Laurie Paige - A Family Homecoming

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

A scowl darkened his face.

“How would I?” she defended herself. “You haven’t been around in two years. You made us move away from the place we knew. You weren’t here when we needed you—” Her throat closed and she couldn’t continue. She held on and refused to give in to the despair. Who cared about a woman’s tears?

“I know.” His shoulder moved restlessly under the blue shirt that matched his eyes. “It will be different now.”

Danielle swallowed a retort. Once she had accepted every word he told her as gospel truth. Once she hadn’t minded his trips away from home. She had known he had important work to do that involved saving lives and righting wrongs. But those excuses no longer worked for her.

“You’ve changed,” he said as if reading her mind.

“Two years is a long time.” She headed for the family room. “It’s time for Sara’s bath. Tomorrow is a school day.”

“It’s a blizzard out there. You won’t be able to drive to school,” Kyle told her.

“The elementary school is only two blocks from here. We can walk. Besides, I have four-wheel drive on the car,” she added defensively, feeling criticized.

“Did you get a new car?”

“Yes. From my savings.”

With that parting shot, she left the room. In the bathroom, she started filling the tub while Sara went to their room and removed her clothing. The child brought back several bathtub toys and dumped them in the swirling water, then handed Danielle a book.

Danielle sat on the lid of the toilet to read while Sara acted out the story with her rubber bear and dog and doll family. “There once was a little girl with lovely golden curls and big blue eyes, just like you and Jenny,” Danielle began the story. She paused when Kyle came to the door.

He gestured to indicate she should continue.

Sara shook her head. She pointed at the door and shook her head again.

“She doesn’t want you in here,” Danielle explained. “Men make her nervous nowadays.”

“And I’m a stranger to her,” he murmured.

She saw pain flicker through his eyes, an oddly desolate, lonely ache. She looked away. She didn’t want to feel anything for him, not sympathy or need or desire, not anything. It was much too late.

He left without another word.

An hour later, Danielle returned to the kitchen. Kyle sat at the table. She saw he had made a pot of coffee.

She poured a cup and took her usual seat. Fatigue dragged at her heels. “There’s a guest room upstairs. It isn’t heated, though.”

“Anything will do.”

She pressed her fingers against her temples where a headache pounded with each heartbeat. “The attic bedroom will be freezing. The sofa in the family room makes into a queen-size bed. That might be better. I only heat part of the house in the winter,” she added as if he had made some remark about her thrifty ways.

“The sofa will be fine.”

His voice dropped to a deeper, huskier tone as he spoke. She remembered past homecomings, times when she had rushed into his arms, filled with the incredible excitement of his nearness, the demanding hunger riding high in both of them. They had been like kids in their eagerness to rush to the bedroom after Sara was safely tucked into bed.

“I share a room with Sara in the winter,” she added for no reason. “I moved her bed in my room.”

“There’s no place for me in your bedroom,” he interpreted. He gave a half smile. “I get the message, Danielle. I read it in your letter.”

She was shaken by the incredible bleakness of his tone. “I just meant…I don’t want any misunderstandings between us. At the end of your R and R, you’ll leave.”

He didn’t answer, only stared at her until she looked away. She decided she’d been mistaken about the emotion.

“I’ll show you where the sheets and blankets are.” She rushed down the hallway to the linen closet and wondered who or what she was running from.

Kyle woke instantly, alert and still. He heard the noise again. The coffeemaker burped, then began a rhythmic gurgling as it heated up. The radio came on. He relaxed.

The announcer detailed the day’s weather. “Cloudy in the morning, perhaps some sun breaking through in the afternoon. Snow flurries again tonight. All roads are open at present. Schools will keep to a regular schedule until further notice.”

Listening to his wife’s quiet movements as she prepared breakfast, he faced the facts of his life. He was thirty-eight years old and he had blown the one perfect thing in his life. He would have to learn to live with that.

Some foolish part of him had hoped that Dani and Sara would rush to him last night and welcome him home. He pushed the thought down into the dark pool along with all his grief.

His own fault. Choices. Everyone made choices. Maybe his had been the wrong one….

He rose and pulled jeans and the blue shirt over his thermals, then padded down the hall to the bathroom. There was only one. He had discovered this after Dani and Sara had gone to bed.

He’d searched the whole house last night until he knew it like the back of his hand. In case of a nasty surprise by the kidnappers, he wanted to know every nook and cranny.

He had also chosen a room for himself across the hall from his wife and daughter. In the attic bedroom, he’d found a usable bed frame that he could move downstairs. The attic had been freezing, as Danielle had noted.

The old house could use a thick layer of insulation. And new windows, he added as the wind shook the panes and puffs of frigid air circulated around him. The foundation and framing were sturdy, but the place needed a major overhaul. It would cost a mint to hire the work done.

He had worked his way through college as a carpenter and was pretty good with his hands. But this wasn’t his house. It wouldn’t be his home. Danielle was right. He had left his family, no matter the reasons, and they no longer trusted him. He had no place in this house.

After a quick shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and proceeded to shave.

Sensing a presence, he looked at the door. It was ajar and a small face peered at him through the crack. He smiled and pushed the door open with his toe. “Sara. How’s it going with you this morning?”

She ran off as if he had growled at her.

The fist squeezed his heart again. If he’d been at home the past two years, would his kid be afraid of him even after her ordeal? He knew the answer was no.

From deep inside, the pool of emotion he hadn’t realized existed until he’d gotten that letter from Danielle shifted and churned bleakly. He finished shaving and went to the room where he’d stored his luggage.

Five minutes later he entered the kitchen. “Good morning,” he said softly.

His wife spun about, fear on her face, determination in the set of her mouth. He watched her take in everything about the situation—him, the distance between them, the threat of danger. She was as edgy as a startled cat.

“Relax,” he advised and pushed a smile on his face with an effort. “Okay if I have a cup of coffee?”

Danielle gestured with her left hand toward the pot. “Help yourself.”

Her right hand, behind her and hidden by an old flannel shirt that he recognized as another of his, dropped to her side. She flexed her fingers as if they were stiff.

“I’m making oatmeal,” she said, turning back to the stove. “Do you want some?”

“Please.”

She nodded without looking at him and busied herself toasting English muffins and stirring a pot. A longing to go over and bury his face against the side of her neck, to breathe her fragrance into his starved body, speared right through him, churning up the dark pool. Regret rose to the surface. He would never have that right again.