Homecoming (3 page)

So, with her hair flowing in cascading waves to the middle of her back and sans Coke-bottle-glasses, thanks to her only self-indulgent post-divorce splurge of getting her eyes lasered, she knew the image of her now had no place in Jake’s memory. But he’d recognized her first anyway.

Jake Randall.

She never thought she’d see him again as long as she lived...let alone back in Faythe.

Mew.

“Come on up, Leona.” She patted the extra pillow next to her head and soon the tawny kitten was curled up in the middle of it, her tiny motor humming.

Cory forced her eyes closed. There was nothing she could do now. Morning would come and Jake would hear for himself why she was in Tillie’s house. He’d have to believe the attorney. It was in the will.

Tillie had thrown her a life raft, and she intended to use it. Earning half the value of the house would allow her to stay in Faythe. It was a way of achieving the impossible. With no other nursing jobs anywhere close to the small town, she was destined to return to Chicago—or some other big city—and all the pressures she’d left behind. Half the value of Tillie’s house after it sold would buy her time. She’d be able to afford to buy a small house with the money, perhaps, and at the very least, she’d have the luxury of time to figure out a way to have it all. A home. Maybe a new, less stressful way to make a living. Maybe even more. Most importantly, Tillie had taught her to dream again.

Even if she spent the rest of her life an old maid-divorcee, she intended to make Faythe, Wisconsin her refuge. Her home.

But, Jake was Tillie’s great-nephew. What if it changed everything? He could easily contest the will, couldn’t he? She sighed from the strain caused by the string of questions speeding through her mind. He’d changed everything once before for her. What made her think it wouldn’t happen again?

And why, in heaven’s name, did just the sight of him make her feel like she was eighteen all over again?

It was embarrassing.

“And ridiculous,” she whispered to Leona as the kitten kneaded the down pillow with her paws.

He’d walked away from her once. She should hate him.

***

Jake jerked hard in his sleep, waking himself up.

He’d been dreaming of high school. And her. He’d had the dream hundreds of times, so much so that it had become somewhat of a comfortable habit with him, even though he felt unsettled every time.

He wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

Cory.

He’d noticed her as a new kid in junior year at Faythe High School, but she hadn’t spoken to him until the following September when she’d asked him if he had any change for the pay phone to call her dad in Chicago.

Cory’s family had been one of those who’d come to Faythe to escape the hustle and bustle. She would move on, he’d suspected even then, as soon as daddy picked the right college for his little princess. She was smart, and from a family who had great expectations for her. He knew the only boy her father would approve of: someone intelligent, worldly, college educated, and preferably from a wealthy family. Birds of a feather.

And everything he wasn’t.

Cory. Pretty Cory.

But she’d been persistent, finding excuses to talk to him, to ask him questions.

Finally, he’d confronted her. She should have been hanging out with the cheerleaders or the smart kids, and it hadn’t made any sense to him why she wanted to associate herself with the class playboy, the biggest goof-off in school.

But she’d stared straight into his eyes and with just the slightest tremble in her voice she’d declared she simply wanted to get to know him better.

And he’d believed her. For once in his miserable life, he’d listened to his heart, giving in to her brown, puppy dog eyes...and he’d believed her.

It had been his biggest mistake.

And it would always be his biggest mistake...to let himself fall in love with a girl he could never have.

In a cat’s eye, all things belong to cats.

English proverb

Chapter 2

Jake stopped on the sidewalk outside the Faythe Hardware Store and looked up, just long enough to read the gold gilded lettering on the second floor window:
Alan Weismann, Esquire. Established 1970.

He reached for the knob on the door that led up the stairs, opened it and climbed the steps two at a time. In his motel room he had finally fallen asleep at four, had slept through his alarm, and now was thirty minutes late for his appointment with Tillie’s attorney. He hated being late.

Rapping sharply on the door at the top of the landing, he paused a few seconds, then let himself into what seemed to be a waiting area. A tiny brass bell at the top of the wooden door jingled his arrival. The area inside was small, with only enough room for two wooden chairs and a brass coat rack. No Cory there for him to explain why he was late. Was she inside? Or maybe she had gotten tired of waiting and had already left.

After pausing another moment Jake stepped up to the office door, his hand poised to knock on the frosted glass, when the door opened.

“And you must be Jacob Randall, Tillie’s great-nephew?”

Jake nodded at the man who opened the door. He looked like he’d stepped out of a spaghetti western, with a crown of silver hair and matching handlebar mustache, and wire-rimmed half-glasses perched low on his narrow nose. He wore a starched white shirt, black string tie, and a buttoned maroon brocade vest complete with a gold watch fob that draped to a tiny pocket. The only thing missing was a six-shooter and a star.

The man smiled, removed his glasses, and extended his hand. “Al Weismann. Good to finally meet you.”

Jake grasped the man’s hand firmly and said, “I must apologize that I’m late—”

“Nonsense, this must be a difficult shock for you—come in, come in.”

The attorney gestured Jake into the office. The room was meticulously tidy and a somewhat curious blend of business and pleasure. In one corner a Tiffany-style floor lamp stood guard next to an overstuffed leather chair that’s permanent seat depression showed its frequent use. Several books were stacked on a small, round side table next to the chair and Jake pictured the man reading away the day, waiting for clients to appear. Or, maybe wishing they wouldn’t.

“You’ve come in from Chicago?”

Jake felt the man’s hand on his arm, his thoughts interrupted. “Yes, but I’ve been in London for the last two months on business.”

“Ah, I see. Before she passed away, Tillie had told me you would be coming to help with the house and had been expecting you at any time, but.... Where are my manners—please, sit down. Ms. Richards is already here.” Weismann made a sweep of his hand toward two tall wing-backed chairs that sat in front of the massive cherrywood desk that dominated the room.

Richards?
If she was married, what was she doing at the house alone?

As Jake followed the attorney toward the desk, the scent of lilacs in the air would have tipped him off anyway that Cory was already there. He breathed deeply to calm his nerves and to steel himself for his second meeting with her.
Think of this as just another business meeting.

Jake took his seat and glanced toward the other chair where Cory offered him a tiny smile. Her brown eyes looked even darker in her pale face. Her long hair was secured into a ponytail hidden behind her. She wore a yellow sleeveless dress that hugged her waist, reminding him of how she’d looked standing under the maple tree trying to retrieve Max less than eleven hours ago. A vintage straw hat lay in her lap, her slender fingers clutching its brim, a cloth tote bag sat at her feet.

Jake licked his lips and tried to come up with something appropriate to say.
Nice to see you again, Cory, but you looked much lovelier in the moonlight in your nightgown.
His stomach knotted in response to his wildly immature thoughts. Had his brain time-warped to when he was nineteen just at the sight of her?
Pull it together. It’s just Cory.
Someone from another lifetime, a lifetime he was not the least bit interested in revisiting. He’d hear what the attorney had to say and leave his past behind him.

Hoping to distract himself, Jake focused his attention on the desk in front of him. It was all business: in-and-out basket, telephone, pen and notepad, all positioned within easy reach. The surface closest to him was bare; the deep reddish wood gleamed from recent polishing. Two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered the wall behind the desk. One with law books lined up like good soldiers on one bookcase, but on the other, a variety of volumes bound in fine leather and gold leaf and several shelves of what looked like popular fiction, just as neatly lined up as the law books. He liked the man already. Everything he’d seen so far made him feel the attorney was someone real, someone he could trust.

As Weismann approached his spot behind the desk, Jake watched the small town lawyer straighten his vest and his posture before he began to speak.

“First, let me begin by extending my condolences to you. Tillie will be greatly missed here in Faythe. She and I were friends for many years—ever since I started my practice here, actually. Everyone who knew her liked her and respected her. She was an important part of the community in many ways.”

“Can you tell me how she died?” Jake’s voice caught in his throat just a little, and he heard a rustle from Cory’s direction as she shifted in her seat.

Weismann sat in the chair behind the desk. “I do know she passed peacefully in her sleep with no pain or suffering. The doctor pronounced legally that her heart just stopped; that her body was simply finished. Tillie and I had completed some changes to her will, true, but there was no sign there was a need for haste. Though, after the fact, I wondered if she’d had an idea her time was coming.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she’d notified me when she’d hired Ms. Richards, here, about a year ago to help keep up the house and to assist with the cats. It was only after Tillie died that I learned that Ms. Richards is actually a private duty nurse.”

Jake looked at Cory, his brow furrowing. Why hadn’t his great-aunt mentioned she needed real help? But he knew the answer even as the thought was complete. She wouldn’t have done anything that would have disrupted his career. She’d even said as much to him, how she was so happy he seemed to have found his niche and not to ever worry about her.

The attorney cleared his throat and began again. “Tillie and I talked about you a few months before she died.”

Weismann swiveled in his chair toward a tall, oak filing cabinet and pulled a large manila envelope out of a drawer and put in on the desk.

“I’m sorry to be so formal, Jake, but could I make a copy of your identification?”

Jake pulled his wallet from a back pocket and took out his driver’s license for the attorney.

“Thank you,” he said as he walked a few steps to a copy machine to scan the document.

“I’m sorry I was late,” Jake whispered to Cory.

Her eyes searched his for a moment before she spoke. “Al will be able to explain everything much better than I could have last night anyway. Did the Lakeview Motel work out?”

He nodded as the attorney returned and handed his license back to him and took his seat again.

“Before we continue, perhaps you both might like a cup of coffee? I was just about to offer Ms. Richards some when I heard the bell when you arrived.”

Jake nodded. “Yes, actually, that sounds good. Black is fine for me.”

“Cream and sugar,” Cory added.

The attorney walked to the far side of the office and filled two mugs with steaming coffee, returning with them on a silver tray.

“Jake, your great-aunt always made me drink a cup of tea when I visited her,” he said, handing Jake one of the mugs. “Some kind of herb tea, I imagine.”

“Tasted like dirty bath water?” Jake smiled at the attorney who nodded back, a small smile tugging at his lips making his mustache twitch. Aunt Tillie served chamomile tea to every visitor, whether they wanted it or not. Jake had learned at an early age to make it palatable with as much honey and cream as he could stir into the dainty china cup she insisted on using.

“I never had the heart to refuse her,” Weismann said.

“I know—God-awful stuff. I never refused either.” Jake pointed at the envelope and asked, “Is that her will?”

“Actually, Tillie has set up a rather unique situation.”

“Unique in what way?”

“Ms. Richards became a good friend to Tillie, and she liked and trusted her implicitly. More than once Tillie shared with me how important Ms. Richards had become to her. They shared a deep and special bond. Within the first addendum to Tillie’s will, Ms. Richards has been given the opportunity to earn half the value of the house and its contents upon its sale.”

Jake looked at Cory, whose own gaze remained on the attorney.

“Let me start by reading you both something,” Weismann said as he dumped the contents of the large envelope onto the desk. Out of it came a DVD and three white envelopes. One envelope was opened, the other two were sealed. The attorney glanced up at Jake for a moment, then opened one of the sealed envelopes.