Coming Home (9 page)

Bill motioned toward his left and playfully taunted Doris. “They got mountains like that in Connecticut?”

Jessie looked out the window. The mountains seemed to loom over them, closer now than when she’d traveled down I-25—almost menacing.

“The mountains are overrated, Bill,” her grandmother replied with a tone of finality.

“Well … maybe that’s why everyone’s moving
here,
” Bill said, chuckling. Jessie held her breath, expecting a sharp-tongued retort, but her grandmother was silent.

They stopped at an all-you-can-eat buffet just off I-25. Bill dropped them off in front of the restaurant and went to park the car. Grandmother prattled on with trivial matters as they waited alone for the second time. Once again, Bill’s return was a welcome rescue.

Later, after they were settled by a corner window in the safety of a noisy restaurant, Grandmother accompanied Jessie to the salad bar. More small talk followed. Bill ordered a rare steak, and when it arrived, it was so bloody Jessie had to avoid looking so as not to lose the remainder of her tiny appetite.

“Comes from living on a Montana ranch,” her grandmother offered, as if reading Jessie’s mind. “Bill could eat the flesh off a living bull.”

“But I wouldn’t,” Bill said, digging in with fork and knife.

“They bite back.”

Her grandmother leaned over, whispering conspiratorially, but within Bill’s hearing, “He’s come a long way, but you can’t tell from here.”

At that comment, Bill dropped his utensils and pulled up his pant leg. Doris winced. “Oh, Bill …”

“What do ya see there?” he asked.

“A cowboy boot?” Jessie ventured, grinning.

“The day I give these up is the day I die. I plan to be buried in ’em. You can take me off the ranch, little girl, but you can’t take the ranch outta me.” He finished with a curt nod.

Jessie smiled as an old Hank Williams Jr. song began playing through her mind:
“You can do anything … but oh, don’t you step on my cowboy boots.” Too many tumbles off the wild bull,
she thought, but Bill’s eyes twinkled as if he’d caught his own joke.

“Bill, you’re a walking cliché,” her grandmother said with a look of embarrassed disgust.

“I’m proud of you, Bill,” Jessie said. “Stick to yer guns. Yee ha!” In the next breath, she was surprised at her own behavior and with how easy it had been to develop a solidarity with her grandmother’s handyman.

Bill laughed. “I had to give my guns up.” He took another bite of rare meat. “They got laws in these civilized parts, you know.”

The same pattern unfolded over and over again throughout the meal—Bill’s humorous bantering, her grandmother’s dismayed responses. Jessie felt as if she’d stepped into the twilight zone.

Chapter Eleven

THEY FINISHED SUPPER a little after nine. By then, Jessie’s grandmother had hushed Bill into sociable behavior. A few times, Jessie was tempted to ask,
Why did you buy my parents’ house?
but she realized that she would be poking merely at the tip of a very angry iceberg. Besides, the question itself sounded petty and immature.

Mostly, Jessie wondered if she could trust herself to maintain her composure. She imagined her grandmother answering flippantly,
“Well, I own everything else; thought I’d snap that up, too.”
In the end, Jessie bit her tongue.

On the way back to the house in the Broadmoor, the elite section of town, Doris launched off on “the problem of city congestion,” lamenting the California migration. “They’ve turned our midsized town into a mini—Los Angeles,” she complained. She dropped the mayor’s name more than once, implying a few “private discussions.”

By now the mountains were variegated purple silhouettes against the backdrop of a star-speckled sky. When conversation died down, Jessie found herself wondering again how it was that she’d left Kansas for Oregon just this morning and ended up here.

When they returned to the stately house, Bill pulled up to the front steps and jumped out, hurrying to open the doors for Jessie and her grandmother. “I don’t understand this stucco craze,” Grandmother was saying, getting out of the car before Bill could work his way around to assist her. “If I wanted to live in Santa Fe, I’d move there.”

Bill closed Jessie’s door and whispered, “Calls it Adobe World.”

“I’ve never been,” Jessie said absently, already planning her getaway. She looked longingly at her car across the street.

Doris was moving up the sidewalk when she turned back to them. “Telling secrets out of school, are we, Bill?”

He brightened. “Just saying how much you enjoy New Mexico.”

Doris made a dismissive grimace and shook her head. “What I need is a
serious
handyman.”

“Where do you live, Bill?” Jessie asked, assuming he might be leaving soon for home.

Her grandmother broke in. “I rent him the bonus room on the second floor. You may remember that’s where Maria once stayed but we—I—only need her twice a week now.”

Bill winked. “Did I forget to tell you I’m also half maid?”

Doris looked like she might swat him with her purse. “I didn’t have the patience for him to drive halfway across town. My garden would be brown and wrinkled by the time he arrived.”

“I only lived three miles away,” Bill said.

“Still …”

“You still employ Maria?” Jessie asked, remembering the sweet Hispanic woman who once told enchanting stories of her childhood in Mexico.

Doris nodded. “No point retraining these people. I pay her well. She raised a family on my salary alone. You’ll see her tomorrow.”

Jessie cringed.
These people …
Like a slap in the face, it all came back to her, as if she hadn’t heard enough already. In her grandmother’s world, not only was it important to travel in the right circles, talk to the right people, and wear the right clothes, but by all means, you never made friends below your class. And those who helped you maintain your appearances were referred to as
these people
. Her mind whirled so fast she almost didn’t register the word
tomorrow
.

Bill touched her elbow and winked. “Wanna see the house? Won’t take long.”

Jessie nodded, still distracted. Her grandmother led them into the family area straight ahead, the kitchen off to the left, the alcove overlooking the backyard. She pointed to various knickknacks and paintings, describing in detail her reasons for each purchase, adding a plethora of insignificant details. It was almost eerie the way Grandmother could carry on so superficially, as if only the surface of life seemed to matter. Jessie wondered how her own mother had emerged from this world unscathed.

As a child Jessie had once watched a
Munsters
rerun, a popular wacky comedy from the sixties. The pretty blond girl, who’d been saddled with an unusual family, had reminded Jessie of her own mother. In fact, Jessie had once gone so far as to ask her mother if she’d been adopted.

Mom had burst out laughing.
“I don’t think so, honey. And I have the birth certificate to prove it. Besides, you’re the spitting image of your grandmother.”

Jessie must have looked aghast with the pain of it all, because her mom had pulled her into a comforting and laugh-filled hug.

“Honey, I’m just kidding. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think it would scare you so.”

Truth was, Mom seemed oblivious to Doris Crenshaw’s faults. Jessie still remembered her mother’s patient words to her dad after numerous conflicts:
“She doesn’t mean any harm, Frank. We must be patient with her. Just humor her, if you can.”

That was never enough for her father. Nor for her. Yes, it was unbelievable that Mom had grown up within the walls of this house. A true miracle. It all came back in frightening clarity.

They were now back in the foyer. What followed next was more like a military briefing than a tour. Apparently, her grandmother expected her to spend the night. She provided a point-by-point explanation of all the amenities, obviously a speech she had recited many times before. Her heels clicked against the wood floor as she explained the breakfast routine, the maid schedule, the locations of the various rooms.

Bill fidgeted while Grandmother prattled on. “Doris …”

The woman continued, seeming not to hear.

“Doris …”

“Bill, what?”

“Jessie has not been properly invited to stay.”

“Oh … well. But you are staying, aren’t you?” She looked from Jessie over to Bill again, her manner suddenly hesitant and perplexed.

“Do you think she
assumed
she could stay?” Bill said rather meekly.

“Oh, well … no …”

Bill turned to Jessie, his eyes twinkling again. “Ms. Lehman, we’d love to have the pleasure of your company. However, we would understand fully if you have a schedule that may prohibit …”

“Is that you in there, Bill?” Jessie replied, smiling but embarrassed with his courtesy. After all, according to etiquette,
she
was the one in the wrong for showing up unannounced.

He grinned back. “What do you say? I make a mean omelet. I even
cook
the bacon for guests. But there’s only one way I can introduce you to a true Montana breakfast. You have to be here to eat it.”

Grandmother seemed terribly ill at ease. An impossible thought crossed Jessie’s mind. In spite of the whirlwind feelings—anger, confusion, frustration, even curiosity—she felt a strange inner pull, detached from everything else. While she still could scarcely look at her grandmother without feeling a surge of anger, she couldn’t say no, either. At least not for Bill’s sake.

“I can stay … the night,” she replied, acutely aware of how rude it must have sounded.

“Fine, then,” Grandmother said, tossing Bill a crusty look. “And you’re welcome to attend church with me tomorrow. I certainly hope you won’t rush off.” Doris eyed Bill again. “Bill does his own thing on Sunday mornings, but … I would … appreciate your company.”

He placed his hand gently on Jessie’s shoulder, aligning himself with her again. “She’ll decide about church tomorrow, Doris. She may be tired after a long drive.”

“Yes, of course,” Grandmother nodded quickly.

They said good-night and Grandmother darted down a narrow hallway toward the master bedroom. The moment of her leaving was punctuated by a sense of relief.

Bill asked Jessie for her car keys and brought in her overnight bag. Together, they started up the wooden steps. Midway, Bill stopped. “Notice the squeaks?”

Jessie took another step, testing her weight, listening. “What squeaks?”

“Exactly,” he said, looking pleased. “Couple years ago, I redid these steps. There’s a special technique for it. It’s all in how you place the wood.”

“You must be a genius.”

Bill chuckled, apparently embarrassed. When they reached the balcony overlook, Jessie leaned hard, taking several deep breaths. She felt light-headed just from ascending the stairs.

“We’re a mile above the ocean,” he reminded her. “Take it slow.”

Bill wasn’t kidding.

“You okay? I can get some water.”

She shook her head. “I’m fine, just … out of breath.”

Standing straight again, she placed her hands on her waist, taking another deep breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her mother’s childhood room, only ten paces down the hall, and felt a knot in the pit of her stomach. She met Bill’s worried gaze. “I’m fine,” she assured him.

He gestured toward his room in the opposite direction. “If there’s anything I can do, just call. I’m only a few footsteps away.” The softness in his eyes glistened with a natural moistness.

“It’s good of you to stay, Jessie,” he said. “It means a lot to her, you know.” With an air of uneasiness, he looked away, as if he’d said too much. A rather striking contrast to his country-bumpkin demeanor.

Jessie smiled tentatively, unsure of herself.

Bill led her to the end of the hall toward her old room, opposite her mother’s former room. She looked away, unable to deal with the strange emotions connected with the room.

Along the hallway wall was a collection of framed photos of her mother.

“That’s just a few,” Bill supplied, as if reading her mind. “Most of ’em are down in the grand room.”

Jessie had seen them all before: her mother’s elementary school years, a high-school graduation photo, the nursing photo that had been her personal favorite, several wedding pictures—without the groom, naturally, and one of her mother in a wheelchair, apparently taken in a park setting, with the fragment of a white building off to the right side. Pine trees provided a shadowy cover, lending an artistic contrast to her mother’s face.

“She was a beautiful woman,” he said after a moment. “I’m sorry I never met her.”

“You would have liked her,” Jessie said, realizing she had crossed her arms again.

“I’m sure of that,” he agreed.

He cracked the door open for her and bid her good-night before retreating to the opposite end of the hallway.

Taking two steps into the room, she locked her gaze on the window with its white jail-like crossbar panes and wondered if she still had the limberness to negotiate the steep asphalt roof and climb down between the shuttered windows. She was almost tempted, in spite of remembering her earlier assessment of the second-story height from the street.

The room had a quaint feel with its hardwood floor and assortment of antiques. A dark wood dresser stood against one wall, and linen-covered nightstands flanked the canopy bed. She’d forgotten about the window seat overlooking the front yard. Since her final getaway, the room had apparently become a place to board overnight guests. From tonight’s conversation, Jessie had learned—actually, she was reminded—that her grandmother enjoyed entertaining important people in the classical music world.

Apparently, her music teachers’ group didn’t have the budget to fly in the big-name workshop conductors, thus leaving her grandmother to spring for the expenses, something she obviously didn’t mind. She was also the person of choice to entertain traveling violinists, singers, and guest conductors when they preferred a more personal touch. Grandmother didn’t neglect to mention her personal connection with the symphony personnel, most notably, the conductor and his wife.