Homecoming Page 4

  “But he’s staying.”

  “With you...in the house.”

  “So it seems.”

  “Well, that makes things pretty interesting. Well, back to square one. You still should be able to buy something small with your half, so nothing’s really changed. So he can just be away from his job for three months while he plays handyman?”

  Cory shrugged. She didn’t even know what Jake did for a living, but he hadn’t raised any strong objections. She followed Sara into adult fiction with the last of the returned books.

  Sara faced her and said, “So, you’ll just finish out your four months. Seems simple enough to me. What’s he look like, by the way. I still can’t get a picture in my head of him from high school.” She kept her voice neutral, but her left eyebrow rose a fraction.

  Cory wrinkled her nose back at her.

  “I’m just curious, that’s all. C’mon, humor the nine-months-pregnant lady whose hormones are raging out of control.”

  Cory let out an exasperated breath. “Short hair. Clean-shaven. Trendy dresser.”

  “That’s it? A little light on the details, Cory. Sounds like I need to meet him and see for myself.”

  “What you need to do is spend more time thinking about putting your feet up and keeping your stress level down. I’m sure he and I can manage to co-habitate in that big house without running into each other that much.

  “Yeah, right.” Sara handed Cory the last two books that remained on the cart. “Have you read these latest ones by Susan Wiggs and Mary Leo? Maybe you better take a good romance to bed with you at night to keep yourself distracted from the hunk in the next room.”

  Cory took the two books and forced a glare at her well-meaning friend. “Leave it alone, Sara.”

  “Okay, okay. Well, I’ll give you a rain check on lunch until next week. We’ll recap where we both are with contacting hospitals and clinics—did you get those letters out?”

  Cory nodded.

  “Good. By the time my maternity leave’s over, maybe we’ll start seeing some supplies trickling in. Okay—you’re off the hook for now, Cory, but I’ll be expecting all the scoop about Jake next week. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  ***

  Jake glanced at his watch as he walked up the steps of Tillie’s house and onto the big front porch. He was early, kicking himself that he hadn’t thought to ask Cory for the key to the house when they were at the attorney’s.

  He lowered himself into the same ladder-back chair she’d brought to the cat-rescue. Settling in, he tapped his foot as he scanned the porch and the front of the house. Some of the paint was flaking pretty badly on the trim around the windows and doors, and he wondered if he’d need to scrape it down to bare wood before repainting it. The wood on the porch seemed solid enough, but there were a few loose boards that would need some stabilizing.

  He straightened the doormat with one toe and stared at it. Tillie had always left a spare key there when he was young. Could she have retained the habit after all these years?

  Bending over, he lifted one corner of the braided rag rug and spied a tarnished brass key almost buried in a little pile of dirt.

  Yes.

  He pulled out the key and put it in the lock and turned it. Grabbing his suitcase, he let himself in, quickly pulling the door closed behind him in case Max was standing by to try another escape.

  The aroma of the house was the same as he remembered; lemony from years of polishing all the furniture and the thick banister on the staircase. He also noticed that old-house musty smell that was more a comfort than an irritant, and there still was a hint of his great-aunt’s signature rosy scent in the air.

  Jake turned as he heard footsteps on the porch and before he could move out of the way, Cory opened the door and walked directly into him.

  They froze in the awkward embrace—his arm around her and clutching her waist, the palm of her hand flat on his chest—balancing precariously against each other.

  “How’d you get in?” she asked, her voice breathless.

  “Key was under the mat,” he said, finally releasing her so she could get her feet under her.

  “Oh. Good.” She kicked the door closed behind her, then set her bulging tote bag on the drum table and hung her straw hat on one of the hooks of the massive oak hall tree. “Have you been waiting long?”

  “Nope. Just let myself in a minute ago.”

  “So, you have your things with you, I see.” She pointed at the suitcase on the floor.

  “Well, I have two weeks worth of things, anyway. That’s how long I thought I was staying.”

  He watched as she licked her lips and took in a short breath.

  “I’m already set up in Tillie’s bedroom, but if you’d prefer—”

  “The guest room next to it is fine.”

  She nodded. “I’ll let you get settled, then. Would you like some lunch? I was going to make myself a sandwich.”

  “That would be great. I’ll show myself upstairs and be right down. We can...talk about how things are going to be.”

  “Right.”

  He watched as she turned away and walked down the hall. Her hips swayed and he had no recollection of all the nice curves her snug dress revealed, finally realizing her body had matured since he’d last been with her. She turned in the last doorway on the right, into the kitchen and out of sight. Jake felt like he’d stepped back in time, a boy in a man’s body, and he was embarrassed he had stared at her so intently. His fingers flexed, remembering the feel of her waist, curious about the rest of her. The girl he had known had definitely grown up.

  Before making his way upstairs, he ducked his head into the parlor. Tillie kept it in a true Victorian style, a sitting room for company only and not everyday use. It looked much the same as he recalled, though there were some antiques he didn’t recognize, and the mantel above the small fireplace was overflowing with various picture frames of couples, some women in wedding dresses. He’d remembered there were always some pictures there, but now there wasn’t an inch of free space on the dark wooden surface.

  Meow.

  Jake turned toward the windowsill where, gazing intently at him, sat a very proper-looking black and white cat. He walked up to it and ran his hand down the cat’s spine, wondering exactly how many cats Tillie had managed to acquire.

  Upstairs in the guest room he found Max curled up contentedly in the middle of the bed. He gave the cat a scratch under his white chin, then unpacked his suitcase and put his things into two drawers of the highboy dresser. He left his toiletries in his Eagle Creek bag on top of the dresser until he knew which bathroom he would be using, assuming he’d end up in the small half-bath downstairs and they’d take turns using the claw-footed tub in the full bath down the hall.

  He flipped open his cell phone and checked the bars. Battery was reading full power, but no service. Great. Tillie’s house seemed to be in a dead zone. Problems already. Now he’d have to call the office from a pay phone or see if he could get service in another location. He already imagined Rod rubbing his greedy little hands together once he heard that he’d be extending his two weeks away from the office, stuck in Faythe for three friggin' months.

  He didn’t even bother trying his wireless laptop. As he walked toward the door, at the last second he turned his head to glance back at the crazy quilt that covered the narrow twin bed. A pang of sadness mixed with indebtedness battled within his heart. Not the guest room. It had been his room. Tillie had declared it would always be his room from the first night he’d spent at her house—the summer he’d turned ten, and the first year he’d moved in with his old man. He’d met his mother’s aunt at his mother’s funeral service in Faythe and it was then that Tillie had suggested he stay with her during the summers.

  Somehow she’d bluffed his old man into agreeing. Spending summers with his great-aunt had been the only way he’d survived each school year after that. School had always been hard, but it was even more difficult being the new kid.
And no one at the small school had understood the kind of help he’d needed. He’d learned early on to compensate with humor, quickly learning how to charm his teachers and make his classmates laugh.

  He’d counted the days until summer, putting “Xs” on the calendar to mark the days. It had been heaven at Aunt Tillie’s, doing all the things he loved to do, no pressure, no tests.

  No hiding his secret.

  Heaven, that is, until he’d turned fifteen and his old man had gotten him a summer job sweeping up at the factory.

  You’re too old for all the pantywaist stuff that old woman is spoiling you with. It’s time to get some blisters on those sissy hands of yours. His father’s words reverberated in his mind.

  Even then Jake snuck away any chance he could, even though his father forbade it. He’d learned to just patiently wait until his old man went on a bender, knowing he’d be passed out for hours when the liquor finally caught up with him.

  Though Jake had rarely been able to spend the night during those times, Tillie had kept the bedroom the way it had always been, telling him it would always be his home too.

  Now it was Cory’s home, or at least half of it at the moment. Jake drew his lips into a thin line. They had lots of details to sort out if they were going to be housemates, and the sooner they started the better he’d feel. And he didn’t much like the churning stomach he had that seemed to have started the minute he’d rolled into Faythe. He was determined to put it to rest, and talking about their living arrangements should do the trick.

  After a quick appraisal of the upstairs study, Tillie’s bedroom—Cory’s bedroom, he corrected himself—and the upstairs bathroom, Jake walked downstairs. The living room was beyond the parlor and it looked in pretty good shape, though the fireplace looked like it needed a serious cleaning and the room seemed a bit too sparsely furnished. The dining room seemed to be in the best shape, probably only needing new wallpaper above the chair rail.

  Finally stepping into the kitchen, Jake judged it needed the most work of all. The wallpaper had been partially stripped, revealing more layers underneath. The cupboards looked like they might get by with a fresh coat of paint. The yellowed linoleum floor he remembered was no longer there, though, and instead he saw a nicely polished wood plank floor.

  “I know, I know,” Cory said, “this room probably needs the most help. I had the floors done with some of the money Tillie had set aside for the bigger jobs. And there’s money for more furniture—and appliances too, but I’m having trouble finding ones that don’t look too modern but still work.”

  “So, we’re supposed to keep it period?”

  “As much as possible. She was hoping...hoped...the renovation could be done keeping at least eighty percent period. She always said she didn’t much care for furniture newer than the 1930s, but with the typical modern conveniences, of course. So far it’s been up to my discretion.” The look in her eyes said she’d wished she’d chosen different words.

  Jake ignored her possessiveness for the moment and looked down at the perfectly appointed table. A crocheted tablecloth covered the square wooden table, and two place settings had been laid out with blue and white Currier and Ives plates and fine silverware. A small bouquet of fresh flowers filled an antique crystal vase that sat in the middle. “I don’t remember these plates,” he said, absentmindedly running his finger along the edge.

  “I’ve been going to flea markets and estate sales to find glassware and things. What do you think?”

  Jake shrugged, then his stomach growled loudly.

  “Please, sit down and eat.”

  On each plate sat a mile-high roast beef sandwich on dark bread, with a small mountain of potato chips next to it, and even a dill pickle spear. He put the white linen napkin in his lap and took a sip from a tall cobalt blue glass that he soon determined was filled with honest-to-goodness hand-squeezed lemonade. Before he could stop himself he had drained the glass.

  “More?” Cory stood next to him with a large clear pitcher in her hands, sliced lemons bobbing among the ice cubes. She refilled his glass, filled her own, then sat down to join him.

  “Looks good,” he said reaching for the sandwich.

  “Thanks. It’s kind of nice to have some company to set the table for.” A smile found its way to her lips.

  Jake smiled back, then picked up half the sandwich and took a healthy bite. She had set a nice table, and now he knew she made a mean sandwich.

  A memory tugged free and he remembered a long ago picnic they’d shared. She’d made chicken salad that included nuts and grapes and he’d made her cross when he’d teased her about it being strange. She’d told him she was trying a new recipe, then made him take a bite and swear to tell her the truth. He’d been surprised it was so good, even more surprised she’d gone to so much trouble. And when he’d complimented her, her eyes had moistened. He’d had no idea his opinion meant so much to her. And he’d meant every word.

  They both ate in silence for a few minutes, and somewhere in the house a clock chimed.

  Eventually Cory cleared her throat. What was she supposed to say? Welcome to my home—that’s really your home—and isn’t it funny how Tillie’s will has thrown us back together again after all these years? And, by the way, why the hell did you leave Faythe and me behind anyway?

  She watched Jake finish his sandwich and drain his glass for the third time, then placed his napkin on his plate.

  “So, how many cats are there?” he asked.

  “Nine, including Max.” Good. Nice, neutral conversation.

  “Jeez, that’s a lot of cats. There’s a light-colored kitten on Tillie’s—your—bed.”

  “That’s Leona; she’s only five months old. You probably won’t even see Amber until after dark—she’s an orange short-haired tabby, very shy. If you look under the hutch there, you’ll see Dolly and Petunia.”

  Jake tipped his head and leaned low so he could look in the direction Cory pointed.

  “The gray one’s Dolly. The calico’s Petunia. She was a stray Tillie found a few years ago in—”

  “—one of the flower beds?”

  “Yes, and Dolly, we decided, was abandoned. She had a tag, but the phone number had been disconnected. She’s fine now, but it took a while for her to adjust.”

  “The black and white one in the parlor?”

  “Winston; he’s been with Tillie a long while. And Gypsy and Suki tend to hang out in the living room. Gypsy’s dark with tan markings on her face and Suki has Siamese markings.”

  “One more?”

  “Oscar. He’s very playful, smoky gray, gold eyes. Usually he’s upstairs. He keeps tabs on Amber and likes to lounge on the bookshelves in the study. He’ll probably bring you a wadded-up piece of paper to toss. I think he thinks he’s really a dog.”

  “I didn’t see any litter boxes—”

  “Dolly and Petunia go in and out,” Cory pointed at a flap in the bottom of the kitchen door, “and there are boxes in the basement that I clean twice a day. It’s not too bad, really, and I don’t mind doing it. They were good company for Tillie, and, now, for me.”

  “So, what else have you done to the place?”

  Cory scooted her chair back and reached for a binder that was perched on the counter behind her. The feeling of confidence grew now that she was on more familiar ground. “It’s all in here,” she explained, handing Jake the notebook.

  “Ah, a master plan—just like old times.”

  Cory felt the heat blaze in her cheeks. Was he making fun of her?

  “Reminds me of Mr. Foster’s class. We did get an ‘A-plus’ on every project, didn’t we?”

  She stared at his face and determined he was paying her a true compliment and not teasing her. His grin was irresistibly devastating and her heart pounded loud enough in her ears that she couldn’t make out what he’d just said, hoping her smile back would be enough of a reply. Jeez, pull it together, girl. It’s only Jake.

  “Do you ever see any of our old
teachers?”

  “Most have retired. Mrs. Anderson’s still teaching history, I think. And Mr. Foster actually works part-time at the hardware store. He’s got some glass knobs and brass drawer pulls on order for the cabinets in here. They should be in next week, so you could see him if you want to pick them up. I’m sure he’d enjoy it.”

  “I knew he’d never really retire,” Jake added as he started paging through the notebook.

  “It’s all there.”

  “I’d say so. Jake stared at the flagged page, reading it slowly to himself. Rake mulch...check flower bulbs...rake leaves...return books to library...lunch with...Sara. Who’s Sara?” he finally asked, breaking the long silence.

  Cory swallowed her embarrassment. So she kept detailed ‘to-do’ lists. So what? What was wrong with a little organization? Maybe he wasn’t being as critical as he suddenly sounded; she should probably give him the benefit of the doubt. Taking a relaxing breath, she explained, “Sara’s the assistant librarian. She went to Faythe High—”

  “—Sara Nguyen?” he interrupted.

  She was surprised he even remembered Sara. “She’s Watkins now.”

  “As in...Ted Watkins?”

  Cory nodded and got up to clear the table, unused to so many questions at once. She’d grown accustomed to the quiet and her own thoughts.

  “Sara and Ted. Now there’s a couple I never would have seen together.”

  “They got married right after college and came back to Faythe. He travels a lot installing computer networks, but they manage to make it work. They’re really happy and it’s been nice getting reacquainted; we’re working on a project together for Faythe.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We wanted to secure one of the empty storefronts downtown for a volunteer-run monthly medical clinic. We’ve got the space; now we’re working on getting commitments from doctors to work a shift, and getting supplies donated. We have a long way to go, but I’m amazed at what we’ve accomplished so far.”

  “Didn’t she run for class president or something?”