The Returning (24 page)

Rebekah didn’t bother to answer.

Aunt Jo rose from the table and went to the fridge for the pitcher of lemonade. “Anyone want some more?”

Lena held up her empty glass. “I do.”

“Beka?”

“No thanks.” Her glass was still almost full. Her stomach had only just settled enough that she thought she could drink. The kitchen was cozy now with the scent of baking bread. Rebekah felt the tension ease, the heaviness lift.

“Okay,” Lena said, “now that that’s settled, on to the next problem.”

“Oh? What’s that?” Aunt Jo returned the pitcher to the fridge and sat back down at the table. She looked at Lena expectantly.

“Do you know if Mom’s seeing someone?”

“Seeing someone?”

“Yeah. A male type. You know.”

A frown creased her aunt’s brow. “She hasn’t told me she is. Why?”

“She’s acting all happy all of a sudden, the way she gets when she’s seeing someone.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Well, you know.”

Aunt Jo laughed. “No, Lena. The only thing I know is that you don’t like it whenever your mom gets into a relationship with someone.”

“I just don’t want her to get hurt.”

“I think you just want her for yourself.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, come on, Lena. You’re never happy when she pays attention to someone other than you. If she’s seeing someone, then I say good for her. And don’t you even think about interfering.”

Lena raised her brows.

Her aunt laughed again. “Yes, you, Lena. For pete’s sake, let her have some happiness in her life. Heaven knows it’s about time.”

Aunt Jo and Lena went on volleying, but Rebekah’s mind drifted off to other things. She wasn’t completely convinced she and Lena hadn’t caused the accident, but what did it matter, as long as Jessica was going to be all right? She’d try to let it go for now, try to enjoy the rest of the summer with David.

But from now on, she would be careful. She didn’t want trouble. She just wanted to be happy. And to be loved. Just exactly what most people wanted. That wasn’t asking too much, was it?

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-SIX

John moved quickly
up the narrow stairway and into the church foyer. He was about to cross the threshold of the front doors when he heard somebody call his name. He stopped, hesitated, turned around.

Pamela stood there in a white linen dress, her dark hair pulled up off her neck in a loose knot at the back of her head. Her sun-darkened skin shone like bronze in the dimly lighted foyer, and in spite of the humid heat of the night, she looked cool and stylish. John, well aware of how she looked, had just spent the past hour trying to avoid her.

“You know,” she said, “you’re allowed to say hello to me just like everyone else.” Her voice was even, but her lower lip hinted at a pout.

Drops of sweat formed between John’s shoulder blades and trickled down his back. “Hello, Pamela,” he said quietly.

She seemed to sigh at that. She took a step toward him. “It’s pretty obvious, John, that you’ve been ignoring me these past couple of weeks since . . .”

She didn’t have to say it. He knew. Since the Fourth of July.

He looked beyond her shoulder to see whether anyone else was coming up from the A.A. meeting in the basement. He suspected the coffee and donuts would keep them downstairs for a while. “Let’s go outside,” he said.

He moved out the door and down the steps, with Pamela close behind. He stepped around the side of the church to the parking lot and stopped at her convertible. She joined him, standing uncomfortably close as she leaned against the driver’s-side door.

“You aren’t sorry, are you?” she asked uneasily, her large eyes searching his face.

He ran a hand through his hair, rubbed his temple a moment. “Listen, I . . . I don’t know what to say. . . . I—”

“You
are
sorry, then. You wish it’d never happened.”

“No. I mean . . .”

“What, John? Tell me.”

His eyes darted nervously around the parking lot. He wondered whether Pamela could hear the pounding of his heart, that sledgehammer beating rhythmically against his chest. “Pamela, you know I’m married,” he pleaded.

“And?”

“Well?”

“John, listen—”

“No, what I did—”

“You don’t love her. You can’t love her.”

“I’ve got to think of my family.”

“Let’s go somewhere and talk.”

“No, I . . . look, I’m sorry. Let’s call it a mistake—”

“It wasn’t a mistake.” Her expression was stony, but her eyes suddenly shimmered with tears. “Please, John—”

She was interrupted when her cell phone rang. With an exasperated sigh, she unzipped her handbag and fumbled around for the phone. When she found it, she read the incoming number. “It’s my daughter,” she murmured. She pushed a button and in a brighter voice said, “Hello, sweetheart. . . . Yes, I’m just about to leave. . . . Well, yes, I guess that’s all right, as long as it’s all right with Sara’s mother. . . . Okay then, I’ll see you in the morning. . . . Yes, all right. Love you.” She lowered the phone from her ear and pressed the off button. She kept her eyes down, seeming to need a moment to collect herself. Then with a wistful smile, she said, “Look, I got your picture tonight, during the meeting.”

John drew in a sharp breath. “What?”

“Your picture, see?”

She turned the phone in his direction, but John took a step back. “Are you crazy? Erase it.”

“Don’t worry, John, no one’s going to see—”

“Erase it, Pamela.”

“I just wanted to have . . .” She didn’t finish. She made a small taut line of her mouth, as though to keep herself from saying something she might regret. Then, with a lift of her shoulders, she relented. “All right.” She pushed a button, closed the phone.

“Is it gone?”

She nodded.

An awkward silence settled over them. John told himself to do what he had to do and then go home.

“Pamela, I really think—”

“John,” she interrupted quickly. Her tears were gone, her face expectant. “My daughter is spending the night at her friend’s house. Come over for a while, just to talk.”

“No, I—”

“Just to talk, I promise. Just for a little while, John. Please.”

Where was everyone? John wondered. Why didn’t someone come out of the church and give him a means of escape? He watched the steps. No one came.

He turned back to Pamela. He opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head. Finally he said, “Look, Pamela, what is it that you want from me?”

“Just a chance,” she said. “That’s all. Just a chance.”

She opened the car door and slid in behind the wheel. She looked up at him with her lovely, inescapable eyes. “Are you coming?” she asked.

He thought of Andrea, wondered briefly how he would explain his not coming home after the meeting. But then, he knew he’d think of something, if he needed to, if she asked.

With only a slightly hesitant gait, he moved around the car, opened the passenger-side door, and got in.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-SEVEN

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah, Billy?”

“Why’d you ask Uncle Owen if you could work the dishwasher instead of bussing tables?”

Billy gnawed on an ear of corn and waited for his dad to answer. He’d been puzzling since the day before when he overheard his dad talking with Uncle Owen at the restaurant.

His father chewed slowly. He appeared to be thinking about something. Then he said, “Just for a change.”

The whole family was seated around the table on the screened-in porch, eating a rare meal together on an evening when no one had to work. Dad had cooked hamburgers on the grill, and Mom had boiled huge ears of corn and whipped up a batch of Billy’s favorite potato salad.

Billy dropped the corn back onto his plate and wiped the butter off his face with a napkin. “Don’t you like bussing tables, Dad?”

“Oh sure, Billy,” his dad responded quickly. “Sure I do. It’s not that.”

“Bet you just want to work the sprayer, huh?”

Dad laughed lightly, shook his head.

“But Uncle Owen said no, right?”

His dad was busy stabbing a chunk of potato. “He said he needs me more on the floor right now.”

“I’m glad, because I’d miss you if you were stuck back in the kitchen.”

“When I get big,” Phoebe said, “I’m going to work at the restaurant too.”

“That’s great, Phoeb!” Billy said. “You’ll love it.”

“Wow, Phoeb,” Rebekah cut in, “don’t dream too big. I mean, just because other girls your age want to be rock stars—”

“That’s enough, Beka,” Mom said. “Phoebe can work at the restaurant if she wants. It’s a perfectly respectable place to work.”

“That’s what I love about this family, a bunch of overachievers, not a single loser in the lot.”

“Beka—”

Rebekah shrugged, looked at the ceiling, took another bite of hamburger.

“The restaurant is a good place to work,” Billy told her.

“Whatever.”

“How come you’re always in a bad mood?”

“How come you’re such an idiot?”

“Beka!” Mom yelled.

“Can I be excused, Mom?”

“No. Apologize to your brother.”

“He should apologize to me.”

“Beka, I’m not going to tell you again.”

Rebekah narrowed her eyes. “Sorry,” she huffed.

“It’s okay, Beka,” Billy said. “You’re excused for being stupid.”

“Mom!”

“Quiet, Beka! You too, Billy. Not another word.”

Billy looked at Phoebe and smiled, then picked up the ear of corn and nibbled from one end down to the other.

No one spoke for the next few minutes until Phoebe suddenly looked up and said, “Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“In one month I’m going to first grade.”

“I know, honey. Isn’t that exciting?”

Phoebe nodded and went back to eating.

“And then,” Mom said, “I won’t have any children at home during the day. The cottage will seem so empty.”

Rebekah laughed. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“Well, it’s just that I’ll miss you all when you’re in school.”

“Miss us? You should enjoy being able to walk around this old shack without bumping into people.”

“It’s not a shack, Beka,” Billy argued.

“It is to me.”

“Granted it’s small,” Dad said, “but we can be thankful we have a roof over our heads. Anyway, it’s not forever.”

“Yeah?” Rebekah taunted. “So where we going?”

“I don’t know yet. In the meantime, let’s make do the best we can.”

Billy wiped his mouth again with his crumpled napkin. “I know how to make the place bigger.”

“You do?” his mother asked.

“Sure.” Billy nodded.

His father looked at him. “So fill us in.”

“It’s easy. Remember the story about the man whose house was too small? He asked the wise man what he should do. The wise man said, ‘Put a chicken in your house.’ So he did.”

“And the house seemed even smaller!” Phoebe joined in. “So he went back to the wise man—”

“—and he told him to put another animal in the house—”

“A goat!”

“Yeah, I guess a goat. So he did. But that didn’t help either. So he went back to the wise man—”

“—and he told him to put a horse and a cow and a donkey or something in his house—”

“Yeah, a whole bunch more animals.”

Billy took a bite of potato salad and chewed thoughtfully.

“So what happened?” his mother asked.

Billy pointed to his mouth. Mom nodded. When he’d swallowed, he said, “He lived like that for a while until he thought he’d go crazy.”

“And then the wise man told him to take all the animals out of the house,” Phoebe said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rebekah muttered, “so then with the animals gone, the place suddenly seemed huge, like it was a mansion or something. Well, we’re not doing any of that mess around here.”

“I know, Beka, but I’m just saying, sometimes things look bad, but then something happens, and you realize things are really pretty good.”

“That makes no sense.”

Billy started to argue, but Dad cut in. “Yeah it does. It makes sense.”

“It means,” Mom said, “you should just be thankful for what you have.”

“Yeah, right. Name one person you know who’s like that.”

“Beka,” Billy said, “why can’t
you
just be thankful for what you have?”

“Because that’s how people end up with nothing.”