Pulling Home (5 page)

The entire town had been talking about the subject of Father Benedict’s tortured musings since the woman’s return. Audra Valentine looked just like Corrine, the mother who popped one too many valiums and overdosed before her daughter reached her sixteenth birthday.

“Maybe you should stay away until she leaves,” August offered, knowing

propriety and Bartholomew’s position wouldn’t allow him to even consider it. After all, who would give the funeral Mass?

“Alice expects me to be there. The town expects me to be there.” He dragged both hands over his face and sighed. “God is punishing me for my indiscretions.”

The man refused to believe in his humanness, which complicated his role as

humble servant of the Lord. “God isn’t making you pay, Bart.
You
are,” August said in a gentle voice.

Bartholomew wasn’t listening. “Her hair might be a different color, but I’ll bet it’s just as soft as her mother’s.”

“Stop it. We’ve been through this all before. Many times.”

“But if I confessed to the daughter—”

“You’d jeopardize the Church. Not to mention the bishop’s ire and a swift

discharge. Then what good could you do?”

Bartholomew’s shoulders slumped. “Sometimes I wish I’d come forward when it

first happened instead of running off to a different country for seven years.”

“It would have served no purpose except to hurt more people. Pray for strength,

my friend. Audra Valentine will be gone in a few days.”

***

in the ceiling fans of St. Peter’s Church and later, the cars fortunate enough to have air conditioning. Audra sat in the back seat of Joe Wheyton’s gold Lincoln with Kara nudged against her side. They were making the two mile journey to St. Peter’s cemetery, high on a hill Christian once called Heaven because of its view.

“I miss him, Mommy.” Kara’s words seeped into the sheer folds of Audra’s

simple black dress.

“I miss him, too.” Christian in the morning, a burst of warmth, pouring her first cup of coffee. Christian, laughing and drenched with water as he taught Kara the butterfly. Christian immersed in his work, his blond head bent over a pile of books.

Christian, soothing her with his quiet voice and gentle hands at the end of a long day.

How would she survive without him?

Most of Holly Springs had turned out to fill the pews of St. Peter’s and would

attend the luncheon in her husband’s honor. Audra knew many of them, knew also what they would be whispering once they buckled themselves in their cars to head home.

Audra Valentine.

Just like her mother.

It’s all her fault. She took him away.

California, for God’s sake.

Just like her mother.

She’d never thought of the Wheyton house as a source of respite but when Joe

pulled the Lincoln into his driveway hours later, Audra heaved a quiet sigh. Now she could begin plans to leave, maybe not tomorrow, but certainly by the weekend. Soon, she could get back to her life. Away from here.

Alice had given her Jack’s old room.
Jack’s old bed.
One more reminder of their secret past. It was an innocent gesture, but one which fueled a chain reaction of torment and guilt that began the millisecond Audra saw Jack in the funeral home.

She slipped out of her black dress and reached for jeans and a T-shirt, careful not to touch the high school jacket smothered in plastic which hung next to her clothes. It had to be Jack’s. Christian once told her Jack held the record for foul shots on the Bobcat basketball team. He’d told her quite a few things about Jack—how he found a rabbit with a swollen foot in his mother’s vegetable garden and nursed it back to health, how he took the blame for the fastball Christian threw into the garage window. But that was before.

When Audra’s cell rang, she snatched it off the dresser, eager to block out thoughts of Jack Wheyton. “Hello?”

“Hi, sweetheart. How are you holding up?”

“Peter! Thank God.”

“You okay?”

His soft concern clawed at her composure. She bit her lip and squeaked out, “I

guess.”

“Tough, huh?”

“Worse.”

He paused and she pictured his graceful fingers rubbing his tanned forehead as he did whenever he struggled with something unpleasant. “How did everything go?”

“Horrible. I just want to come home.” She gulped in air through a throat clogged with tears. “But I want to bring him with me.”

“I know.”

“They blame me, Peter. They think I’m responsible for Christian’s death.”

“Maybe they’re more upset they lost so many years with him.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“Try to let it go. How’s Kara?”

Leave it to Peter to swing the subject toward his shining star. “I’m worried about her. She won’t cry.” Audra swiped at her cheeks. “Not even at the gravesite. At least she did say she missed him this morning. Other than that, all she does is sit in the kitchen and watch her grandmother roll out her ten thousandth cookie. And why on earth that woman is
baking
at a time like this, is impossible for me to understand.”

“Maybe the mother needs to bake to exorcise her grief. And maybe, for Kara, it’ll all come pouring out once she gets back home.”

“She cried when her goldfish died last year. It’s not normal, but right now all I want to do is get out of here.”

There was a long pause at the other end and then Peter asked, “How’s it going

with the brother?”

“Exactly as you’d expect. We hate each other.”
And I hate myself for

remembering his touch.
Hate, hate, hate.

“Hang in there. It’ll all be over soon.”

“If I survive.” And then, “How are you doing?”

“Lousy. Not that Dr. Perfection is allowed to do anything but smile wide at the

camera and insert another silicone implant.” He sighed. “Come home, soon. We need each other.”

***

“Everything’s great.”

She managed a small smile and nodded. “Christian said there wasn’t a restaurant

in Sicily or Rome that could equal my veal saltimbocca.”

“He would know.” Jack glanced at Audra, who sat across from him at the oak

table his parents had used for forty-three years. She could ignore him all she wanted, but she wasn’t going anywhere until she answered his questions—and he had nine years of them just waiting for her.

Audra nodded at her daughter who has maneuvering a trail of peas on her plate

with great precision. “Kara, more eating, less playing.”

“Uncle Peter says a person can be an artist and create art with food.”

“Well, Uncle Peter isn’t here so why don’t you play magician and make that food

disappear?”

Kara scrunched up her nose and forked a single pea. “Uncle Peter says—”

“Who the heck is Uncle Peter?” Jack wanted the truth, not some watered down

version about an uncle who wasn’t really an uncle. He wanted to know who he was, and what he was to Audra.

“He’s my uncle,” Kara chirped. “And he’s very handsome and he drives a silver

sports car. What’s it called, Mommy? A port?”

“A Porsche, honey.”

“A Porsche, and he lets me ride in it with the top down and my hair blows all

over.”

Jack stared at Audra and asked again. “Who’s this Peter?”

“I’m sure you heard Christian speak of him before. He’s a plastic surgeon.”

Why couldn’t she look at him when she said it? “And what else?”

“He’s a friend of the family.”

She met his gaze and he wished she hadn’t. It was one thing to conjure up a

memory of those eyes, but quite another to view them from arm’s length away.

His mother cleared her throat, forced a smile in Audra’s direction and said in a wavering voice, “Joe and I have been talking and we were wondering,” she paused, cleared her throat again. “What I mean to say is, do you think Kara, and you, of course, could stay a while longer?”

Clearly, Audra had not expected that. She let out a tiny noise close to panic and clutched the ends of the table until her knuckles lost color. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “We can’t.” Lustrous waves of mahogany danced back and forth in denial. “I’m sorry.” And then once again, “I’m sorry.”

His mother’s face crumbled, her shoulders slumping as she buried her head in her hands. Jack’s father pushed back his chair and limped to his wife. “It’s okay, Alice. Let’s go outside and catch a breather.” He put an arm around his wife and guided her through the kitchen.

When the back door creaked closed, Jack faced Audra. He didn’t want her staying

in Holly Springs one breath longer than necessary. He wanted answers and then he wanted her gone. But he’d witnessed the desperation on his mother’s worn face just now and the accompanying pain on his father’s. Alice Wheyton was a proud woman who had weathered the death of a daughter and now a son, and never asked for favors, not even from her family, and yet, she’d practically begged Audra to extend her stay, knowing she might be denied. “She’s just lost her son. Can’t you at least give her a few more days?”

“I can’t.”

Damn her.
“You mean won’t.” He slid a glance toward the child who had her eyes squeezed shut and her fists against her temples. Something about her expression disturbed him. She didn’t look like a child blocking out an adult fight—she looked like a child in pain. “Kara?” Jack eased out of his chair and approached her. “Are you okay?”

She let out a muffled cry that sounded more whimper than word and shook her

head.

“Kara?” Audra sprang from her seat and pulled her daughter into her arms.

“Another headache, honey?”

“Hmhmm.”

“I’ll get your Tylenol.” She glanced at Jack. “Do you have an icepack?”

“Sure. I’ll get it.” Locating the icepack gave him time to consider what had just happened. There were hundreds of reasons children got headaches, not all of them leading to brain tumors. Unfortunately, those were the ones he usually saw. He studied the child’s drawn face, the slight pucker around the lips, the paleness under the cheeks.

“Let’s get her to the couch. Uncle Jack’s going to lift you so you don’t have to walk, okay?” When she nodded, he hoisted Kara in his arms and carried her into the living room where he settled her on the Americana style sofa. “Can you point to where it hurts?”She laid a limp hand on her temple and whimpered.

Kids got headaches from eyestrains. Or stress. Or jet lag. Or their father’s death.

“Your mother will give you something for the pain and the icepack will help, too.” He stroked her forehead, sifted his fingers through the curls that reminded him of his dead brother. He looked up to find Audra watching him with something close to fear. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” he said quietly as she sank to her knees in front of Kara.

Ten minutes later, Audra stood in the doorway of the kitchen, eyes wet, nose

swollen. He hated seeing her so vulnerable. It was too damn appealing. “Does she get headaches often?” Now he could switch to doctor mode and relay all the various reasons for childhood headaches—well-known territory that made him forget he was talking to his ex-lover.

“They started four months ago. Minor at first but this past month, right before

summer vacation, she missed two days of school.”

“Does she ever throw up or get dizzy?” Children did get migraines related to the weather, stress, food, hormones.

“No.”

“And she’s had her eyes checked?”

“Two months ago. Why?”

He shrugged. “Just trying to eliminate common causes. Was she under any undue

stress at home?” Jack pinned her with the question. She knew exactly what he meant—

were there problems between Audra and Christian? Children often manifested physical ailments when they were emotionally distressed.

She stared at the iron rooster above the stove. “There were no problems.”

So, why won’t you look at me?
“Well, that’s a relief, isn’t it?”

Again, no eye contact. “Yes,” she murmured. “It is.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing but since you’re in town, I think I’d like to have her

checked out at the clinic.”

“Why?” This time she did look at him and her eyes filled with panic. “Is there

something you’re not telling me?”

“No, but you’ve got the benefit of a relative who specializes in this sort of thing.

Why not take advantage of it instead of sending her back to San Diego where your pediatrician may send her to a bunch of specialists for no reason? We’ll just bypass all of that.” He owed this thoroughness to Christian and the child. Audra wet her lips with the tip of that tongue he remembered so well.

“You’re not suggesting this to keep her here, are you?”

Apparently she didn’t trust him any more than he trusted her. “I take care of

children. I don’t exploit them.”

She did have the good grace to blush. “Would you be the doctor examining her?”

What she meant was
I don’t want
you
examining her
. “I have a colleague I could recommend.”

“Thank you for your advice, but I think I’d rather get her home and then have her examined. Just in case it’s more involved.”

Her tone slipped, reminding him of melted butter and the time they fed each other steamy croissants. In bed. Naked. The oxygen in his lungs depleted ninety-five percent.

“I can call Bernie and get her in tomorrow morning.”

She looked away. “Thank you, Jack, but no. I’d like to take her home as soon as

possible.”

Two thousand miles away. He’d probably never see Audra again. A burst of panic

shot through him but he refused to acknowledge the reason.

“She’ll be okay, won’t she?”

The plea in her voice echoed every parent whose child faced the unknown. Jack’s

answer was always the same.
Try not to worry
. This time though, he couldn’t bear the terror clouding those eyes, so he said something he never offered a patient’s mother. “I think she’ll be fine.”