Coming Home (52 page)

As the weeks went by, she talked to Rob often on the phone, but he
was tied up with his new album and was anticipating another lengthy road tour,
so he didn’t have time to visit.  He was uncharacteristically mute regarding
his love life, and she wondered what had ever become of Christine Hamilton. 
For all she knew, they were still seeing each other.  The idea left a strange
sensation in the pit of her stomach, so she avoided thinking about it. 

Summer eased into fall, and fall into winter.  Jesse kept her
driveway plowed, and she reciprocated by baking him bread and having him over
to the house for dinner once or twice a week.  Sometimes they went to the
movies together.  She’d known Jesse all her life, and he was easy to be with. 
They went ice fishing together, snowmobiling, to the high school’s winter
carnival.  She even accompanied him to a couple of school board meetings.

Somehow, she survived that long, dreary winter.  In March, seemingly
overnight, winter gave way to the first flush of spring, and she had to wear
rubber boots just to get to the mailbox.  She got her car stuck in the quagmire
at the end of her driveway and had to call AAA to come and pull it out.  Danny
had been gone for more than a year, and the pain was gradually losing its
fierce edge.  

Spring gave way to the hottest summer in ten years.  The Fourth of
July dawned blistering and muggy.  At noon, the entire clan gathered in Trish
and Bill’s back yard to feast on lobsters and steamed clams, hot dogs and
hamburgers.  While Bill alternated between manning the grill and showing off
his vegetable garden, Casey and Trish and Millie waded through dogs and cats
and kids, boyfriends and girlfriends and assorted playmates to set the picnic
table with gargantuan bowls of potato and macaroni salad, cole slaw,
home-canned pickles, five dozen freshly baked yeast rolls, an enormous plastic
keg of lemonade, and the biggest strawberry shortcake in three counties.

When Billy and Alison arrived with their new baby, all the women
took turns making a fuss over him, but it was Casey who got final custody. 
“You just go enjoy yourself,” she told Alison.  “I’ll take care of this little
guy.”

She didn’t have to offer twice.  Alison gave her a grateful smile
before going off hand-in-hand with Billy to inspect his father’s garden.  Casey
buried her face in the baby’s belly.  “Oh, you sweet thing,” she said.  “I can
hardly wait to spoil you.”

“Sorry,” Trish told her, “but Grampa Bill already bought the
franchise.”

“You and Bill,” Casey said, “grandparents.  It’s hard to believe. 
You’re too young.”

“You’re telling me.  I thought I’d have a stroke when we found out
Alison was pregnant.  Babies having babies.  But it seems to be working out. 
Ali’s a nice girl, and Billy’s crazy about her and the baby.”

Casey found a shady spot and settled down to feed little Willie
his bottle.  He fell asleep in her arms, and she balanced him on one arm while
she picked halfheartedly at the plate of food that Jesse brought her.  She was
studying the miniature curled fists, transfixed, when Trish sat down on the
grass beside her.  “You know,” her sister-in-law said, “it’s not too late for
you.”

“Too late for what?”

“To have another baby.”

She snorted.  “Be serious.  I’m thirty-two years old.”

“And we both know that age doesn’t mean doodly-poop.  Women are
having babies in their forties and loving it.  Compared to them, you’re
practically a teenager.”

“Besides,” Casey said, “I happen to be lacking one essential ingredient: 
a husband.”

“So?  Get married.”

“I suppose you have someone picked out?  Like maybe your brother?”

“You could do worse.”

“Jesse and I are just friends.”

“Being friends is a place to start.  Look, hon, I’m really not
trying to push.  But the two of you seem to get along so well, and there has to
be some attraction there.  After all, you were engaged once.”

“Fifteen years ago!  We were children!”

“And God knows, that boy needs a mother.”

Appalled, she said, “You think I should marry the man because his
son needs a mother?”

“There are worse reasons for getting married.”

“What about love?”

“I hate to be the one to break it to you, sweetie, but you can get
pretty lonely sitting in your ivory tower, waiting for love to come along.”

“I’m not waiting for anything,” she said, “and I am most certainly
not marrying your brother.”

“Well,” Trish said, patting her arm with maternal concern, “you
think about it.”

She had no intention of thinking about it.  She couldn’t believe
Trish could suggest such a thing, as though Danny were no more than a worn-out
winter coat she could simply replace with next year’s model.

The kids began a rousing game of volleyball, and as she watched
their young, strong limbs, so tanned and muscular, nineteen seemed a lifetime
ago.  She wondered if it was normal to feel this old, this tired, this used-up
at thirty-two.  “Good lord, woman,” she said aloud, “you’re morbid.  Snap out
of it.”  She kicked off her shoes, handed the baby over to Trish, and joined
the volleyball game.  The physical activity was invigorating, the company
stimulating.  Swept up in the excitement, she forgot to feel sorry for herself.

At dusk, she and Jesse loaded a half-dozen teenagers into the bed
of his pickup and drove into town to watch the fireworks.  The kids disappeared
into the crowd before Casey could finish spreading a blanket on the grassy
riverbank.  She looked at Jesse, and he shrugged.  “Old-timer’s disease,” he
said.  “They wouldn’t want to be seen in public with us.  It might rub off.”

She sat on the blanket with Jesse in the gathering darkness,
watching people and fighting off mosquitoes.  There was something about
hometowns that made a fireworks display special.  The ear-splitting booms, the
collective
ahhhs
from the crowd, the children dancing joyously as they
waved sparklers above their heads.  It had something to do with tradition,
something to do with the sense of community that was such an important part of
small-town life. 

It was over too soon.  She and Jesse were folding the blanket when
Mikey came running with a friend in tow.  “Can I stay tonight at Troy’s house?”
he asked.  “He just got the new Space Blasters game I was telling you about.”

“Did you ask his parents?”

“My mom said it was okay,” Troy said.  “She’s right over there.”

Jesse looked and waved.  “Okay,” he said, “as long as Troy’s
parents don’t care.  But—”

He never got to finish his sentence.  The boys were already gone. 
Casey hugged the blanket to her chest and grinned.  “Parental influence,” she
said.  “Gives you a real feeling of power, doesn’t it?”

Her nieces, Jenny and Kristin, were sitting on the tailgate of the
truck, waiting for them.  The other kids had all dispersed in various
directions, so the four of them squeezed into the cab.  Casey listened as her
nieces rattled on about the fireworks and about who was dating whom.  When they
dropped the girls off, Trish came out on the doorstep to wave, and Jesse said
dryly, “My sister’s been pushing me at you, hasn’t she?”

“How did you know?”

“She’s been doing the same thing with me.  I told her I’m thirty-four
years old and my sex life is my own business.”

“Do you think she took the hint?”

He smiled wryly.  “Probably not.  With Trish, you need a
sledgehammer to make a point.”

Not wanting to go into that big, empty house alone, she invited
him to stay.  They killed an hour drinking lemonade and making easy
conversation on the porch swing.  After he left, she loaded their glasses into
the dishwasher and tried to read.  But it was unbearably hot, the night sounds
of the old house were distracting, and the emptiness gnawed at her insides. 
She decided to take a cool shower.  The water felt glorious, but the moment she
stepped out from beneath the spray, the heat and the emptiness closed in on her
again.

She tied her robe around her and went into the bedroom and sat on
the edge of the bed, looking at the phone.  She picked it up, listened to the
dial tone, then hung up.  It was one in the morning, ten o’clock California
time, and Rob probably wasn’t home.  Most likely, he was at some wild July
Fourth celebration that would go on for three days.  And if he was home, he was
probably partying in private with someone slender, blond, and very young. 

At one forty-five, she gave up on sleeping.  At two-ten, she
turned on the bedside lamp and dialed Rob’s number.  Three thousand miles away,
he picked up the phone.  “Hey,” she said.

“Hey, light of my life.”

“Happy Fourth of July.  Am I interrupting anything?”

“Yeah.  I’m sitting here sharing a can of cold ravioli with Igor.”

“That’s revolting.  How can you eat that slop?”

“I happen to like that slop.  And so does Igor.  So how’d you
celebrate the Fourth?”

“I went to a barbecue at Bill’s house, and then I watched the
fireworks with Jesse.”

“The two of you are getting pretty cozy lately.  Started picking
out china patterns yet?”

“Jackass,” she said.

“I’ve told you this before,” he said, “and I’ll tell you again. 
It is legally and ethically impossible to be unfaithful to a dead man.”

“Thanks,” she said.  “Whatever would I do if I didn’t have you
around to tell me how to run my life?”

“You’d probably learn to do it yourself.”

“Why do I feel as though I’ve heard this lecture before?”

“You have.  But last time, I was on the receiving end.”  He
paused.  “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “maybe it’s time we weaned
ourselves.”

Her fingers tightened on the telephone receiver.  “What’s that
supposed to mean?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that our relationship might be
unhealthy?  We use each other as a crutch.  Maybe it’s time we cut the
umbilical cord and got on with our lives.”

The silence between them was awkward and profound.  Aghast, she
told him, “I can’t believe you said that.”

“Don’t go to pieces on me, Fiore.  It was just a suggestion.”

“Oh, really?  So you think you can dump a bombshell like that in
my lap and expect me to just forget about it?”

“All I said was that we seem to have an unhealthy dependence on
each other.  From now on, I’ll keep my opinions to myself.”

“Fine with me, MacKenzie.  As far as I’m concerned, that’s exactly
where they belong!”  She slammed down the receiver and then, to her utter
amazement, burst into tears.

The telephone rang.  It shrilled five times, six, while she sat
with folded arms, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down her cheeks.  On
the twenty-third ring, she picked it up.  “I’m sorry,” Rob said.  “I really
don’t mean to be an asshole.  I think it’s some kind of genetic defect.”

With a shuddering breath, she wiped her wet cheek on the back of
her hand.  “Why is it,” she said, “that I can never stay mad at you?”

“In spite of your best efforts, Fiore, you love me.”

“You must be right.  I can’t think of any other reason I’d
continue to put up with the misery you bring into my life.”

“Listen, babe, I have this enormous steak in my freezer that has
your name written all over it.  Why don’t you come spend a few days with me?  I
promise to keep my mouth shut.”

She needed some time away, some time to come to terms with
herself, to think about where she was going with her life.  She reached for a
tissue and swiped at her nose.  “Yes,” she said, “I’ll come.  And you don’t
have to keep your mouth shut.  I love you just the way you are.”

***

Lost and ignored in the crush of people at LAX, Casey worked her
way toward the baggage claim.  A skycap wheeling a mountain of luggage nearly
ran her over, and she ducked to avoid a collision.  Rob had promised to meet
her, but in this swarm she’d never find him.  She clutched her carry-on more
tightly, and then she saw him through an opening in the crowd.  Hands tucked
loosely in his pockets, wearing dark glasses and the godawful felt hat she’d
wanted to burn for a decade, he looked cool and untouched by the mayhem that
surrounded him.  Rob MacKenzie was a conundrum, a law unto himself, wearing $250
Nikes with a pair of scruffy jeans he’d owned since high school.  And he looked
good enough to eat.

When he saw her, he held out both hands, palms up, as if to
indicate he was unarmed, then gave her a smile that contained enough wattage to
light the entire city of Los Angeles.  She set down her carry-on and opened her
arms.  “Hey,” she said.

 “Hey, sweetheart.” 

They embraced warmly, and then she stepped back and he planted a
kiss on the top of her head.  “You look spectacular,” he said.

She was wearing her traveling clothes, jeans and a tee shirt, and
she looked down at herself in surprise.  “Me?” she said.  “Spectacular?”

“You’ve got a tan that any one of my sisters would kill for.”