to bed early. You two have fun, though.”
“Before we go—” Eden began, then ran into the next room. When she returned, she handed him a spare key. “This is for the house. Clean linens are in the bedroom closet, in case we get back late.”
Eden and Blake headed out the door, while Jesse closed it behind them. Eden poked her head back inside. With a jab to his ribs in a playful manner, she whispered, “Go see Caitlyn. You promised.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” he promised.
“I’m glad you came home, Jesse.”
CHAPTER 24
When he awoke the next morning, he still felt exhausted from the journey home. But as the sunlight spilled into the bedroom, Jesse sensed fresh vigor and, in stark contrast to the past month, the desire to climb out of bed. Today marked a new beginning; his life would undergo a change, albeit a tough one. He had let several people down, but he determined to make it right.
After he settled on a box of granola cereal in the pantry, he poured himself a bowl and sat at the table, where Eden had left a page of printed driving directions. Typical Eden: She had gone online and located Caitlyn’s address already.
According to the directions, Caitlyn lived in the same vicinity as she had in high school: near Canton, almost a thirty-minute drive. Here in Ohio, this had been far enough to prevent rumors from traveling to his father. But compared to L.A., such a commute was pocket change.
Perhaps she would be home from work around five thirty that afternoon.
* * *
All day Jesse’s belly felt numb, gripped with apprehension in anticipation of facing Caitlyn. While he remained positive about the reunion, a part of him was scared and considered bolting, but to where? He had nothing left to return to on the coast—not that he harbored a desire to revisit what had proven to him a world of smoke and mirrors—and he had nowhere else to go here.
He vowed never to run again.
So he continued forward. Southbound on Highway 8 beneath an overcast sky, he checked the clock, which read 5:25. Unless she worked far from her house, she should be home by the time he arrived.
Jesse found the neighborhood without a hitch and wound through it until he reached her street. She lived in an older section of town, its homes smaller than their more recent counterparts. Along the sidewalks he noted a significant presence of retired couples, who had likely dwelt there since the 1960s, raised a family, and emptied their nests. When Jesse had scanned addresses painted on mailboxes and located Caitlyn’s house, he pulled to the curb in front. He ignored his labored breathing, the thumps of his heart. Instead, he took a deep inhale to calm himself.
On his way up the driveway to the petite house, he tried to appear normal. A neighbor, distracted by the out-of-state plates on Jesse’s Accord, stared from a distance as Jesse approached. Jesse waved to the woman, who returned the gesture and resumed her gardening.
His own world had imploded. What could he possibly have to offer Caitlyn?
For starters, he could show up.
Caitlyn’s house featured snow-white siding, accented by black shutters and black shingles. To Jesse, the home looked gentle, undisturbed. From its stature, it didn’t appear Caitlyn earned a sizable salary. Her lawn had been shaven recently; in the breeze, Jesse detected the scent of an early spring mowing. It was now late April, and the last of the evening flurries had disappeared three weeks ago.
He hesitated a final time. Now or never, he figured. So he pressed his finger to the backlit doorbell and waited for destiny to unfold before his eyes. He tried to picture Caitlyn’s initial reaction: Surprise? Anger? Indifference? He deserved the anger and he knew it.
He caught a whiff of perennial flowers, among them a patch of violets, Caitlyn’s favorite.
Who would answer the door? Would she? Or perhaps a boyfriend—what would Jesse do if another man emerged?
His answer arrived in moments, and nothing could have prepared him for the sight of his high-school sweetheart.
He’d never forgotten her.
Her face registered shock before she steadied herself. As Jesse glimpsed her eyes, he saw them recoil a step, the reaction of a wounded soul. She bit her lip.
He felt an unexpected pang—Caitlyn’s pain. And he had caused it. They had parted ways so he could pursue his dreams. He was the reason she had, no doubt, cried alone.
“Hi,” he whispered.
Emotionless, she stared at him in a manner factual yet unrevealing. Jesse had no idea what went through her mind; for that matter, he doubted Caitlyn herself knew. Jesse felt enshrouded in a murky cloak, the shadowy sense of a trespasser. He no longer belonged in her presence.
Yet undeserving as he felt, he forced himself to look into her eyes. “Can I come in?”
Her stare spoke of indecision. Or was it apprehension?
“Please,” he whispered again, the knowing tone of one to whom she had once bound her soul.
Without a word, her eyes softened as she allowed him in.
The front door opened into a living room with a meager collection of furniture, respectable yet apparent hand-me-downs. But overall the room appeared kempt and comfortable. A fireplace sat at one end, an arm’s length from a coffee table and plaid sofa, with the front window behind them.
As he grew more awkward by the heartbeat, Jesse sat on the sofa before he could think of a question to ask. Caitlyn continued to stand and watch him, arms crossed, to wait for him to say something. But he couldn’t find the words. Although he had rehearsed different things to say to her, those words were mere threads in the fabric of what he wanted to express.
Caitlyn broke the silence at last. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”
“Cait, please …”
He watched her jaw stiffen, but then she sat beside him. She seemed caught between fret and uncertainty. Hard as he tried, Jesse couldn’t get a read on her.
Then it hit him: Was she afraid she could get hurt all over again?
He tried to connect with her sapphire eyes. He stared at her porcelain skin, her wintry blond hair—almost white in its shade—which drifted a couple of inches past her shoulder blades. Despite her silence, the woman exuded strength. Whatever he had to say, she wanted him to speak first.
Say something, Jesse. Anything.
“No cat, huh?” he said.
“Drew can’t have them around. He’s allergic to them.”
Jesse’s heart sank again. She had a husband.
In an attempt to break the ice, Jesse continued, “But you always had a cat. How does he deal with it when you two visit your parents?”
“I haven’t seen my parents in years.”
Jesse nodded. This he understood.
When he peered down at her hand, he noticed she didn’t wear a wedding band. No husband after all. “Are you in a relationship?” Imme
diately he wanted to kick himself for his bluntness.
But she didn’t appear offended. Rather, she looked remorseful as she buried her face in her hands.
“Sorry,” Jesse said. “I figured Drew is—”
“Drew is my son.”
Jesse nodded, unsure whether to step with caution or change the subject altogether. But he was eager to know. “Well,” he said, “I’m sure Drew has a terrific dad. I’m happy for you, Cait.”
Her shoulders sank. She wouldn’t look Jesse in the eye. “He’s never met his dad,” she said, her voice muffled by her hands.
“Why not?”
At last, she relented. Her eyes met his. “He’s yours,” she whispered.
Jesse cocked his ear forward. Had he missed a detail? “He’s … what?”
Her arms fell to her lap. “I couldn’t go through with the abortion. I couldn’t make myself do it.”
Shell-shocked, Jesse made a slow rise to his feet. Caitlyn reached for his hand, but Jesse pulled it away. He didn’t know whether to feel angry or scared. “How am I supposed to respond to that?”
“Before you say a word, please let me explain,” she said.
“You said you couldn’t handle a baby!”
“You wanted to go to L.A.! We both thought an abortion would solve everything. But the closer I got, the less my heart allowed me to go through with it. By that time, you were already gone, and I didn’t have your new phone number—”
“You didn’t try to call Eden or my dad?”
“You wanted to keep the pregnancy a secret from them. Remember?”
Jesse crossed his arms over his chest and waited.
“I’m sorry,” Caitlyn said. “I know it doesn’t eradicate what I did, but I made the best decision I could. Jess, please believe me.” She rubbed her forehead as she started to sob. “If I’d told you about Drew, it would have disrupted your life, your dreams, all you wanted to build for yourself in L.A. It didn’t seem fair to you: You didn’t want to be tied here, and you said you couldn’t handle fatherhood. Did you want the baby and not tell me?”