Take Me Home

by Elks, Carrie

  Gray held his hands up straight in front of his chest. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

  “He doesn’t need to say anything. They flock to him.” Tanner grinned. “Hey, Becca, did I tell you about that time I saw Gray in Vegas.”

  “What’s all the noise out here? You trying to drive your father crazy?”

  Aunt Gina walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway, her eyes lighting up when she saw Gray on the porch. “Grayson. You’re here,” she said.

  “Yep. And you owe me five bucks,” Becca told her.

  Aunt Gina shuffled over the threshold and pulled Gray into a hug. “Oh, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” she whispered into his chest. “I didn’t think you’d really come.”

  “Then why did you get his room ready?” Tanner frowned.

  “Because I always have hope.” Aunt Gina took a step back and looked Gray up and down. “Is that new?” she asked him, pointing at the edges of a tattoo peaking out from under his sleeve.

  “This old thing?” Gray grinned at her, and went to pull his top off to show her more. “You wanna see?”

  “No, I don’t. You keep your t-shirt right where it is.” She shook her head. “We have standards in this house.”

  “Unlike in Vegas,” Tanner drawled, winking at his aunt. “Gray’s top was constantly off there.”

  “You can be quiet,” Aunt Gina said, shaking her head at Tanner. “And bring your brother’s things in.”

  Tanner frowned. “He can carry his own stuff.”

  Gray swallowed down a laugh. Some things never changed. Becca’s over enthusiasm, Tanner’s bitching, even Aunt Gina’s cluckiness felt so familiar it made his stomach twist. It was like he was straddling two time zones, somewhere between the man he was and the kid he used to be. “I’ll carry my bags,” he told Tanner. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt your back, sweetheart.”

  Tanner rolled his eyes. “I’ll take it,” he said, grabbing the handle. “I’d hate for you to hurt those pretty hands of yours. They must be insured for a million dollars.”

  “Two, actually.” Gray shrugged, remembering his own outrage when he’d first discovered that fact.

  Tanner reached for the guitar case, but Gray got there first. “I’ll bring this one,” he said, gently lifting the strap over his shoulder. As he followed his aunt inside, the smell of butter cookies filled his nose, making his mouth water.

  He was home. Whatever that meant. Maybe a few weeks here wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  Chapter Two

  In spring and summer, Friday evenings meant Chairs, the strange name the good folk of Hartson’s Creek gave their weekly gatherings. They’d all congregate in the front yards alongside the creek, bringing jugs of sweet tea and the odd bottle of something stronger, along with their own chairs that gave the gathering its name.

  Chairs had been a part of Maddie Clark’s life in Hartson’s Creek for as long as she could remember. As a child, she’d run around playing games while the adults talked, reveling at the freedom of being able to mess around until dark without being sent to bed. Then as a teenager, when she’d do anything to avoid having to go and listen to boring grown up talk. The kind of small minded gossip that made her grateful to be offered a scholarship place at The Ansell School of Performing Arts in New York to study for her Bachelors in Music.

  And yeah, she had no doubt that she was the subject of a lot of petty gossip when she came home less than a year later, and unwilling to tell anybody why. Not that anybody said a word to her. Not when she was waitressing at the diner, nor when she was teaching piano to the younger kids in town.

  Still, her mom enjoyed being able to catch up with her friends and neighbors, and find out what was going on around town. For her mom, Maddie grinned and bared it, pushing her mom across the road in her wheelchair. She had an old, fold up chair for herself, the legs looped over her shoulders to carry it. A small cooler filled with sweet tea and snickerdoodles rested in her mom’s lap.

  “There are a lot of people here tonight,” Maddie remarked as they reached the creek. “Must be the weather.” It was her favorite time of year. Spring and summer were battling it out for dominance, the result already a foregone conclusion. The cold and snow of winter was just a memory, made more hazy by the warmth in the air and the smell of corn in the breeze.

  She wheeled her mom over to where her friends had set themselves up, next to the refreshment table, where she unpacked the food they’d brought before pouring her mom a glass to drink from. Then she carried her own chair over to where the younger crowd was gathered. Women she knew from when they were at school gossiped about their husbands and called out to their children to calm down when their voices got too loud. The husbands were standing by the creek, drinking from brown beer bottles and laughing, ignoring everything around them as they dissected that week’s football game.

  “Did you hear the news?” Jessica Martin called out before Maddie could open her chair and place it on the grass.

  “No.” Maddie smiled politely. Jessica had been in the same grade as Maddie’s sister, Ashleigh. They’d been cheerleaders together for as long as Maddie could remember, though she’d been six years younger than them both.

  “You want to guess?” Jessica asked, rubbing her hands together. “Oh, you’ll never guess.”

  “There’s been an outbreak of chlamydia among the over fifties?”

  Maddie bit down a grin at Laura Bayley’s deep voice.

  “No. Ewww. Of course not.” Jessica wrinkled her nose. Then she looked at Laura. “That’s not true, is it?”

  Laura shrugged. “Nothing would surprise me around here.”

  Shaking her head, Jessica turned back to Maddie. “Have you heard from Ashleigh lately?”

  “She lives in the next town,” Laura pointed out. “It’s not exactly Antarctica.”

  Maddie shot Laura a look of gratitude. Though Laura was a few years older than Maddie, they’d been friends since Laura had opened up her dress shop next to the diner where Maddie worked. Her favorite part of the day was when Laura came in for her morning coffee. “She came over with her kids last week,” Maddie told them.

  “And did she say anything?” Jessica asked, leaning forward, her blonde hair falling over her face.

  Maddie blinked. “Like what?” She could feel her stomach tighten. Was there something wrong with Ashleigh? Or even worse, Grace or Carter? Maddie loved her niece and nephew like they were her own.

  Jessica sat back in her chair. “I guess she doesn’t know then.”

  “Know what?” Maddie asked, trying not to sound exasperated.

  “That Jessica’s the typhoid Mary of the chlamydia outbreak,” Laura whispered from the corner of her mouth. Maddie laughed, in spite of herself.

  “That Gray Hartson’s back.” Jessica gave Laura a smug smile. “I guess I’m the only one who knows anything around here.”

  Maddie felt herself freeze, in spite of the warm air surrounding her. “Gray Hartson?” she repeated, ignoring the strange drumming in her ears.

  “Yep. Carrie Daws told me. The one who works at the grocery store. According to her, he arrived in a black Rolls Royce.” Jessica folded her arms across her chest. “I guess that’s how the rich and famous travel when they’re visiting their hometown.”

  “Is that why Becca isn’t here tonight?” the woman sitting next to Jessica asked. “I was wondering about that.”

  Along with Laura, Becca Hartson was one of Maddie’s closest friends. She enjoyed Chairs as much as Maddie did, so her absence wasn’t a surprise. Maddie had never considered it could be because Gray was back in town.

  The thought of him being here after all this time made her body feel light. She curled her hands around the metal tubing of her chair to stop herself from floating away.

  “What will Ashleigh say?” Jessica asked, her voice loud enough to cut through Maddie’s thoughts. “Do you think Michael will be jealous?”

  “Why would Michael be jealous?” Laura asked. “As
hleigh went out with Gray for a few years during high school. Big deal. It’s been more than ten years since then.” She grinned at Jessica. “Some of us have grown up in the past decade.”

  Maddie leaned her chin on the palm of her hand and looked out toward the creek. The water was dark, and she could hear its movement rather than see it. On the far side, fireflies lit up the trees like thousands of tiny sparkling lamps.

  Gray Hartson was back in town. It felt strange, knowing she was in the same town, watching the same sunset as he was. Once upon a time, she’d had a crush on him. One of those heart wrenchingly intense ones that only a preteen could have. She’d sit and watch him from her window as he brought Ashleigh home from a date, holding her breath as he’d wipe a strand of hair from her sister’s face, leaning in to press his lips against hers.

  She’d felt a strange mixture of jealousy and wistfulness back then. Even at thirteen, she’d been mature enough to know he was out of her league. Too old, too talented, too good looking. But Ashleigh had been a match for him with her ice-blonde beauty and popularity at school. Together, they’d been the king and queen of senior year.

  “You should probably tell Ashleigh before Jessica does,” Laura said, leaning in to whisper in Maddie’s ear as she walked past. “I know it’s been years, but nobody likes seeing their ex unaware. Give her a chance to get to the beauty salon and look like a million dollars.” Laura stood and winked at her. “I’m heading to fix me a drink. Anybody else want one?” she called out.

  After Jessica’s revelation, Maddie felt the urge to drink something much stronger than sweet tea.

  And it was all Gray Hartson’s fault.

  Chapter Three

  “Well your secret’s out,” Becca told Gray as they sat at the dinner table. “I just got a text from Laura Bayley. You’re the talk of Chairs. By the end of the night, everybody in town will know you’re here.”

  “Sweetheart, you know the rules. No phones at the dinner table,” Aunt Gina chided. Becca grinned and slid her iPhone back into her pocket.

  “Chairs?” Gray frowned. “You guys still do that?”

  “This is Hartson’s Creek we’re talking about,” Tanner said, scooping a giant spoonful of mashed potatoes onto his plate. “It’s barely reached the twentieth century, let alone the twenty-first. What else is there to do except get drunk and gossip?”

  “People don’t drink at Chairs,” Aunt Gina said, taking the bowl of mash from Tanner and passing it to Gray. “And we talk, not gossip.”

  “Tomayto-tomahto.” Tanner grinned at her. “And we all know Rita Dennis spikes the iced tea. That’s how the gossip always starts.” He swallowed a mouthful of potato. “I tried to explain the concept of Chairs to my friends in New York. They looked at me as if I was crazy.”

  “Grayson, can you make your father a plate of food?” Aunt Gina asked him, passing him an empty plate. “He should be awake by now. Maybe you could take it in and say hello.”

  “I’ll probably ruin his appetite.” Gray took the plate anyway, and loaded it up.

  “No gravy for him,” Becca said.

  “I remember.” Gray nodded. “It ruins the taste of the meat.” Strange how Gray could recall his father stating that so clearly. He stood, leaving his own food half finished. He knew that Aunt Gina would warm it for him when he got back.

  The way she always had.

  “Gray?” his aunt said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Go easy on him, he’s still not well.” Her lips pressed together as her eyes met his.

  “I wasn’t planning on doing anything else.”

  “I know.” Aunt Gina’s smile was tight. “It’s just that you two… well, you always knew how to push each others buttons.”

  “What she means is, don’t piss him off,” Tanner drawled. “Which is almost impossible in my experience.”

  “Ignore him,” Becca said, raising her eyebrows at Tanner. “He’s just annoyed because nobody’s talking about him at Chairs.”

  “That’s because I come home more than once a decade,” Tanner pointed out.

  It was just like old times. Gray could remember the constant banter at the dinner table as he and his brothers ribbed each other mercilessly. As the eldest, he’d always tried to be the peacemaker. There were days when he expected Cam and Logan to fight each other to the death.

  Until their father intervened, that was. One slap of his hands on the table was usually enough to quiet them down. And if for some reason they didn’t respond, raising his voice a couple of notches always did the trick. By their teenage years, they’d learned not to push him any further. Not one of them wanted to be told to meet him in his study after dinner.

  “If you’ll all be quiet, maybe I could hear myself think,” Aunt Gina said, shooting them all a dark look. “And show some respect, Tanner. This is your father’s house. He deserves it.”

  “Respect is earned,” Tanner said, his voice light in spite of his words.

  “I’ll take it easy in there,” Gray reassured his aunt. She nodded and gave him another smile.

  “Good luck,” Becca whispered, squeezing his free hand as Gray walked past her.

  As far as Gray was concerned, he didn’t need it. He wasn’t a child anymore. He had his own home, his own car, earned more money in a month than his father had his entire life. That old man in the bedroom at the end of the hallway didn’t scare him anymore.

  “To hell with it,” he whispered to himself, before he rapped his knuckles on the door. His hand remained in a fist when he pulled it away, as though his body was expecting a fight, the other still grasping the plate of food he’d made up.

  “Come in.”

  Gray blinked at the familiarity of that voice. He set his jaw strong, and curled his fingers around the handle, bracing himself as he arranged his features into a smile.

  People thought it was strange when he told them he hadn’t spoken to his father in more than a decade. They wanted all the details of the fight that must’ve led to such a cut-off. But there hadn’t been a fight – not a single explosive episode of one, anyway. Instead, his relationship with his father had been the victim of a thousand paper cuts.

  As a child, he’d dreamed of escaping this place. He’d build a tree house in the woods that bordered his father’s land to the north, fill it with comics and sodas and invite his friends over. In his mind, his dad would never find him there.

  As he grew older, his plans grew more sophisticated. At first, they were academic. He studied hard, played football, did anything that would help him get into college. But where his grades were good enough for an acceptance, his sports weren’t good enough for a scholarship. And his father’s income was too much for him to receive any financial assistance without loans.

  One thing he knew, he couldn’t be beholden to his father any more. So when his one way of relaxing – his music – proved to be his one-way-ticket out of town, he’d jumped at the chance. Left everything – and everyone – behind. A necessary sacrifice to gain his freedom.

  Of course he saw his family still. His brothers would come to meet him in New York or L.A. when they could. Aunt Gina and Becca would see him play in concert in Virginia and D.C. There was one year when he paid for them all to fly to London to watch him play at a festival there. That had been a great week.

  But his father never came. He refused to unless Gray personally called to invite him, but Gray knew that was a trap. His father only wanted the pleasure of rejecting his offer in person.

  “I said come in,” his father shouted. “What are you doing, playing with the handle?”

  Gray shook his head and pushed the door open, squaring his shoulders as he walked inside. The first thing that hit him was the smell. Though the room wasn’t a study anymore, the walls were still lined with old books, their musty pages turning the air sickly stale. Then there was the pine of his father’s soap – the same soap he’d used for as long as Gray could remember.

  “I brought your dinner in.”
<
br />   The old man looked up from his position on the bed. The years Gray had been away hadn’t been kind to his father. Grayson Hartson III’s hair was sparse, barely covering his shiny red scalp. His skin was wrinkled, almost rubbery in complexion. But it was his body that shocked Gray the most. Even through the sheet he could see how thin his father was. His arms looked like the kind of twigs Aunt Gina used to bring in at Christmas time to make up seasonal displays.

  “The food’ll be cold with the time you took to come in,” his dad grumbled.

  Gray swallowed. “You don’t want it?”

  “I didn’t say that. Bring it here.” His father nodded at the table in front of him. It was on wheels – the kind you saw in hospital rooms. Gray carried the plate over and set it firmly in the middle.

  “So you decided to visit?” his father said, leaning over to look at the plate. “Damn beef again. Your aunt knows I can’t eat that. Gets stuck in my throat.”

  “You want me to get some gravy to help it go down?”

  His dad sniffed. “I’ll just eat the potato. Get me a fork.”

  Gray passed him the silverware, and watched as his father scooped a morsel of mashed potato between his lips. Time seemed to pause as he moved his jaw around, his withered throat undulating as he tried to swallow it down. “You want a glass of water?” Gray asked him.

  “No,” his father rasped out. “Go back to your dinner. I’m fine here.”

  Gray wasn’t sure what to feel as he watched his dad lift another shaky forkful to his mouth. Sympathy fought with resentment, as his mind tried to take in this new reality. His father was old and sick, yet he was still the man who’d made Gray’s childhood a misery.

  “This isn’t a free show,” his father said when he’d swallowed the second mouthful. “You can go now.” He stared at Gray with the same blue eyes he saw in the mirror every day, and then made a shooing movement with his hands.

  Gray shrugged and turned away. He’d done his duty, nobody could say he hadn’t. When he returned to L.A., his father would be a hazy memory once again.