Coming Home (4 page)

Even Mom would humorously caution her,
“Dress warm, sweetie. Or Mrs. Graybill will wonder what kind of mother you have.”

Halfway up the sidewalk she paused at the cement step her dad had replaced. She remembered watching him mix the cement and pour it into a form made out of wood from the garage. Afterward he’d invited her to press her tiny fingers into the moist and gritty cement, leaving her mark for future generations to ponder. Instead, here she was coming back and pondering it herself. Oblivious to curious onlookers, Jessie knelt on one knee, studying the edge of the step—recognizing her faint imprint.

Jessie rose and once again appraised the front door, aware of a gathering conflict between curiosity and fear. Heart thudding in her ears, she climbed the porch steps, and before she could change her mind, knocked on the screen door, the same one she’d peeked back through when Andy would beg her to ride bikes—nearly every day. But that was nothing compared to a deeper realization. She turned to the street, and her mind did a weird
click
and
whirr …

It was as if she’d never left. She was still the same little girl, coming home every day to make sure her mother was alive, believing that everything was going to be okay. The old hopes … the old beliefs were in the air … floating around, unfinished somehow as if the power of her twelve-year-old determination had been so intense that she’d actually made a physical impression upon this place. She could feel it infusing her again, like putting on an old coat, warm to the touch, soothing to her soul. Hope wasn’t dead. Not yet.
My mother is still alive… .

Jessie slumped to the porch step and with both hands clasped her neck, leaning her head into her elbows, rocking back and forth—nearly curling into a ball right there in her old neighborhood, and for a moment she didn’t care who saw it. She was losing it again.

It’s over!
Jessie repeated to herself, over and over again.
She’s gone! They’re both gone! Dead and buried!

But the most startling thought occurred to her, strange enough to snap her out of her morbid self-pity:
Your mother was never buried … remember?

It came to her so suddenly she had to ponder it a second before dismissing it as one of her imaginative ramblings.

Chapter Five

ANDY MCCORMICK sucked in a deep breath, reached up, and grasped the bar. Shifting his shoulders, he exhaled and for a moment questioned his sanity. Two-seventy was twenty pounds more than his normal routine.

“Ready?” Chris asked, leaning over him.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Andy pushed up, then allowed the bar to sink within an inch of his chest, and for a split second saw the headlines:
Denver Man Bites Off More Than He Can Chew … Freak Accident Beheads Him
.

Andy pushed up again, stopping short of locking his elbows. Then again, and again, five times in a row. Fortunately, with Chris spotting him, Andy was protected from his overeager aspirations.

“Enough?” Chris asked, grasping the bar.

Andy grunted, and with Chris’s help, guided the bar back to the holder. Sitting up to catch his breath, he wiped his face with the back of his leather-gloved hand.

“My turn,” Chris asserted, tacking on another twenty pounds to each side.

Andy completed his Saturday morning routine with leg squats and crunches. Chris curled his seventeen-inch biceps, ending with dips and presses. Afterward they cooled down with several laps around the track that circled the pool, satisfied their macho “wildat-heart” routine was complete.
We’re men again,
Andy thought as he smiled, exhausted.
Hear us … whimper
.

He sat on the tiled edge of the pool while Chris completed several more laps. Eight o’clock. They’d been at the gym for nearly two hours.

“Still on for breakfast?” Chris asked, towel drying his brown hair in the locker room. He was already losing his hair on the crown, an occupational hazard, it seemed, for the testosterone-saturated gym rat.

“Starving,” Andy replied. “You pick.”

“Debbie’s meeting us,” Chris announced, almost too casually.

“Don’t you two want to be alone?” Andy asked, pulling on his jeans.

Chris stood up and slipped on his white shirt. “I’ve been holding out on you, buddy.”

“You two are secretly married?”

Chris laughed. “No. Marilyn’s coming, too.”

“Oh.”

“They went to that women’s retreat together; you know, the one in Estes Park. Shared a room. Inseparable ever since.”

“I can see it,” Andy said, wondering how awkward it would be for Marilyn. Maybe he should decline.

Chris placed his foot on the bench and proceeded to tie his shoelaces. “It’s a setup, Andy, pure and simple.” His tone had turned apologetic.

Andy put two and two together. The whole thing must have been Debbie’s idea. “Should I run?”

“Backward maybe.” Chris winked. “Did Marilyn ever tell you she once almost won a beauty contest?” He said it with an undisguised reverential tone. In many ways, he and Chris were a lot alike—both had careers in sales for one thing—but they differed in their evaluation of women.

Andy began buttoning his shirt. “No, but I heard. Second runner-up. Oklahoma, was it?”

“Tennessee.”

“Got the southern part.”

Chris sighed again. “I’m supposed to find out if you’ve gone blind or something.”

“We had a wonderful time,” Andy replied, shrugging, remembering his first and last date with Marilyn, nearly a month ago. They’d gone to a fancy steak place on Colorado Avenue. She’d worn a flowery skirt and blue blouse. Talking had seemed almost effortless. She’d joked about being a brunette instead of a blonde. “They called me Monroe in school,” she’d laughed. “Accused me of dying my hair brown.”

By the end of the meal Andy had determined she was the real deal, a genuinely sweet girl, not to mention a committed Christian.

Chris frowned. “But …”

“No
but,
” Andy replied firmly.

Chris went to the mirror, pulled a comb across his scalp, and continued to parrot Debbie’s instructions. “I’m supposed to tell you she’s been waiting by the phone.”

Andy was chagrined. They’d had a good time, but he didn’t think he’d made that big of an impression. “I didn’t lead her on,” he insisted, combing his own hair, aware of how defensive he sounded.

“I know, but girls are like flypaper sometimes,” Chris said casually.

Andy flinched. “Good thing Debbie’s not here. She’d burn you alive.”

Chris grabbed his bag from the locker. “Okay. I’m done. ’Nough said. Feel like I’m in high school again.”

“You did well. Did you practice?”

“I was winging it the whole time,” Chris said.

“I’m only mildly annoyed.”

They drove Andy’s gray Toyota sedan to the Denver suburb of Littleton. Debbie was standing by the curb in front of Denny’s. She looked at her watch as Andy pulled up.

“Are we late?” he asked Chris, who shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe five minutes.”

Debbie leaned in the window frame and kissed her boyfriend on the cheek. She smiled at Andy. “Did Chris tell you?”

“Pretty sneaky.”

Debbie narrowed her eyes. “Marilyn’s holding our table. She thinks she did something wrong.”

Chris turned to him. “Girls are always thinking, as if—”

Debbie slugged him playfully in the arm.

“Ow!”

She turned her attention back to Andy. “She’s going to ask you to the church picnic. And you, my friend, need to say yes.” She gave him a humorous take-no-prisoners look.

Chris turned to Andy. “You’ve got your marching orders. Hut, hut, hut …”

“Are you going to slug me, too?” Andy asked, smiling.

“Depends,” Debbie laughed. “So … are we set?” Andy paused. “Debbie …”

“Don’t even start with me, Andrew. One date is not enough.” She pushed away from the car. “I’ll see you both inside.”

Andy parked behind the restaurant and set the brake. “I think your girlfriend’s a bit strong willed.”

Chris shrugged. “You think?”

“She’s pretty, though.”

“My only consolation.”

Marilyn and Debbie were waiting at a table by the window, the morning sun beating down on their backs. Debbie acted as if nothing had been said in the parking lot. Marilyn looked a bit sheepish, but just as he remembered, her eyes were soft blue, her face silky smooth, her brunette hair delicious but conservatively styled. She was wearing a flowery blue blouse, pleated skirt, and sandals … and her beauty was intimidating. She’d been robbed of that Tennessee title. Marilyn lifted her eyes to Andy and smiled demurely.

“Hi.”

Chris looked at her, then back at Andy. Chris’s expression clearly said,
Are you blind?

Breakfast progressed effortlessly. They discussed church, sports, and national politics and laughed at Debbie’s humorous puns. Marilyn was rather quiet, yet when she did speak, she had a simple, confident, expressive charm. Andy found himself watching her out of the corner of his eye and the more drawn he was, the more depressed he felt. Soon, he was counting the minutes till the end of the meal.

Eventually, Debbie grabbed Chris for some “important” conversation by the rest rooms, leaving Marilyn and Andy alone.

“Debbie’s a bit obvious,” Marilyn offered apologetically.

Andy shrugged, embarrassed for Marilyn. “She’s a great gal. Chris is lucky.”

“Good friend, too,” Marilyn added, and just as Debbie had foretold, she asked Andy to accompany her to the church picnic. Andy hesitated and felt like an absolute jerk.

“I wanted to give it another try,” she offered. “I’m interested, but if you’re not, that’s fine. I respect that.”

Andy sighed softly. “I’m sorry, Marilyn.”

“I’m a big girl, Andy.”

He wanted to say more, but Debbie and Chris were already returning. Debbie raised her eyebrows at Marilyn, who gave a subtle smile and a slight shake of the head. Debbie looked incredulous, glaring back at Andy, who pretended he hadn’t seen the nonverbal exchange. When they said their good-byes on the curbside, Debbie didn’t speak or make eye contact with him.

“So …” Chris replied when they’d gotten in his car. “That went reasonably terrible.”

“Are you in trouble?” Andy asked.

“Why? Because my best friend turns down my girlfriend’s best friend? Are you kidding? Debbie and I … we’re solid.”

Andy slipped the car into reverse. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Big. Big. Trouble,” Chris replied, sighing. “Will you come to my funeral?”

“I’ll even
sing
at your funeral.”

Chris frowned. “But you can’t sing.”

“I’m willing to make that sacrifice. For you.”

“I’m thinking I want someone who can sing on key.”

“Very picky you are,” Andy commented. “There’s always karaoke.”

“Fake sing at my funeral?”

“Kind of fitting, eh?” Andy looked over his shoulder and began backing out of the parking place.

“I like it,” Chris said as he seemed to reflect. “What would you sing?”

Andy twisted the steering wheel and headed for the parking lot exit. “I’m thinking, ‘What Kind of Fool Am I?”’

“Hmm … I was thinking ‘How Can I Live Without You?’

might be more like it… .”

Andy dropped Chris off at the health club, where he’d left his car, then drove north to the Hamden exit before turning toward the mountains, a rugged shadow of blue-gray against the horizon. He had moved out of his parents’ home two years ago, renting an apartment in Castle Rock, about fifteen miles south of Denver. Having spent the first twelve years of his life in blink-and-miss-it Palmer Lake, he’d never acquired a taste for the big city, relishing instead the rustic small-town feel of Castle Rock. After a hard day at the office, he could feel the gentle decompression from big-city stress as he drove home.