Coming Home Again (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 1) (17 page)

“Yeah. That girl cried herself to sleep
most nights. Unlike you. You put so many blame walls up and closed yourself
off. Both of you ran away as soon as you could, and I did nothing to stop you.
I did nothing…”

“John Paul. It wasn’t your place to fix
what was going on. No one was paying attention. You couldn’t have stopped it.
You were just a kid too.” I watch as tears spill from his miserable blue eyes,
and oh, how I wish I could cry right along with him. Watching this tough guy
break like this is too much.

“I could have fixed things if I tried,
but I didn’t. I just sat back and watched both you and Julia fade away.” He
shakes his head in what must be his own disbelief and takes a long drink from
his beer before he continues. “I carelessly watched my family disappear. First
my two sisters and then my brother. I was
careless
with Bradley, and I was
careless
with
you girls. I have paid every day of my life since.” He rests his face in his
hands, still clutching the beer bottle, and openly weeps. The swing vibrates
with his sobs. I rub his back and wish I could take the pain away for him. I
know better though. Nightmares don’t go away so easily.

“Everything that happened, happened. We
can’t change it in any way. All we can do is try to live a better life than
we’ve already lived.” I pause to shake my head at my own words. I lick my numb
lips and let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “Shoot, what do I know? I’m so dang
lost that I don’t know whether to host my next dinner party or to get the
wording right in my suicide letter.”

My offhanded remark causes the swing to
pitch forward again as John Paul sits straight up abruptly. The steely glare he
shoots my way makes me flinch. Maybe I should have just kept that tidbit to
myself.

“What in the heck is that supposed to
mean?” John Paul asks before peppering the air with colorful expletives.

“It means exactly how it sounds. I’m
lost as I can be. I have a college education, the man of my dreams, and still
cannot find my place in this world. I don’t think I want to keep this up
anymore. And… I figured Lucas deserves better anyway.” I shrug my shoulders and
stare out over the dark lawn. Every so often, I catch a firefly winking its spark
at me, and I try to put my focus on that. I’ve had enough of this talk.

“You can’t be serious?” John Paul asks,
forcing my attention back to a conversation I wish I had not started.

“Yeah. Well you opened up to me so I
thought I owed it to you to open up right back,” I counter and it feels a bit
like a lie. I accidently let the suicide notion slip out and wish I could suck
it back in. That’s one side effect I have with that tiny little pill—it loosens
my tongue. I take a deep breath and continue down this conversation path since
I can’t find my way off it now. “Your phone call interrupted me composing my
suicide note the other day,” I confess. I fiddle with my hands, too ashamed to
meet his disbelieving glower. He’s so mad I can feel it vibrating off him. I
hear him take in a harsh breath. I sure do hope it calms him some.

“That’s just stupid,” John Paul snaps.
Nope. He’s furious.

“Yeah!” I snap right back at him. “Just
as stupid as you thinking what happened to Julia and me or the accident with
Bradley is your fault.” I grab his face so he can’t look away. It’s flushed
with his anger and feels fevered under my palms. “Bradley’s accident was not
your fault. It was life’s fault. You two were just being boys. It’s time you
stop blaming yourself.” Touching him becomes too much. I let go and try to push
the rocking back to the swing, but John Paul is stronger and won’t allow any
motion to the swing. I huff out in my own frustration and cross my arms over my
chest as we sit still, seething.

I can’t take the intense silence
threatening to choke me with guilt, so I glance in my brother’s direction. “And
don’t worry about the whole stupid suicide thing. I’ve obviously been
procrastinating over that decision. You know I don’t follow through with most
things, so I think I’m safe.” I laugh bitterly.

John Paul shakes his head with a deep
frown furrowing his blond brows. “It ain’t funny.” I couldn’t agree with him
more, but don’t admit this.

He sits sulking while he stares at his
beer as though he wished it could heal his wounds, but I know it won’t. I grab
the almost empty bottle out of his hand and begin heading inside the house.
“I’ve got something much better than this nasty thing. I’ll be right back.”

I only hear him grunt in disapproval
before shutting the door.

I grab two glasses from the cabinet,
fill them full of milk, and place them in the freezer to chill while I head
towards the covered dessert plates to search out something yummy. The kitchen
smells of chocolate, sugar, and gooey goodness, so I know there is a bounty of
treats to be had. I walk past the famous cookie cabinet and stop in my tracks.
I feel the wicked grin tug at my lips and crinkle my eyes as a wonderful
mischievous idea whispers to me. I turn back to retrieve my mother’s precious
box of cookies. Luck has it that a new box is tucked on the shelf with a note
from the baker sending his condolences. I spot a stack of sympathy cards at the
end of the counter. I stuff this little note in the midst of the rest for Jean
to discover after I’m long gone. Feeling quite impressed by my own self, I grab
the two icy glasses of milk from the freezer along with the cookies and head
back out. John Paul sits unimpressed on the swing until he gets a glimpse of
the cookies and balks at me.

“Are you absolutely crazy?” he blurts
out, looking like a kid about to be caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I
have to laugh because this is close to the truth of the situation.

“They’re just cookies and milk, John
Paul,” I say innocently as I hand him his frosty glass of milk. I take my place
back beside him on the swing and, after tucking my glass between my legs, begin
to open the box.

As I slip my finger under the edge of
the seal, John Paul says, “You wouldn’t.” He eyes the box as though it’s going
to detonate when I break the seal and blow up.

“Oh, but I did,” I sing full of
silliness. I laugh as the seal comes free. I lift the first cookie out and give
it a good long sniff. My mouth instantly waters from the nutty luscious aroma.
I give my brother a big grin before shoving the entire cookie in my mouth. “So
good,” I mumble with my cheeks poking out full of cookie, feeling like a
chipmunk. I dramatically chew and moan as the chocolaty treat melts
deliciously. The longer I chew, the more hints of goodness show up—first and
foremost deep chocolate, then smoky toffee, and then nuttiness from the almonds
and surprising notes of coffee.

“You are gonna be in
trouble
.”
My brother croons in a whiny voice and I know he’s about ready to play along.
We’ve had too much heavy tonight, and I think some silliness will do us both
some good.

I wash it down with a big gulp of milk
and let some trickle out the sides of my mouth for full effect. This sends him
over the edge, and he begins laughing so hard the swing vibrates. I feel the
tension finally relent in that laugh and it warms me.

“Alright now. Keep it up and you’re
gonna get us both caught.” I laugh and I cram another cookie in as he stares at
me. Cookie crumbs fall from my over-stuffed mouth as I try to speak. “Wook.” I
pause to chew and swallow so I can form the words clearer. “I’m not getting up
off this swing until this here box is empty. So you can either grab yourself
one, or just sit there and keep drooling as I enjoy.”

“What the
he…ck
?” He corrects mid-word as he grabs up a cookie then
hesitates. “You didn’t monkey around with these did you?” he asks, eyebrow
raised.

“You just witnessed me breaking the
seal.” I roll my eyes.

“I believe I witnessed your mother do
the same that night.” He smirks knowingly.

I snatch the cookie out of his hand and
cram it in my mouth.

He chuckles before grabbing up another
one and following suit by shoving an entire cookie in at once. These babies are
as big as my hand, just so you know. Before swallowing, he gives me a full
chocolate teeth grin, and I know we might just be okay—for now anyway. We sit
out on the swing until the sun hesitates around the edges of the new day and
all the cookies and milk have been devoured.

Before heading back upstairs with a
slight bellyache, I give him a big hug and tell him how much I love him. I have
missed too many opportunities with my big brother. I’m beginning to see this,
and I know I have really slighted myself. That stinking past sure has robbed
me.

I sit on the edge of the bed in a dazed
exhaustion. Oddly, I’m wired at the same time. I know all of these sporadic
bouts of sleep are going to catch up soon and will wreak havoc on me. I dismiss
this thought for now and scoop up the photos I swiped from John Paul’s room. As
I flip through the images that have caused so much pain, I am compelled to go
for a visit.

I ease back outside and begin my trek
down the road. It’s a gray hue outside in this dim, dawn light and the sounds
of the new day sing through the breeze. Birds chirp a morning greeting while a
few groggy frogs croak out their sleepy grumbles. I agree with them but my feet
continue to propel me forward until the pavement transitions to dirt and I find
myself at the edge of Bradley’s field. It’s already lighter now with more of a
pink shade filtering through the sky. The field’s wheat crop welcomes me as it
lethargically sways with its heavy dew in the light breeze, perfuming the air
in its earthly sweetness. A soft fog flickers and flows in a hovering manner
around the area as I spot a few deer helping themselves to a quiet nibble near
the right back corner. We barely pay each other any attention as I weave
through the rows until I reach the spot. I kneel down on the damp soil and am
almost engulfed in the crop as I relive the horrible accident. Flashes of that
day slash through my mind, and I find myself clutching my stomach from the
waves of pain. The deep rut has been smoothed and the ground has hidden all the
evidence of the spilled blood and broken hearts of that day, but I’m not
fooled. I know those secrets are still here and are whispering their repeated
devastating confession. It admits it all with brutal honesty. My eyes sting and
my nose throbs with all the right signs, but my tears continue their refusal to
come forward and grant me relief.

I continue kneeling with my hands
buried in the tainted soil. I’m lost in my memories until I hear a faint
clicking sound. I look up in the direction of the sound to discover John Paul
standing by the edge of the field with his fancy camera trained on me. I say
nothing. I just continue to stare vacantly in his direction. He doesn’t
acknowledge me either. The faint shuttering of the camera is rapid and I know
he has at least taken a hundred photos by this point. I don’t know why I permit
this, but I do. I turn my back away from him, sending my long, loose hair
cascading over my face protectively and sit in this spot while I allow him to
medicate his wounds through his creative outlet. If this helps to soothe his
demons, I feel obligated to grant it to him.

The camera continues to capture me and
the field as John Paul circles around. We mourn silently together in this eerie
moment—him trying to capture something with me trying to release it.

The clicking fades with my brother
departing just as quietly as he arrived. I mourn a while longer before going
back to the house and falling into bed. I fade into a peculiar, calming sleep.
My mind hovers on a thought before the morning disappears—
calm before the storm
.

~ ~ ~

A nagging knocking at the door summons
me awake. Hoping whoever it is will go the heck away; I bury my head under the
pillow and don’t acknowledge it.

“Are you okay in there?” The muffled nag
of my mother’s voice yells on the other side of the door. I don’t move nor make
an effort to answer her.
Go away
. I
should have known better than that. I hear the door open and slam forcefully.
Great. My pillow shield is snatched out of my hand, causing me to flinch in
surprise. I’m about to peep an eye open, but decide against it when Jean snaps,
“I’ve been knocking for ten minutes now. Are you going to hide in here your
entire visit?”

I cannot muster up enough strength to
deal with her, so I roll over away from her and stay silent. A low rumbling
echoes of a nearby storm outside. I can’t help but recognize the symbolism
here.
A storm’s a comin’
…

“Don’t you think it’s time to get
yourself cleaned up and come out and greet some of our company?” She is clearly
becoming more agitated by the minute, which is evident in her sharp tone. I
sure don’t feel like dealing with this right now.

I finally drag my exhausted butt out of
the bed and, without a word, begin gathering things for a shower once I realize
she does not intend to leave me be. I feel like a zombie, I’m so tired.

“You don’t know how to answer when
spoken to?” Jean sounds like she is ready to explode. I turn towards her to
finally give her a response, but I meet the fiery back of her hand across my
face. I blink away the shock as my vision tinges red
. No one is allowed to touch me without my permission
, I remind
myself.