Heart and Home (19 page)

Ten minutes later I was on
my way back downstairs to clean up lunch and was shocked when my dad came
whistling through the back door with the paper under his arm and his lunchbox
swinging. Upon realizing what might have transpired had Troy not gotten that
phone call, a crimson heat moved into my face as I went about tidying up the table,
scraping my uneaten lunch into the garbage before putting our dishes in the
sink.

“Dad, what are you doing
here so early?”

“We finished up early, so
they let us go,” he said. “Looks like I arrived just in time though. I thought
I passed young Mr. Kepner up the road there.” He looked over the table where
less than an hour earlier Troy and I sat down to a lunch we’d never finish.
“You two are the talk of the town, you know?
 
Burt Myers saw you over at the Cineplex on Wednesday night.
Said you looked pretty cozy. I’ve had half a dozen people at work ask me what’s
going on between the two of you.”

“Good God,” I rolled my eyes
and covered Mrs. Kepner’s baking dish with tinfoil before putting it in the
refrigerator. “This town can’t stand it unless they’re in on everyone’s private
business.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” he
tucked his lunch box under the sink and stood up. He was quiet for a moment,
and then cleared his throat before asking, “So, what is going on between the
two of you?”

“Dad!” I turned from the
refrigerator with my hand on my hip.

“Well, I am your father,” he
pointed out. “I’m just looking out for my little girl.”

I laughed, “Of course you
are. But really, I know you’re just digging for juicy bits to take with you to
work on Monday morning.”

“Bah,” he waved his hand at
me.

“Well, if you must know
then, nothing is officially going on between us. We’ve been out together a few
times, and we’ll probably go out again tonight and maybe even tomorrow. We’re
spending some time together before I leave on Sunday, but it’s not a marriage
proposal or a deep commitment. Just two people testing the water to see if
they’d like to go swimming together.”

“Swimming, huh?” He cocked
his left brow into an arc and smirked. “Is that what they’re calling it these
days?”

“Dad!”

“What? When I was your age,
we called that dating.”

“Whatever,” chuckling, I
shook my head. “You were never my age, you old dinosaur.”

“Hey you!” He swatted his
hand in my direction. “You watch that there, young lady.”

“Hey, Dad, can we talk about
something serious for a minute?” I pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and
sat down.

“Sure,” he followed my
example, and put on a serious face. “What’s on your mind?”

“This is kind of weird, so
don’t get all mad or freaked out, or whatever.” I started. “I think there’s
something going on in the house.”

“Something? What kind of
something?”

“I don’t know,” I looked
down, not so sure if I could go through with the truth about what I’d been
seeing. What if he didn’t believe me? “It’s hard to explain.”

“So take your time,” he
urged.

“Dad, do you believe in
spirits or ghosts or anything like that?”

“Jannie, I’ve lived in this
house for more than a quarter of a century, and it’s never been haunted.”

“I know,” I nodded. “I lived
here too, but what if something’s changed now? You know,” I urged him to think
it through so I didn’t have to say that words out loud. “Since Mom has passed…”
I added when he didn’t say anything.

“If this is about the sewing
machine…”

“Dad, it’s been more than
the sewing machine,” I assured him. “Tuesday night I came home and started up
the stairs and there she was...” A chill moved through me along with the
memory. “Just standing there and she was reaching out for me saying something I
couldn’t hear.”

He crossed his arms and
pursed his lips tightly together, a bad sign that he wasn’t buying it. “Didn’t
you go out drinking with your friend Becky Tuesday night?”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t drinking
today when I went upstairs to find all of the clothes I packed into my suitcase
put away in the drawers and closets.”

“What?” His brow shot
upward, wrinkling his forehead. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not kidding, Dad.
Something strange has been going on in this house, and I think it is somehow
connected to Mom, like she’s trying to tell me something.”

He shook his head, “Honey,
I’m not saying I don’t believe you but…”

“But you don’t believe me?”

“It’s not that I don’t want
to believe you, Jan, it’s just that... I don’t know. I haven’t seen or felt a
thing out of place, other than that strange thing about the sewing machine.”

I nodded, “I understand if
you don’t believe me, Dad, but I just really feel like she’s trying to reach
out to me.”

“Maybe she is,” he started
to push away from the table. “If she does manage to get a hold of you, ask her
where she put my watch? I haven’t been able to find it since… well, you know.”

I bit down on the inside of
my upper lip and nodded. The bite was meant to stifle any tears that might
follow the awkward feeling of his not believing me. I tried to couple it with
his longtime denial about God and church, and that made me feel a little
better, but in the end I’d really been hoping that maybe he felt it too. I
listened to the sound of his boots on the stairs, and then the bathroom door
closed before I let go of the emotions bottled up inside me.

What if I was crazy, or if
she wasn’t even trying to reach out to me, and it was all just some psychosis I
was developing to make up for losing her. I drew in a sobbing breath and
sighed, dabbing at the last of my tears with a napkin from the holder in the
center of the table.

“If you’re really trying to
reach me, Mom, where are you now?”

I looked toward the ceiling,
listened hard for some sign of her upstairs, but after several minutes the only
sound that answered was the flush of the toilet, and water rushing through
pipes behind the kitchen walls.

Chapter Eighteen

The rain finally started to
taper off around half-past five, and by seven there was nothing left but a
trace of silver-lined clouds crawling from time to time across a waxing moon.
The streets were still wet and reflected headlights glared back at me as I
drove to Becky’s after dinner. Dad and I said nothing else to each other about
my mother’s lingering on, and he did his best to act as though we never even
discussed it at all. Whether he thought I was losing my mind, I couldn’t tell,
but I was glad to say goodbye when I finally left for Becky’s around
seven-thirty.

I was looking forward to
spending time with her and Marty, but the butterflies in my stomach only had
one thing on their mind: seeing Troy again. Our afternoon encounter, left
suspended like the fading smoke after Fourth of July fireworks, still clouded
my thoughts, making it nearly impossible to think about anything beyond
following through with what we started.

I couldn’t stop thinking
about the way his hands felt against my bare skin, the look in his eyes just
after he’d told me I was beautiful. Foolish, yes, and when taken into
consideration with Troy’s own advice about not making any rash choices so soon
after my mother’s death, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was trying to destroy
the whole thing before it had a chance to get off the ground, or get it started
so quick we wouldn’t have time to look back until we were so wrapped up in each
other there was no turning back.

My secret hope was for the
latter, and that realization coupled with all the obstacles that seemed to
stand in the way of that coming into fruition only seemed to make me want him
more.

I was so caught up in my
fantasies that I seemed to float to Becky’s on autopilot and was a little
surprised when I sat back to turn off the ignition.

Marty greeted me at the door
and explained, “Becky’s upstairs getting the boys around. Let me go on up and
get her.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“You can come on in, and
have a seat, make yourself comfortable.”

I took a seat in the parlor.
How strange it was that just five days earlier I ventured into Becky’s home for
the very first time since we’d become adults. It already started to feel like
I’d been coming over to visit with her and Marty forever, especially after Troy
and I came over together. It reminded me of what she’d said while we were doing
dishes the night before, about how those visits with friends become the nights
you fantasize about being married to each other and having friends over to your
own place.

She was yelling back up to
Marty as she marched down the stairs, something about making sure socks
actually matched, and then she ducked into the parlor and grinned. “You’re
early.”

“Sorry, I had to get out of
the house.”

“Anything wrong?”

I shrugged, “I don’t know.
Just ghost stuff.”

“Oh no,” furrowing her brow,
she slipped in and sat beside me. “What happened? Something new?”

I nodded, widening my eyes
for dramatic effect. “Oh yeah, something big.”

“Well?” she nudged me with
an impatient elbow.

“Troy and I were having
lunch when I heard a commotion upstairs.”

“Lunch again, huh?”

Eyes rolling, I ignored her
superficial query and went on. “So I go up to see what it is, and he follows
me, probably thinking there’s a raccoon in the attic or something. I search the
sewing room, their bedroom, the closets and bathroom, and nothing. So I turn to
my room, and when I open the door, the suitcase I just finished packing is
laying on the floor, only now it’s empty.”

“Oh my god,” she whispered,
her hand shooting up to cover her mouth.

“All of the clothes had been
put back in the drawers or hung in the closet, and when I opened the closet, I
noticed my old stereo speakers knocked over on the floor, so that is what I
told Troy. It was just the speakers.”

“Oh wow,” she shook her
head. “Oh, Janice this is almost too much now.”

“Almost?” I widened my eyes.
“Becky, it has gone beyond almost too much. And to top it all off, I got brave
when my dad came home and he doesn’t seem to think there is anything out of the
ordinary going on around the house.”

Her face wrinkled with
sorrow, “I’m sorry, Janice. I wish there was something I could do to help.”

“Maybe once I go back on
Sunday, it’ll stop.”

“Yeah,” she looked away,
nodding. “Maybe.”

“Too bad there weren’t any
ghost busters or whatever around here.”

“There are a couple of
paranormal research groups in the county, but I don’t know anything about them.
I can look into it for you.”

“That would be nice,” I
nodded. “Though I can’t imagine Dad will want anyone poking around the house
with voice recording stuff and weird video imaging cameras.”

“No, but sometimes they
don’t even have to do that. Maybe it would be even better to find a medium or
something.”

“You mean one of those
people like they have on talk shows that pick random audience members and
badgers them about a relative with an M name or something trying to reach out
and tell them they left the dryer on?”

Her laughter had a way with
lifting my own spirit. “Yeah, one of those people,” she was still laughing.
“But seriously, most mediums aren’t so crazy. I think Lydia might know someone
legitimate. I’ll talk to her and see what she says.”

“Okay,” I agreed, “but don’t
tell her why we want to know, please, Becky.” I looked deep into her eyes to
double-emphasize my plea. “I don’t really want this going beyond you and me
right now.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Thank you,” I drew my arm
across her shoulder in a warm hug. “For everything. I don’t know what I would
have done without you this last week.”

“That’s what I’m here for,”
she squeezed me. “Even after you go back.”

“I know, and I am there for
you too, even after I go back.”

“Good.”

She didn’t ask about Troy
after that, but my mind was never far from the butterfly-invoked state of
euphoria that flooded through me at the mere thought of him. I still wasn’t
ready to share the afternoon’s events with her, preferring to keep them secret
and safe, as though telling would somehow curse the act of full consummation
from occurring.

I helped distract Galen and
Brennan while Becky and Marty finished getting ready to go themselves, and
finally around quarter after eight we left for the farm. It was just going on
8:30 when we arrived, and as we waited for the next ride, I got my first real
taste of what Becky and Marty went through regularly having two little ones so
close to each other in age. When they weren’t picking at each other, they were
wonderful, but the moments that they left each other alone were few and far
between. Becky was on her second threat to take them both home and put them to
bed when the tractor came ambling back around the loop to let the previous
passengers unload.

“A tractor, a tractor!”
Brennan cried.

“I should have made them
take later naps,” Becky moaned, shifting Brennan to her other hip. Galen, who
insisted that I carry him, was growing heavier by the minute, and I was sure
that come morning the muscles in my arms were going to be severely strained.

“They really should award
mothers with massive honors,” I noted, readjusting the toddler in my arms.

“Yes, they should,” Marty
laughed. “I know I would nominate Becky for every honor and award they had.”
His compliment touched her, and the smile she responded with, though meant to
be secret, showed me the romantic side of Becky at work in her own life. It was
no wonder she saw princes on white stallions and blissfully happy endings in
everyone’s future—she had her very own Prince Charming right beside her
every day.

“I have to admit though,
this is actually a rare evening out,” Marty added. “They’re behaving really
well.”

“That is true,” Becky
agreed. “For as late as it is, they are both being exceptionally good. Let’s
hope it stays that way.”

“I wanna ride that tractor,”
Galen pointed in the direction of the tractor, which paused to let off the
first round of passengers. Spirals of smoke touted from the stack, rough gray
against the black sky.

“We will,” Marty reached
over and tousled his hair. “We just have to wait our turn.” As he started to
squirm, I was grateful that Marty took over, and lifted him out of my arms.

The tractor chugged forward
and started to crawl toward us, exciting several of the other small kids in the
crowd. While I’d never have admitted it to anyone else, I was a little excited
myself. I’d heard songs on the country radio stations about women finding farm
equipment sexy, but I’d certainly never expected to count myself among them
until I caught sight of Troy behind the wheel. There was something incredibly
powerful about it, the smoke and rumbling engine, and I could tell it was going
to taunt my fantasies in the future.

Equally happy to see that
we’d made it, Troy’s face lit up, and he gestured for one of the guys taking
money at the entrance to come over and take his place. He climbed down and
sidled up to us, much to the excited cries of both Galen and Brennan.

“Troy, it’s Troy!”

“I hope you don’t mind,” he
slipped an almost possessive arm around my waist and I leaned back into his
chest. I breathed in diesel fumes mixed with autumn damp, both mixed with whatever
laundry detergent he used and clung to the hooded flannel he wore in a strange,
but intoxicating way. “I’m gonna ride along with you guys and play the
spectator this time around.”

“Like we’d mind,” I nudged
him playfully.

“Yeah really,” Marty chimed in.
“Thanks for inviting us out.”

“Hey Troy, can I come and
see your chickens today?” Galen asked.

“Not today, buddy. It’s too
dark, but maybe sometime during the week your mom could bring you over to see
them.”

His excited cheer was
muffled by Becky’s promise to take him up on his offer.

One by one we began to climb
up into the scattered bales of hay that littered the trailer. Troy fell into a
seat and tugged me down so I was nestled tight between him and Becky. Crowds of
people, families with kids, teenagers on dates, all piled into the cart until
we were snugly packed against the damp chill of the autumn night.

Troy wrapped his arms around
me and leaned close to my ear, whispering, “I didn’t think tonight was ever
gonna get here.” The surprise of his facial hair against my neck sent a thrill
of shivers rushing through me as the tractor surged forward.

“It was a long day,” I
admitted, pressing my back against his chest. “You know my dad came home about
ten minutes after you left,” I raised my eyebrow as I glanced back at him.

His face seemed to flush
pink at the mention of our near miss. “That could have been awkward.”

I nodded, “He says we’re the
talk of the town. Everyone wants to know what’s going on, what we’re up to.”

He leaned outward to look me
over in question. “Let them talk.”

“They will whether I let
them or not,” I pointed out.

He snuck his tickling
fingers across my waist in search of my hand, and then he tangled our fingers
together. It felt good to be so close to him again, and my mind flashed back to
the memory of him standing in the doorway of my bedroom on his phone,
shirtless, hand rested half-closed over the soft patch of golden hair that
trailed into the top of his unbuttoned jeans.

“Do you have any plans for
later?” he asked.

“Just going home and going
to bed,” I admitted.

“Now, that sounds like a
plan,” he whispered, his lips brushing softly against my ear. I could feel him
smiling against my cheek, and it spread warmth all through me.

“Well, I would invite you to
join me, but there’s that whole thing about staying in my parents’ home.”

“Maybe I should invite you
back to my place, then?”

The shock of his suggestion
raked across the coals of the fire he’d lit in me earlier, and I turned my head
quickly to check his expression. He looked away at first, as though embarrassed
by his own proposal, but I caught the sly movement of his lips just before his
eyes met mine.

I swallowed quickly and
said, “Maybe you should.”

He nuzzled his cheek against
mine again; the sensation of his unshaven skin against mine sent prickling fits
of desire through me that were so powerful I actually shivered. “What do you
say?”

I felt like the whole world
was watching us, but we already approached the first stage and were an
invisible corner of the crowd. Not even Becky tuned into us, and I was glad. It
seemed to make the game we were playing even more exciting.

“Will you spend the night
with me?”

He leaned outward again so I
could turn my gaze to meet with his. I nodded slightly, “I’d like that.”