CHAPTER 3
760 Words
CHAPTER 3
Brad’s mother was already crying before he pulled away from his first hug.
“It’s okay, Mom,” he told her. “I’m here. You can let me go now.”
“I’m just happy to have you back home.” She sobbed and chuckled at the same time.
“I know.” Was she trying to make him feel even guiltier for staying away so long? His job as a teacher at a home for troubled teens in Vermont kept him busy during the school year, but this was the first summer he’d be spending back in Orchard Grove. “I know,” he repeated and glanced around the room. Had they changed a single piece of furniture in the past decade?
“It’s going to mean so much to Grandma Lucy to find out you’ve come all this way just for her.” Her mom blew her nose loudly and stifled down another cry.
“Aw, come on.” He chuckled. “You don’t have to get like that.” He wrapped his arm around her again. Had he gotten taller or was she shrinking?
She blew her nose one more time. “You have no idea how thankful I am to have you home.” She reached up and patted his cheek as if he’d been seven years old. Some things would never change.
Like the bells that jingled on the front door when you walked in. Or the fact that this Safe Anchorage farm house was still standing, crooked staircase and all.
Or that his father was at this moment sitting in the den reading his newspaper or fishing magazine and wouldn’t even make the time to greet his son who’d been away all these years.
Mom kept rubbing his back with one hand and wiping her cheeks with the other. He knew she’d get like this when he came home, but he wasn’t prepared for how strongly her reaction would impact him.
This was his mother, the one who’d cleaned his skinned knees, taught him how to milk goats, taken out his multiple sets of stitches and kissed all his childhood scrapes and injuries away. When had she turned into an old woman?
He took a few steps down the hall, not in the direction of his father’s den but toward the greenhouse Grandma Lucy had converted into her personal prayer retreat. He stopped and stared through the screen door into the dark room.
“Where’s Grandma?”
“She’s resting, honey.” Mom frowned, the tears streaking down the wrinkles on her cheeks. “Grandma Lucy, like I told you, she’s, well, she gets tired more easily now. She takes lots of naps these days.”
“Yeah, I just thought she’d be in here.” Brad c****d his head to the side. Had he ever seen Grandma Lucy’s famous prayer chair empty in the middle of the afternoon?
“She’s more comfortable in her room,” Mom explained. “I told you we have her sleeping downstairs now, right? It’s hard for her to manage the steps with her walker. You don’t mind taking the attic space, do you?”
“Of course not.” Hadn’t he grown up in that room anyway? It was only once he became an adult that his mom thought he’d need the formal guest room for his infrequent visits.
She hugged him one last time. “Well, you get up and get your things settled. We’ve had lots of guests staying up there lately. Your cousin Jillian, I told you she was here earlier, didn’t I?”
He nodded. Hard as it was for him to keep track of every single one of his dozens of cousins, he always listened more closely when Mom told him about how Jillian was doing. The two of them practically grew up together here in this very house — Brad, Jillian, and Jillian’s brother. It was so long since any of them had been together.
Maybe he should have come sooner.
“So you showed up, hey, boy?”
The gruff voice knotted up Brad’s stomach, and he turned. “Hey, Dad.”
Mom clasped her hands together. “Hasn’t he grown taller, Dennis?” she asked, her eyes darting nervously back and forth between both men.
Brad’s father gave a grunt and tossed an old newspaper onto the dining room table. “Hope you’re planning to help around the barn if you’re gonna be staying here.”
Mom nodded and prodded Brad toward the stairs. “Of course, of course. Now, you’re tired after that long flight, so you go rest up, and I’ll call you down when dinner’s ready.”
Brushing past his dad, Brad made his way to the stairs, skipping the one in the center that always squeaked, and shut himself into his tiny room in the attic.
He tossed his suitcase onto his bed and let out a mirthless chuckle.
No place like home?
We’ll see about that.
- Writer
