Homecoming (2 page)

“Max...Max...it’s okay...but you have to come
down
...” When the cat climbed higher in the tree, the woman spun around to face him.

Jake turned away from her and leaned his head inside the front door. Whoever this night nymph was, he had a feeling he’d definitely need his great-aunt to identify him.

“Are you just going to stand there?” The irritation in the woman’s voice pulled his attention back to her. Her eyes narrowed as she placed her hands indignantly on her round hips. The effect of the full moon on her gown left even less to his imagination and he forced his gaze away from her body to meet her glare. And although her expression certainly defied it, she was nothing but angelic in the silvery glow of the moonlight.

“What?” In his mesmerized state, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say to her.

From her stance by the tree, the woman continued to stare at him, but now seemed as if she were evaluating him. Her ill-humored expression softened a degree.

Finally she spoke in a measured tone, “Would you
please
come over here? You’re probably tall enough to reach him.”

Jake closed the front door against any additional potential feline runaways, then walked down the steps to join her. Again he forced his gaze away from her fluttering gown, this time to the long-haired orange cat who sat calmly looking down at them from a thick branch.

“Can you reach him?” she asked.

“Nope. Got a ladder or a stool or something?” Jake stared at the cat who yawned as though he was already getting bored with the game he’d started.

“I’ll get a chair off the porch,” she said, twirling around and walking briskly past him. Again her long curls brushed his arm, this time leaving a scent of lilacs in the air.

Jake held both hands up toward the cat. “You better come down, Max. This lady’s not in such a lovely mood—”

To Jake’s amazement, the cat eased down the tree trunk, then stepped with great care onto a lower branch and finally into Jake’s arms. There he relaxed, nuzzled his nose into the bend of Jake’s elbow and began to purr.

“How did you
do
that?”

Jake turned to the woman and shrugged his shoulders. “We’re old friends. I didn’t think he’d remember me.” She stood in front of him holding an antique ladder-back chair to her chest, her dark eyes fixed on his.

Then it hit him. “Cory? Cory Wells?” He watched her eyes widen under now sharply raised brows, and he could see her cheeks color even in the moonlight.

“Tillie’s
your
aunt?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“She’s my great-aunt, actually. What are you doing here?”

“I moved back to Faythe to help Tillie...her health...the house...”

“Where is she? Is she still asleep after all this racket?”

Jake watched as Cory took a deep breath, then returned his stare with a rock steady gaze.

“I’m so sorry, Jake, to be the one to tell you. Tillie passed away over a month ago...she went peacefully, in her sleep.”

Jake stepped back, the trunk of the tree meeting his shoulder with a painful thud.

Meow.

Jake stared at the cat in his arms, his mind racing.
Too late. He was too late.
“I...I was in London...I didn’t know...she asked me to come, but I’m later than I thought I’d be and...”

“Jake, why don’t you come in and I can explain—”

He broke off her invitation by handing her back the cat, then he shook his head. He needed some time to adjust to what he’d done...no, what he
hadn’t
done. How could this have happened? Anger and regret pumped through his veins, burning his soul with the realization that he hadn’t been there when Tillie had needed him most.

“Jake—”

“Is the Lakeview Motel still open between here and Ellison Bay?” he asked over his shoulder, already turned away and on his way back to the car. His breath came in ragged bursts as he battled the panic that was building inside him, panic that he was about to break down, lose control of his emotions in front of Cory.

“I think so. Jake, why don’t you meet me at the attorney’s in the morning at ten,” she called after him. “Al Weismann’s office is above the hardware store—I’ll let him know to expect you. I’m sure you have lots of questions, and he’ll be able to explain things and read you the will, tell you why I’m...”

The frantic sound of Cory’s voice faded, drowned out by the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. When Jake reached the car, he slid into the seat and, with shaking fingers, managed to get the key into the ignition and start the engine.

He didn’t look back at her or the house as he drove away. Instead, he put all his effort into one thing: suppressing the threat of hot tears by shutting down the flood of grief. He’d bury it deeply for now, deal with it later—a skill he’d perfected in his childhood.

With each deep breath he pushed his grief deeper and deeper until he felt numb, a wall safely built between it and his heart.

A stab of pain pulled Jake’s index finger to the side of his head to rub in deep circles at his left temple where a tension headache had already begun.

He stopped hard at the four-way; a hand-painted sign nailed to the wooden post offered the comfort he sought:
The Java Hut. Open ‘til midnight. Turn left on Cherry Street.

His old street.
Perfect
. A jolt of caffeine would help his headache if he could ingest it in time, and, more than that, he needed to stop and think.

As he drove, the thought popped into his head of how ridiculous it was for a trendy coffee place to share the block with his old man’s ramshackle clapboard house.
Well, Pop, things change...whether you like it or not.

Jake turned onto his old street and then into the parking lot of The Java Hut. He jammed on the brake, blinked hard, then twisted his neck to look over his shoulder, then back again to search for address numbers, finally finding brightly colored blue and yellow tiles above the shiny red door.
Seven thirty one.

His Porsche Boxster was parked exactly where his old bedroom should have been. To his right he should be looking at an ancient gnarled cherry tree—and not a Dumpster camouflaged by a white picket fence on which was painted a steaming cup of coffee and The Java Hut in bright red letters.

It hit him that the coffee shop was sitting precisely where his childhood home should have been.

As Jake stepped inside the shop, he watched an older woman look up from wiping down the espresso equipment. More than ever he was counting on his charm to discourage her from glancing toward the clock and noticing it was closing time.

He drew his mouth into a well-practiced killer smile. The woman returned with one of her own, then tucked an errant gray hair behind her ear.

She tossed her cleaning rag on the back counter and said, “Now, you, young man—you look like you need something strong enough to put some hair on your chest. How ‘bout I make you one of my special cappuccinos. It’ll give you a little kick to get you through whatever it is you’re trying to get through, or maybe help you get away from whatever you’re trying to get away from.”

Jake nodded. “You’re a mind reader. Sounds perfect.”

While the woman concocted her miracle drink, he settled onto a tall stool at a nearby table. Too many surprises. Too many unknowns to deal with in the middle of the night.

The woman set the cup on the table in front of him and Jake offered her another cultivated smile. “Have you worked here long?” he asked as he brought the steaming cup to his lips, then took a sip.
C’mon caffeine, do your stuff.

The woman grinned, one eyebrow lifting. “You from around here?”

“Used to live here—actually
right
here.” He emphasized his point by tapping a finger against the red and purple mosaic tabletop. “This shop is sitting exactly where my house used to be.”

“That right? Well, I’ll be damned. You’re Ralph Randall’s kid, aren’t you?” She broke into an open, friendly smile and joined him at the table.

“Jake,” he said, extending his free hand to her.

“My, my, you sure have changed.” she said putting her hand in his. “When you came in I pegged you for a big city executive-type who got himself lost. Felt sorry for you and figured the least I could do was get you a cup of coffee. I’m remembering you left Faythe for Chicago the minute you graduated—that right?”

“You know what happened to my house?”

She studied him for a moment before she answered. “Not that I really blame you much for
not
asking, but don’t you want to know what happened to your father?”

Jake opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Truth was, he really didn’t give a rat’s ass what had happened to his old man—but he couldn’t quite say the words out loud. He had Tillie to thank for that too. She’d insisted on manners and a civil tongue, especially around women.

“Your dad got sick,” the woman began, “a few years ago. Then he got so he couldn’t stay alone anymore—Alzheimer’s.” She paused, her brows pulling together. “You know about your Aunt Tillie?”

“Just found out.”

“She was a hell of a nice woman. An institution here, you know. Faythe won’t be the same without her.”

Jake nodded.

“Anyway, your dad’s property ended up being sold. Out-of-towners bought it. They demolished the building and built this place. The money from the property’s in an account that pays for your dad’s care.”

“Where?”

“He’s over at Miss Mabel’s on the north end of Main Street. She turned her house into a board and care place for people...like your dad. You come home to stay?”

The cup of cappuccino froze in mid-air at the idea of coming home to Faythe to stay, and Jake shook off the feeling as he shook his head no. “You know anything about the woman in her house?”

“I know Tillie hired her to help out with the house and the cats. And Tillie told me last year she was having good days and bad days, and she got so she didn’t want to be by herself. I heard at Tillie’s service she even put that woman in her will. Al Weismann’s who you’ll want to ask more about—”

“—so I heard.” he interrupted. “Hey, thanks for this. You’re a goddess of liquid magic.” He took another sip, then added, “Much better than the big city stuff. Now I know where to send someone for a decent cup of coffee.”

The woman got up and returned to her cleaning while Jake drank his cappuccino in silence.

His great-aunt had looked fine in December when he’d seen her last. Frail, certainly, but mentally sharp and as feisty as ever. Just like always, she’d gotten someone to bring her into the city, and then she just showed up at his office unannounced. She knew he’d drop everything to go to dinner and an evening performance of The Nutcracker with her. After their evening together was done, he’d call Smart Cars and order her a limo ride home.

She did it every year around the holidays as though she knew it was the only celebrating he did. God, how he hated the ballet. But he went happily, just to be with her and listen to her say how darling the children were and how she wondered why she’d never taken up dancing, how she sure had the legs for it. Then she’d laugh at herself and her under-five-foot stature and the silliness of impossible dreams.

And it would be wonderful. She’d compliment him on his accomplishments and all he’d done with his life in spite of everything. And then she’d ask him why she only got to see him a couple times a year.

Regrets soured Jake’s stomach along with the strong coffee. His cup now empty, he put a twenty on the table next to it and blew a kiss to The Java Hut miracle woman as he left the coffee shop.

“Don’t be a stranger, now.” She smiled and waved at him.

Fortified, he headed out of town knowing he’d probably be up the rest of the night in his motel room, but at least he’d be headache-free.

***

Cory pulled the thin blanket to her chin. With at least one cat sleeping on each side of her and usually one on her feet, she rarely needed the bed’s heavy quilt even though the nights were still cool.

Tonight it was Amber and Oscar who snuggled against each hip, with escapee-Max at her feet. Since Tillie had passed away, shy Amber still only showed up at night, staying well-hidden during the day, seeking human companionship exclusively after the lights were out.

Inhaling deeply, Cory concentrated on her heartbeat, and tried to stop its racing. The thudding had started the instant she’d recognized Max’s rescuer.

It had taken a while. In fact, she hadn’t really figured it out until he’d said her name and she’d looked deeply into his eyes as he’d cradled Max in his arms. The last time she’d seen Jake his dark blond hair was well past his shoulders. Now he wore it short with stylishly applied blond highlights, a no-nonsense business style so different than the wild and free style of his youth. He’d been dressed “expensive business casual.” Something her ex-husband had been good at wearing too. Nice car, nice clothes. By the looks of it, Jake had done more than all right for himself since he’d left Faythe.

What had been even more surprising was that he’d recognized her first. She’d worn her wavy hair layered short in high school; cutting it had seemed the only way to tame the unruly curls. Then when she’d met Ed in college, he’d kept mentioning how much he liked long hair, so she’d let it grow. She’d discovered it was more manageable that way, so she’d kept it long even after he was gone.