The Returning (25 page)

Billy squinted at Rebekah. He shook his head slowly.

Phoebe said, “Well, I like the cottage, and I never want to leave.”

“I’m glad you’re happy here, Phoebe,” Dad said.

“She only likes it,” Rebekah pointed out, “because she’s never lived anywhere else. She’s never lived in a real house.”

“This is a real house,” Billy countered.

“Give me a break. It was built to be a summer cottage—”

“But now it’s a real—”

“Kids! Can’t we be together for five minutes without fighting?” Mom’s face was flushed, and she actually rapped on the table with her knuckles.

Billy looked at her, then at his dad, then at his sisters. For a long while, no one spoke. Then forks clanged against plates as everyone went back to eating.

It was Phoebe who broke the silence. “I wish we could get a goat,” she said dreamily.

Billy thought about that. He smiled, his whole face brightening. “I wish we could get a whole bunch of goats. Then I wouldn’t have to cut the grass.”

“Yeah,” Rebekah said, “and I wish the two of you
were
goats so I wouldn’t have to put up with you.”

To Billy’s surprise, Phoebe giggled. “You’re silly, Beka,” she said.

Dad laid down his fork and lifted his napkin to the table. “I wish I could make all your wishes come true,” he said, “though I for one wouldn’t want to be the father of a couple of goats.”

Billy and Phoebe laughed, and Dad joined in. Rebekah grimaced and looked at the ceiling. Mom didn’t laugh, or smile, or even move. When the porch was quiet again, she said, “Well, you know what I wish?”

“What, Mom?” Billy asked.

She sighed loudly before answering. “I wish that none of us had any need for wishes.”

Billy wasn’t sure he understood, but he nodded anyway, then reached across the table for another ear of corn.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-EIGHT

An August moon glowed
overhead like a lantern, casting shadows across the road. Few cars traveled this way at this time of night. Most cottages were dark, save for a light on the porch or a lamppost at the end of the drive. The woods on the far side of the road were as black as an empty stage, though they pulsed with the chirping of crickets and the occasional flutter of wings. That and the crunching of gravel underfoot were the only muted sounds of this midnight journey.

John didn’t need a flashlight; the way was easy and becoming easier every time he walked it.

He took a deep breath, felt his lungs expand with the cool night air. He slowed his steps, suddenly remembering.

“John?”

“Yes, Andrea?”

“Are you all right?”

“Of course. Why?”

“You look tired. Aren’t you sleeping well?”

“I’m fine.”

His feet grew heavy. He stopped. Throwing his head back, he looked up fully at the star-pocked sky.

What was he doing out here in the middle of the night, walking alone down a deserted road?

“Dad?”

“What is it, Beka?”

“Do you think there’s evil in the world?”

Surely there was, but what was evil and what was good? That was what he was beginning to wonder.

He started up again, moving slowly. In a few more steps he came alongside a cottage where someone leaned against the back porch railing, smoking a cigarette. He smelled the smoke, saw the small round circle of fire lift and brighten as the man inhaled. From across the dark yard he sensed a pair of eyes watching him, wondering. Who would be out walking at this time of night? And why?

John hurried on. It wasn’t far now. Still, there was time to change his mind, turn around, go back home.

He thrust his hands into his pockets and kept walking.

It had rankled him, the look on Andrea’s face, the concern in her voice.
“Are you all right?”
As soon as the words left her mouth, he’d felt the anger rise in his chest.
Leave me alone,
he’d wanted to say. But he didn’t say it. Just tried to brush her off.

He was on his way to that small grassy grove at the edge of the cemetery behind Grace Chapel. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the only place they could think of to meet when her daughter was home. They’d met there three times now.

Tonight would be the fourth.

The first time they’d been amused at the empty bottles lying scattered among the gravestones, remnants of an earlier gathering. The bottles hadn’t been there long. They still carried the scent of liquor.

I’ll have to tell Larry to clean this place up,
John had thought. And then he’d laughed at himself. How would he explain to Larry that he’d found the empty bottles when he had laid himself down among them in the graveyard?

Reaching the church, he stopped again, looked up at the light shining above the double front doors. He’d tried. God knew he’d tried, didn’t He? Surely God had seen the turmoil, heard the pleas, watched as he’d lain awake staring at his wife and praying for strength.

But when Pamela spoke of a future together, he thought maybe there was something to be gained. And maybe it was good. Maybe it was even meant to be.

Around the back of the church he found her waiting among the shadows at the edge of the trees.

“John?”

“It’s me, Pamela.”

“Oh!” She sounded relieved. “I thought you might not come. I thought you’d changed your mind.”

“No. I’m here now.”

She moved toward him, and he took her in his arms.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-NINE

Andrea pushed open
the door to Selene’s Hair Salon, even though the Closed sign hung in the front window. She knew the door would be unlocked; Selene was waiting for her.

Holding Phoebe by the hand, she stepped into the salon, where she was greeted by the all-too-familiar scent of hairspray and perming solution. This was where she had spent her time while John was away, answering the phone, cleaning up, doing work her sister-in-law didn’t really need her to do but for which she was paid a small sum anyway. Selene had urged her to go to cosmetology school, learn to cut hair, have a trade under her belt, just in case. . . . Andrea said that wasn’t necessary. John would be coming home.

Selene sat at the front desk, chewing absently on the end of a pencil as she frowned over her appointment book. The front strands of her frosted hair were held back from her face by a wide gold-colored clip at the top of her head. She looked up as Andrea and Phoebe approached, and her brown eyes widened. “Hey there!” she said. “I see you made it.”

“Yeah.” Andrea sighed but managed a smile. “It’s been a long day.”

“Hi, Aunt Selene,” Phoebe said cheerfully. “What color are they today?”

Selene held up one hand to show off her acrylic nails. “Pistol Packin’ Pink.”

“Oh, nice!”

“Thanks, honey. And what have you got there? One of those pretty little picture thingies?”

“It’s a kaleidoscope.” Phoebe held it up for her aunt to see.

“Oh yeah. I used to have one when I was a kid, but I can never remember what they’re called.”

“Can I sit in Jennifer’s chair while you do Mommy’s hair?”

“Sure, sweetie. Just don’t play with her scissors, all right?”

Phoebe wandered over to the salon chair at the back of the shop and climbed up into it. She put the kaleidoscope to her eye, held it up to the light, and started slowly turning the end.

Andrea glanced up at the clock. It was almost seven. “You the last one here?” she asked.

Selene nodded and stood. “Everyone’s gone on home for the day.”

“Well, thanks for fitting me in like this. Sorry I couldn’t get in this afternoon.”

“No problem, honey. You get that tire fixed?”

Andrea nodded. “More or less. It’s patched. At least it’s holding air.”

“You take it down to Charlie’s place?”

“Yes, but Charlie was busy with somebody’s Lexus. He had some young kid patch my tire. I hope it lasts awhile.”

“It should, unless you’re planning any cross-country trips.”

Andrea chuckled. “No. Not anytime soon.”

“Well, listen, you ready for that trim? You want a shampoo first?”

“Yeah, let’s wash it,” Andrea said as she moved toward the row of sinks.

“You want to try a different cut this time?”

“No. Nothing special. Just trim it up.” She settled into the padded chair and leaned her head back over the sink. Selene turned on the sprayer, adjusted the water temperature, held the hose against Andrea’s scalp.

“Too hot?” Selene asked. “No. It’s good.”

Andrea tried to relax under the flow of warm water. Selene lathered up a handful of shampoo, then rubbed the soap vigorously into Andrea’s hair, using her square-edged nails to massage her scalp. Andrea remembered how once in a while, to help Selene, she had washed the hair of some of the customers. She didn’t like it, especially if the customer was a man. She had never told Selene that, though. She did whatever she’d been asked to do.

Selene cut off the water, then squirted a small pool of conditioner into one hand. Andrea watched as Selene briefly rubbed her palms together, then flinched and squinted as the hands came down on her head again, working the conditioner through each strand of hair.

“Am I pulling?” Selene asked.

“No. You’re all right.”

Another blast of warm water, followed by a stiff white towel wrapped tightly around her head. Andrea held the head dressing in place with one hand as Selene led her to the salon chair closest to the front window. Selene then snapped open a plastic cape, tied it around Andrea’s neck like a bib, and removed the towel.

“So listen,” Selene said quietly as she worked a comb through the knotted hair, “how’s it going otherwise?”

“Things are all right.”

“Just all right?”

“Well, you know. I worry a lot.”

“About what?”

“Well, everything.”

“Can you narrow it down?”

“Well, I worry about Beka, for one.”

“What? You mean the drinking?”

“That and other things. Mostly that right now, I guess.”

“She’s a good kid, Andrea. She’s going to turn out all right.”

“That’s what I always thought too, till that night . . .” Andrea glanced over at Phoebe to see if she was listening. But Phoebe was busy with the kaleidoscope and wasn’t paying attention to the women two chairs down the row.

“Listen,” Selene said, “as if all kids don’t drink once in a while.”

“I never did.”

“You were the exception, then, not the rule.”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t like the boys drinking either, but while we try to put limits on them, I figure I can’t stop them completely. I mean, really, you know? Kids are kids. They’re going to sow their wild oats, and while they’re doing that we’ll worry about them, just like our folks worried about us. But we survived, didn’t we?”

“I wish I could be as laid-back as you are, Selene.”

Selene laughed lightly, waved a hand. “Worrying just makes you grow old faster.”

“I’m already old.”

“Old, nothing. You’re not even forty.”

“Yeah, but most of the time I look sixty and feel eighty. I guess I’ve had a lot to worry about.”

“Well, listen, hon, I don’t know how old you feel, but you don’t look sixty, so you can just shut up about that.”

Andrea looked at herself in the mirror, then glanced up at Selene’s reflection and offered her a crooked smile. “Well, thanks, Selene. I don’t mean to complain.”

“Honey, if you can’t talk to me, who can you talk to?”

Andrea thought about that and realized she didn’t have an answer.

“Has Beka done it since?” Selene asked.

“Been out drinking, you mean? Not that I know of. But then, apparently there’ve been a lot of things I don’t know about.”

“Yeah, so welcome to parenthood.”

Andrea laughed. “I’ve been a parent longer than you have.”

“Yeah, but you lucked out the first time around. You got Billy.”

Andrea nodded slowly. “Yeah, I did luck out, didn’t I? You’re the only person who would think so, though. You and Owen.”

“And her,” Selene added, nodding toward Phoebe. “Those two are a pair.”

Glancing at Phoebe, Andrea said, “She loves her big brother.”

“No question there.”

“But you know, she’s really warmed up to John these last couple of months. When he first came home she wanted nothing to do with him—”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“But now he’s Daddy.”

“So I’ve noticed. He won her over, huh?”