Return to Me (7 page)

Home. A hot bath. A freshly made bed. Clean clothes. A kitchen stocked with food. Heat in the winter and air conditioning in the summer. Fortuna to make over her as she had when Roxy was young. Home.

“Mmmmm.”

She slid deeper into the water, letting her head submerge until only her nose remained above the surface. She felt light as a feather. For at least these few moments, she didn’t feel like a failure. She didn’t feel used. She didn’t feel rejected.

Wyatt’s image drifted into her thoughts, dispelling the brief sense of well-being. She recalled the look in his eyes — a look that said he saw the real Roxy. Suddenly, she felt a desire to cover her nakedness.

She hated the feeling.

=

Jonathan moved toward the living room, his footsteps slow, his heart heavy in his chest. His joy over his daughter’s return was muted by the realization of how beaten she seemed. Not on the outside, but on the inside. Whatever brought her back to Idaho, he doubted it was a desire to mend fences with her estranged family.

He paused when he reached the living room. Wyatt stood near the windows. What did the young man think about Roxy’s return? What changes, what dangers, were around the next corner for Jon- athan’s loved ones?

Wyatt turned toward the doorway. “Is she settled in?” “Getting there.” He entered the room.

“Kind of a shock, seeing her like that.” “Yes.”

“It’s been a long time.” Wyatt drew a breath. “She looks . . . different.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you should call Elena and tell her that Roxy’s come back.”

Jonathan looked at his watch. Elena might be at the hotel by now, assuming her flight arrived on schedule. “I’ll give her a little time to settle in.”

As if on cue, Wyatt’s mobile phone rang. He popped it from its holster and glanced at the caller ID. “It’s her.” He flipped open the phone and held it to his ear. “Hey there.”

Jonathan’s daughters had been closer than two peas in a pod when they were young. After their mother died, Elena assumed responsibility for her little sister. At first, it seemed a good thing, but in retrospect, he wasn’t so sure. There were others who tried to be a surrogate mother for both girls. Their grandmother Ruth — Jonathan’s mother — for one. Fortuna Rodriguez for another. But Roxy turned to Elena most often.

Then his youngest entered junior high, and she began to chafe under Elena’s constant scrutiny. The battle of wills started. The sisters’ differences became more evident, their similarities fewer.

“I’m with him now . . . Yeah, he’s glad to hear we’re ready to set a date . . . No, I don’t think so . . .”

Jonathon listened to the one-sided conversation. What was Wyatt thinking? The younger man’s eyes were guarded, his expres- sion stoic and unreadable. Did Wyatt remember the love he once felt for Roxy? Would those memories bring heartache to Elena?

God help us.

He held out his hand.

Wyatt understood. “I think your dad wants to tell you some- thing. Let me give him the phone. Hold on.”

=

Elena sat on the ottoman and kicked off her shoes as she waited for the phone to change hands.

She hadn’t expected Wyatt to still be at her father’s house, but it didn’t surprise her. The two most important men in her life had a close relationship, and it pleased her that they were friends.

“Elena?”

“Hi, Dad.”

“How was your flight?” “Uneventful. The best kind.”

“To be sure.” Her dad cleared his throat. “I can’t say the same here.”

“Were you surprised we moved the wedding up to June?” “No. Not really. I’m glad you decided not to wait.” He cleared

his throat a second time. “But that isn’t what I meant about us hav- ing an eventful evening.”

Something in her father’s voice caused her to frown as she stared at her toes.

“Elena, your sister’s come home.”

A spark of joy ignited in her chest, a momentary sense of relief that Roxy was alive. Alive and home again. She was safe at home with their dad.

And Wyatt.

Roxy was there with Wyatt. And Elena was not.

Joy was snuffed out by uncertainty and dread.

“I’d put her on the line, but she’s gone to bed. She came by bus and was exhausted from the trip. We’ll celebrate when you get home on Thursday.”

“Okay. Sure. Sounds good.”

Where was Roxy for the past seven years? Why didn’t she write or call? Why did she cut herself off from the people who loved her? Did she have any idea how much she’d hurt their father?

Does she have any idea how much she hurt Wyatt?

Her stomach twisted into a knot.

“Elena? Are you still there?” Her dad’s voice seemed to come from far away, much farther away than a phone call from Boise to San Diego.

“I . . . I’m sorry. I must be close to a dead zone. My reception’s bad. Tell Wyatt I’ll call him in the morning when I get to the store. Love you.” She flipped her phone closed, ending the connection.

Roxy’s home.

Wyatt had loved her sister once. He’d asked Roxy to marry him. He’d gone on loving her long after she left Boise.

But that was many years ago. Wyatt loved
her
now. They were

engaged and planning a June wedding.

Wyatt and Roxy had been lovers. Roxy never tried to hide that truth from her sister. Sometimes she’d seemed to flaunt it.

Elena had never been intimate with a man. She’d saved herself for her future husband. She’d saved herself for Wyatt.

Roxy was beautiful and popular and fun to be with. Elena was . . . none of those things.

She recalled the gladness in her father’s voice as he announced her sister’s return, and something ugly curled inside her belly.

R
OXY

January 1982

Roxy fidgeted on the bench. She didn’t like playing the piano. It was boring. She’d rather play the guitar, like Mama.

“One more time with those scales, Roxy — ” Grandma Ruth tapped a finger to the piano keys — “and you can stop.”

“Do you suppose Mama’s had the baby yet?” Elena looked up from her school science project, spread over the card table in the corner of the family room. “It’s been forever since Daddy took her to the hospital.”

“I doubt it, dear. Your dad will call as soon as there’s any news to share. You can be sure of that.”

Roxy ran through the scales again, concentrating on the place- ment of her fingers on the keys. It was hard to make her fingers reach. They oughta make pianos for little kids, the way they made smaller guitars. Maybe then she wouldn’t hate practice so much.

“I hope it’s a boy,” Elena said over the staccato sounds from the piano. “I’d like to have a baby brother.”

Roxy didn’t think a baby brother would be such a good thing. Her friend Alicia had a brother, and all he did was make trouble. No, Roxy wanted another sister. Sisters were okay. Most of the time.

Finished with the last practice scale, Roxy glanced at the clock in the entry hall beyond the family room doorway. It was almost two o’clock. If that baby was in such a hurry, why didn’t it get here already?

The telephone rang. Grandma Ruth jumped to her feet and hurried to answer it. “Hello? Oh, Jonathan. We’ve been waiting on pins and needles for you to call.”

Elena left the table and went to stand next to their grand- mother. Roxy stayed on the piano bench, excitement exploding in her tummy like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

“Oh, no.” Grandma Ruth turned her face toward the wall. “Oh, Son . . . Oh, dear God. Carol? But what on earth — ?”

The sound of her grandmother’s voice
⎯
all quivery, like Jell-O

on a plate
⎯
turned the fireworks in Roxy’s tummy to lead.

“Of course . . . No . . . If you think that’s best . . . Oh, Jonathan. I’m so sorry, dear. I’ll call Pastor Roy at once . . . Yes. I will. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine until you get home.” At last, Grandma Ruth lowered the receiver to its cradle.

“Grandma?” Elena tugged on the hem of her grandmother’s blouse. “What’s wrong?”

Grandma Ruth turned around. She looked kind of sick, all white, like when she had the flu awhile back.

Elena must have seen it too. “Don’t you feel well, Grandma?” Grandma Ruth put a hand on Elena’s shoulder. “Honey, Grandma needs to make another telephone call. I’ll go into the other room so you can do your schoolwork. Then I’ll come back, and we can talk. Okay?” She didn’t wait for a reply. She walked down the hallway, real stifflike, and disappeared into the den, clos-

ing the door behind her.

Roxy didn’t remember sliding off the piano bench, but she must have, for the next thing she knew, she stood beside her older sister, the two of them holding hands.

“Elena? What’s wrong? Grandma looked funny.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong. She said she’ll be back in a minute.

She’ll tell us then.”

“Was that Daddy on the phone?” “I think so.”

“Is Mama okay? Did she have the baby?”

“I don’t know.”

Roxy started to cry. “I’m scared.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry.” Elena put her arm around Roxy’s shoulders and squeezed her tight. “I’ll take care of you until Mama comes home. I promise.”

Seven

Stretching her arms over her head, Roxy released a sigh. Her eyes were closed, but she sensed daylight filtering into the bedroom around the edges of the miniblinds. She didn’t want to look. Once she did, she would be compelled to rise from this comfortable mattress.

Oh, man. It was ages since she had a good night’s sleep.

Heavenly.

She drew the covers over her face. Mmm. There was nothing like five-hundred-thread-count sheets to tell a gal she was in the lap of luxury. Well, maybe that soak in the Jacuzzi tub last night came close.

With another sigh, she rolled onto her side, pushed the covers away, and opened her eyes.

Her girlhood bedroom hadn’t changed much since she moved out of it and into her first apartment over a decade ago. The post- ers of Randy Travis, George Strait, and Garth Brooks were gone, removed when the room was repainted, but other signs of her child- hood remained. Her first guitar, child-size for a little girl’s fingers,

leaned against the wall in a corner. Awards from various competi- tions lined a shelf. Ancient knickknacks
⎯
made of blown glass, painted ceramic, brass, and copper
⎯
that once belonged to her grandmother covered the top of the tall chest of drawers. Framed photographs were plentiful. Pictures of Mom and Dad, Grandma Ruth and Grandpa Arlen, Elena and Roxy as little girls, even a few of Wyatt from his college days. Everything was familiar, comfort-

able, the memories warm and inviting.

Don’t get too comfortable. You can’t keep living with your dad.

Not for long.

She sat up and lowered her legs over the side of the bed. The plush carpet felt good against her feet. A glance at the bedside clock told her it was after 9:00
A
.
M
. Her father must have left for the office long ago.

Roxy went into the bathroom, where she took a quick shower. Her clothes
⎯
washed and folded
⎯
were on a stool in front of the dressing table. She slipped on a pair of jeans and the brown top she purchased before leaving Nashville with the money borrowed from Pete. A little mascara was the only makeup she bothered to apply. With her hair still damp, she padded on bare feet out of the

bedroom and down the stairs.

Delicious odors wafted from the kitchen, drawing Roxy there. Fortuna stood near the stove, pouring batter onto the electric waf- fle iron. A platter of bacon strips sat in the center of the kitchen table, along with a tall glass of orange juice, butter, and a pitcher of maple syrup.

Roxy’s favorite breakfast.

Fortuna turned and saw her. “The waffle will be ready soon. I heard you in the shower.”

“Thanks, Fortuna. You’re the best.” She grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee. After adding some flavored creamer, she leaned her hip against the counter.

“Your father, he called. He is at work now, but when he heard you were awake, he said to tell you he will be home in an hour.”

“He shouldn’t rearrange his day for me.”

Fortuna’s eyes widened. “Do you think he would spend all day at work when he could be here with you? He prayed too long and too hard for your return to do that.”

Is prayer what brought me home?
If so, she wished her father had prayed for her success in Nashville instead.

“Sit. Sit,
niña
. You need to eat. You are too thin.”

Roxy chuckled as she obeyed. “Haven’t you heard a woman can never be too thin?”

The housekeeper snorted softly, dismissing the statement as she lifted the lid on the waffle iron and forked the golden brown waffle onto a plate.

Roxy’s stomach growled.

Fortuna laughed. “See. Didn’t I say you need to eat?” She set the plate in front of Roxy. “You should not argue with me about food. I know what is best.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I missed you, Fortuna.” “I know.”

The two simple words were a caress on Roxy’s wounded spirit.

=

Mobile phone in hand, Elena paced back and forth across the meet- ing room in the San Diego store’s office suite. “Did she say why she came home, Wyatt?”

I shouldn’t need to ask why. It doesn’t matter why. She’s here. She’s

home. I should thank God, like Dad’s thanking Him.

“She didn’t say much of anything. She didn’t have a chance. Your father had Fortuna take her upstairs almost as soon as she came through the door.”

“How did she look?”

“Not good. Tired. Way too thin. Like a slight gust of wind could blow her away.”

Elena wrestled with herself before asking the next question, “Did you . . . did you tell her about us?”

“No. We didn’t talk, other than to say hello. Like I said, she was done in after her trip from Tennessee.”

Is that why? Or did you just not want her to know?
Elena felt sick

to her stomach at the thought.
What did you feel when you saw her? Did you . . . did you want to hold her in your arms the way you used to? Please don’t want that. Please.