Holly Grove Homecoming (2 page)

* * *

T
rooper stared
after the silver SUV easing down Sugar Maple Drive. The woman who’d climbed behind the wheel had looked vaguely familiar, although memory suggested that her chestnut hair, a shade between brown and red, had been shorter at some time in the past, and her face, pretty in a less than conventional way, had once been made up to appear glamorous rather than girl-next-doorish.

But speculation about the woman would have to wait. His aunt had started walking toward him. He should meet her halfway, he supposed, but he couldn’t yet bring himself to move away from the familiarity of her porch.

Aunt Myrna had been the unofficial babysitter for Trooper and dozens of his cousins over the years. While his own parents had spent their summers going back to college to renew teaching certificates or familiarize themselves with new state education regulations, he’d stayed with Myrna. At least ten of his summers he’d spent reveling in the joys of her front porch—the screeching chains of her porch swing, the heady fragrance of her orange blossom shrubs, and the lulling comfort of her wicker furniture where he’d sprawled for hours with a leg slung over a chair arm and a book in his hands. He’d loved every minute of those carefree days.

But that was then and today…well, today the porch looked much the same, but Trooper knew he did not. He’d grown from a boy into a—

“Nelson,” his aunt called, interrupting his thoughts. She was the only family member who refused to call him Trooper, although she was the reason he’d been given the nickname in the first place. “A little trouper,” she’d called him when he was five years old and had been assigned the chore of looking after his three-year-old cousin Karen. Trooper could still remember the thrill he’d felt when he’d earned Myrna’s praise by following Karen around like a bloodhound on a fresh trail. He’d been too afraid of losing his cousin to let her out of his sight.

Now, all these years later, his heart still swelled with joy at the sound of Myrna’s voice. She was his mother’s youngest sister, the baby in a family of eighteen siblings, and somehow she had become the glue that held them all together, at least for a while. The fact that he’d walked away from the extended family certainly hadn’t been her fault.

“Aunt Myrna.” Trooper finally forced his feet to move. He hurried down the wide plank steps and reached to grasp his aunt’s hands. He wasn’t surprised when she brushed his hands aside and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tight.

She was frailer than Trooper remembered. Her shoulders, which had once seemed broad enough to support the troubles of the world, seemed a tiny bit stooped now. When he put his arms around her, he was careful to hug her gently. And when he brushed her cheek with a soft kiss, he wanted to cry. Her skin was still supple and warm but lacked the firmness he recalled from his youth, and her welcoming smile left more than a few wrinkles in its wake.

Her voice had not changed, nor had her matter-of-fact attitude. “It’s about time you came back to Holly Grove, young man. I’ve missed you. How long can you stay?”

Trooper should have known he couldn’t avoid that question for long, but he wasn’t ready to answer quite yet. “I’m not sure. A few days, at least.”

She stepped back and slipped an arm through his, pulling him close to her side. “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?”

He couldn’t very well say that he’d been afraid he’d back out at the last minute, so he grinned instead. “What? And give you a chance to slip out of town before I arrived? No way.”

She gave his hand a playful slap and he realized they were slipping back into their old familiar ways. “You’ll be staying with me, of course,” she said.

“I’d hoped you’d invite me. And maybe I can repay your hospitality by doing a few chores around the place.”

His aunt shrugged. “No need for that. Karen’s husband helps out with all my little plumbing and electrical emergencies. He builds houses, you know.”

“Is he competent?”

“He’s a master carpenter. And it’s a good thing. He’s built on to their house three times. They have five kids now.”

Trooper raised his brows. “Karen always was a fast worker.”

His aunt patted his arm. “She’ll be glad to see you.”

“I doubt she remembers what I look like. I barely remember her.”

“Oh she’ll know what you look like. We’ve all seen your picture in the news magazines from time to time.”

Trooper suppressed a groan. The last thing he wanted was a discussion among family and friends about his career—or lack of one, as might now be the case.

He decided a change of subject was in order. “Who was that woman who asked if you needed anything from town? She looked familiar but I can’t place her.”

Myrna shot him a quick glance. “No reason why she should look familiar that I can see. She just moved in across the street a couple of years ago.”

“Does she have a family?”

“Not local, but a couple of cousins from out of state visited her last summer. She keeps to herself most of the time. If pressed, she says she’s working on a book. Karen’s oldest girl says she looked for Miss Morrison’s name on the internet but didn’t come up with any authors, so we figure she’s not published yet.”

“What kind of book is she writing?”

“I don’t think she’s ever said. At least not that I’ve heard. Why?”

“Just curious.” Trooper would have shrugged but a shrug could be downright painful these days. Instead he smiled. “Well, I wish Miss Morrison luck. Half the people I know want to write a book. Not many will actually try, and those who do discover it’s a lot harder than it looks.”

“You speaking from experience?”

Trooper shook his head. “Not me. I do well to write a report occasionally.” His smile faded as memory dredged up the horrors of the last reports he’d written.

Myrna appeared to understand his sudden mood swing because she gave his arm a tug, pulling him back toward the shelter of her porch. “I’ve got lemonade in the refrigerator. Have a seat out here on the porch and I’ll bring you a glass.”

“Can I help?”

“No, child. You just have a seat and rest a spell. You’ve not gained all your strength back yet, from the look of those lines forming around your mouth. You hungry?”

Trooper let her lead him to the wicker rocking chair and gently push him to sit. It felt good, letting someone else take charge for a minute. “Do you have any cookies made up?”

Myrna grinned. “Just some chocolate chip. I probably couldn’t twist your arm and get you to eat a chocolate chip cookie.”

Trooper grinned back. Somehow the decades were falling away and he felt ten years old again. Chocolate chip cookies had been his favorite, and Myrna had always kept them baked for him. He stuck his left arm out. “Maybe if you twisted my arm really hard, you could talk me into it.”

Myrna’s grin widened as she grasped his arm and pretended to twist.

“Okay, I give,” he said, matching her grin for grin. “I’ll take some chocolate chip cookies with my lemonade.”

“Ah, but you drive a hard bargain, boy.” Myrna dropped his arm and reached for the screen door handle. “I’ll be back shortly. You just relax and let yourself unwind.”

When she’d disappeared into the house, Trooper leaned back in the rocker and wondered how his aunt had known he was tense. He thought he’d learned to hide his feelings well during the years he’d been away.

Obviously there was a difference between the perceptiveness of the people who had known him all his life and the people who’d become acquainted with him after he was grown.

Which meant he’d have to be extra careful while he was staying in Holly Grove.

* * *

M
arge Abbott heard
the voices coming from somewhere out on Sugar Maple Drive and blinked back the instant threat of tears. She could never reconcile herself to the notion that these people, her neighbors and supposed friends, had gone on with their lives after the incident. Logically, Marge understood that the incident that had destroyed her life twenty years ago was merely a sad recollection for most of the townspeople, but she didn’t appreciate being reminded of their indifference. They could at least keep their voices down.

She blew her breath out in a disgusted sigh. Blast it all! How was she supposed to shut the world out when the world wouldn’t shut up? But as usual, she couldn’t stand not knowing what they were yammering about. After pushing herself up and out of the recliner, she shuffled across the dimly lit living room and eased back the heavy, bottle green drapery.

She grasped the window facing for support. “God almighty,” she whispered. “He’s here again.”

Feeling too faint to make her way back to the recliner, she dropped into the straight chair that sat beside the end table that held the telephone. The phone never rang anymore. People had tried for a few years to reach out to her, but when she never answered her phone, they quit calling. She’d have had the phone disconnected but Ralph wouldn’t hear of it. They needed it, he said, in case of an emergency.

Was this an emergency? Should she call Ralph down at the barbershop and tell him that Trooper was back?

She stared at the phone. It was one of the old-fashioned rotary phones. Black of course. She knew the push button variety came in pretty colors. In fact, one of the phone companies had sent them a brochure trying to sell them a fancy phone with caller ID and an answering machine built in, but as she told Ralph, if nobody ever called, then they didn’t need caller ID.

She lifted the receiver. It was heavier than she remembered. Moving slowly, prepared to change her mind at any minute, she eased the phone to her ear. Yes, there was a dial tone. And she remembered the barbershop’s number. The number for Abbott’s Barber Shop hadn’t changed in twenty-five years except for the area code, and she didn’t have to dial that, thank goodness.

She stuck the tip of her forefinger into the hole over the five and pulled it around, then lifted her finger and listened as the rotary wheel clicked back into place. Next came the two. Then the five again. When the last number had finished its slow rotation and stilled, she heard intermittent bleating that indicated the phone was ringing on the other end.

She knew Ralph would answer the phone himself. No one else cut hair at Abbott’s Barber Shop these days. Once upon a time, Ralph had had two other barbers working for him, but business had slowed as boys started letting their hair grow long and Ralph had eventually let the other barbers go.

“Hello?” Ralph answered the phone as he always did, as a question. And Marge responded as she always had. “Ralph?” she asked, although she recognized his voice.

“Yes?”

“It’s me.”

There was a long silence. So long that Marge became irritated. While it was true that she hadn’t called Ralph in years, she figured he should still recognize her voice. “I said, it’s me.”

“Marge?” he asked after another long pause.

“Yes.”

“What’s wrong?”

Marge was sorry she’d called but it was too late to hang up now. “He’s back.”

“Who’s back?”

“Trooper Myers.”

“Nelson Myers is back?” Ralph had never liked Trooper’s nickname and refused to use it.

“Yes, Trooper’s back. I just saw him over in Myrna’s yard.”

A long silence followed that statement. “Well,” Ralph finally said. “I guess we should have expected something like that, what with that story we saw on the national news a few weeks ago.”

“I guess,” Marge agreed. “I hope he doesn’t try to come see me.”

“Don’t know why he would,” Ralph said.

“People might start trying to call us again.”

“Yeah,” Ralph agreed, “but probably not. I wouldn’t worry if I was you. Besides, you don’t have to answer the phone.”

“This may just stir everything up again.”

Ralph’s sigh drifted over the phone line. “Maybe, but maybe not. It’s an old story now. Twenty years old.”

Marge nodded, then recalled that Ralph couldn’t see her over the phone. “Yes, it’s been twenty years, but nobody’s forgotten, Ralph. Least of all Trooper Myers. I heard he swore he’d come back some day and clear his momma’s name.”

“Now Marge, you know there was a lot of talk at the time and most of it just gossip. If Trooper was going to stir that pot, he’d have done it a long time ago.”

“You don’t know that, Ralph. We none of us know what he might decide to do. I just know one thing. If he tries to clear his momma’s name, he’d better not try to blacken my baby’s name any more than has already been done.”

Ralph sighed again. “We need to let Larry rest in peace, Marge.”

She felt her throat tighten and was pleased that her voice came out firm and her tone hard. “I just hope everybody else does the same, Ralph. I just hope everybody else does the same. Otherwise… Goodbye.”

She dropped the receiver into the cradle, stood, and moved back to the window. Trooper Myers had disappeared, probably into Myrna’s house. Too bad his disappearance couldn’t be permanent.

B
y the time
Mr. Starr finished advising Carly, she’d purchased four window air conditioning units. Then she devoted a full, exhausting day to their installation.

Mr. Starr, as it turned out, was a perfectionist, and when he discovered Carly wanted a window unit to cool just the upstairs bedroom she’d converted into an office, he convinced her that just one unit would do more harm than good. He pointed out that if she closed her office door, she’d be too cold, and if she left it open, heat would pour in from the other rooms and she’d defeat her purpose.

What he said made sense, so she agreed to have window units installed in opposite ends of the house, both upstairs and down. Mr. Starr lined up an installer, a taciturn fellow named Marshall Aubrey who went about his work steadily.

By five o’clock, the units were installed and running at top speed. After paying Mr. Aubrey, Carly settled down in front of the air conditioner in the breakfast nook with a glass of wine to help her unwind. She’d barely taken her first sip when the doorbell rang, an occurrence that was unusual enough to startle her.

She rarely had company, which was her own doing. When she moved to Holly Grove, various organizations, after discovering she didn’t work outside her home, had tried to recruit her for their particular causes. She’d finally admitted to being a writer, stressing that she was, in fact, busy throughout the day. However, her inability to produce any published books did nothing to convince people she was serious.

Only when she’d stopped answering the door and had started screening her calls did she finally get the townspeople to give her a little breathing room. Now they seemed to have pulled back to the point that they rarely bothered her.

Except for this particular moment in time, when she’d just plopped down to rest and relax.

Carly looked down at her rumpled cotton shirt and sighed. She was sweaty, dirty, and exhausted. She considered ignoring the doorbell but knew she shouldn’t. Perhaps Mr. Starr had dropped by to see if she was happy with her air conditioners, or maybe Mr. Aubrey had forgotten a tool and returned to get it.

Groaning, she pushed herself to her feet but decided she wasn’t ready to give up her wine just yet. Carrying her glass with her, she walked to the front hallway and opened the door.

For a split second, she didn’t recognize Trooper Myers. Whenever she’d seen him interviewed on TV or pictured in the newspapers, he’d worn a dark suit and dress shirt or, occasionally, a sports jacket and slacks. Now he stood on her porch looking casually comfortable in tan shorts and a white knit shirt. She almost commented on the difference but at the last minute remembered she didn’t want him to know she recognized him.

She opted for a tone of voice that was cordial but matter-of-fact. “May I help you?”

His smile was obviously forced, but his tone was equally cordial. “I’m Trooper Myers, and I’m visiting my aunt, Myrna Johnson.” He nodded toward the house across the street. “Aunt Myrna noticed that Marshall Aubrey’s truck was over here most of the day, so she figured you hadn’t had time to fix supper. She thought you might like to join us for some chicken salad and fruit. She said to tell you it isn’t much, but that it’s too hot to eat a heavy meal anyway.”

Carly suppressed a sigh. Life could become complicated sometimes. She’d never figured on meeting Trooper Myers, let alone having supper with him and his aunt. On the other hand, when fate offered an opportunity like this, only a fool would pass it up. “I’d love to join you and Myrna.” She glanced down at her grimy shirt and smiled. “I hope I have time to freshen up.”

“No problem. Just come over whenever you’re ready.”

“Can I bring anything?”

Trooper nodded toward the wine glass in her hand. “Maybe the rest of that bottle, if there’s any left.”

“I just opened it so there’s plenty. Myrna won’t object?”

“She won’t join us but she won’t object.”

“In that case, I’ll let you take it with you and stow it in her refrigerator.”

“Glad to.”

“Come on in.” Carly moved back to make room for Trooper to step inside. “Follow me.”

She led him through the house and into the breakfast nook, then picked the bottle up and turned to hand it to him.

He wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was sweeping the room, flitting from the picture window that looked out onto the back patio, to the hardrock maple table she’d placed in front of that window, and then around to the renovated kitchen behind them.

A soft whistle and raised eyebrows preceded his nod of approval. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

Carly reminded herself that she wasn’t supposed to know Trooper had grown up in Holly Grove. “It sounds as though you remember this house from a previous owner.”

“When I was a kid, a family named Jarvis lived here. I used to play with their son. I’ve been away for a few years so I don’t know when the Jarvis family moved. Did you buy from them?”

“No. It was in the hands of a real estate agent, and I never met the owners. They moved before I came to town. Now I can’t remember whether their name was Jarvis or something different.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway. But the house is a lot prettier now than it was back then.”

Carly nodded. “Thanks. I like it. Here’s the wine.”

“Appreciate it.” Trooper took the bottle from her. “I’ll stick this in Aunt Myrna’s fridge. Come on over whenever you’re ready.” Without waiting for her to speak again, he turned and headed toward the front of the house. A few seconds later, Carly heard her front door click shut. Within seconds, FluffBall pranced into the kitchen, meowing in obvious disgust at having had strangers invading her territory that day. Carly murmured a few soothing words while putting out fresh cat food and water, then gulped the rest of her glass of wine before dashing up the stairs and into the shower.

After a quick blow-dry and minimum make-up, she dressed in a light summer skirt and knit top. The skirt swirled around her legs as she hurried down the stairs, making her feel girly. “Wonder if that wine’s getting to me?” she asked herself. Girly was not a feeling she actively pursued. She hoped she wasn’t overreacting to Trooper Myer’s sexy smile and hero-handsome face. She didn’t need to stir up feelings for Trooper. Chances were that someday he was going to detest her, and she didn’t want to get her heart involved in a situation that had the potential for deteriorating into a fiasco. Still, she couldn’t suppress a certain degree of anticipation as she made her way across Sugar Maple Drive.

Trooper waited for her on Myrna’s porch with a smile that was far too appealing for Carly’s peace of mind. Myrna stood beside him and immediately stepped forward to greet her. “Hi honey. Now don’t you look cool in that pretty skirt? I’ve always loved a tropical print. And that pink top you’ve got on is a perfect match for the hibiscus in your skirt. Did you make that yourself?”

Carly smiled. “Heavens no. I can’t sew. My mother tried to teach me, but I hated it. I told her right away that I’d never make my own clothes, even if I had to buy my ready-mades at Good Will.”

“And did you?” Trooper asked. His eyes held the suggestion of a sparkle, but Carly couldn’t tell whether he was teasing or not.

“Did I what?”

“Buy your ready-mades at Good Will?”

“Sometimes. Especially when I was a starving graduate student.”

“What was your major?”

Carly bit back a sigh. Obviously Trooper was prepared to interrogate her, and as tired as she was, she wasn’t sure she could hold her own with him.

Myrna glanced at Trooper, then laid a hand on Carly’s arm. “Mind your manners, Nelson. We haven’t even asked Miss Morrison to sit down, and I’m sure she’s tired after having Marshall Aubrey around all day. He gets on a body’s nerves. Here honey, sit in the swing and let’s enjoy the breeze a few minutes before we go inside to eat.”

Carly accepted the invitation with gratitude, not only because she was tired but also because she welcomed an excuse to back away from Trooper. There was something both appealing and disconcerting about his persona, and she preferred to avoid both his pull and his push until she was better prepared to deal with him.

Myrna motioned for Carly to sit on the side of the swing closest to the street and then sat down beside her. “Nelson tells me you’ve had new air conditioners put in today. Did Marshall do a good job for you? What brand did you get and how much did Arlis Starr charge you for them?”

Carly decided that if there was such a thing as an interrogation trait, it must run in the family.

Trooper shot his aunt a raised eyebrow look. “Now Aunt Myrna, let’s give Miss Morrison a chance to catch her breath before we start asking her a bunch of questions.”

Carly squared her shoulders. “First, I hope both of you will call me Carly. I’m really not used to being called Miss Morrison. And second, I don’t mind sharing what I learned today.”

Ten minutes later she had exhausted all the information she possessed about air conditioners and was relieved when Myrna suggested they step inside for supper. “It’s late enough now,” Myrna said, “that there’ll be a nice breeze stirring on the screened-in porch out back. Nelson, you show Carly the way, and I’ll get the chicken salad out of the refrigerator.”

She turned to Carly. “We’re just having a real simple supper, honey, but I don’t believe in eating heavy at nighttime. It’s not good for a body’s rest.”

Trooper stood and opened the screen for his aunt and Carly, then stepped inside and loosely grasped Carly’s arm. She felt the shock of it clear to her toes. Wow! That was unusual. She rarely reacted so strongly to a man’s casual touch. She decided it had to be a combination of the heat, the wine, and her exhaustion.

Either that or the fact that Trooper was the sexiest man she’d encountered in a couple of decades or so.

Darn it! She couldn’t afford any sort of attraction to Trooper. The risks for complications were just too high. As casually as possible, she reclaimed her arm and stepped in front of Trooper, following Myrna toward the back of the house.

C
arly found
herself enjoying dinner much more than she had expected. Myrna’s screened-in porch opened off the kitchen, and a ceiling fan set on low speed augmented the modest breeze that wafted through the screens. All in all, the room was comfortable, and Myrna’s light meal was excellent. A scoop of chilled chicken salad centered the plate and was surrounded by slices of kiwi, Georgia peaches, and fresh pineapple. A poppy seed muffin completed the main course.

The conversation, led by Myrna, drifted from the summer heat to the upcoming homecoming at the Methodist church to the need for the city to repair the potholes on the square around the courthouse.

Carly, lulled by the good food and a second glass of wine, was caught off guard when Trooper suddenly addressed a question to her.

“What kind of book are you writing, Carly?”

“Book?” she responded, then felt blood rushing to her face. She’d blurted out the word as though she’d never heard of such a thing. Hoping Trooper would attribute her high color to the wine, she took another sip and dredged up the story she had concocted in case anyone ever pressed her. “I’m rewriting my dissertation, hoping to get it published.” The story wasn’t a complete fabrication. She really was rewriting it but only one paragraph at a time every month or so.

“And what’s the topic of your dissertation?”

Carly always enjoyed herself when she got to rattle off the name of her work. She couldn’t totally suppress a smile as she hurried through the title as though it were so commonplace that anyone would immediately identify with the topic. “It’s titled
Domesticity as it Relates to the Modernist Aesthetic in the Works of Djuna Barnes and F.T. Marinetti.”

Myrna merely stared at her, but a slight smile tilted the corners of Trooper’s lips. “F. T. Marinetti’s name is associated with the Futurist Manifesto, isn’t it?”

Carly’s eyes widened. Trooper was one of the few people she’d met who recognized the name, and most of the people she knew who’d heard of Marinetti had been in her university’s English department.

“Yes. Have you studied Marinetti?”

Trooper grinned and then shook his head. “I used to date an English prof, and she mentioned the name to me.”

“And you still remember it?” Carly decided he must have an exceptional memory.

Trooper shrugged. “It stuck with me for some reason. So, how close are you to having your dissertation revised?”

“Oh, it’s not a simple revision,” Carly said quickly. “It’s a pretty thorough re-write, and I’m doing more research online too. Plus, because much of the material that has been written about Marinetti is in Italian, I’m trying to teach myself about the language.”

Myrna spoke up. “My goodness, child. If you’re trying to teach yourself Italian, you must keep pretty busy.”

Carly nodded. “Most of the time, yes.” Hoping to avoid any more questions, she laid her napkin down beside her plate and stood. “I’ve enjoyed this very much, but I really should get back home. I haven’t learned yet what setting to use on the air conditioners, and I’m afraid my house will feel like a refrigerator if I don’t adjust them fairly soon.”

Trooper also pushed back from the table and stood. “I’ll walk you across the street.”

Carly shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure it’s perfectly safe.”

“Now, child,” Myrna interjected, “you go ahead and let Nelson walk you back. It’s dusky dark and a girl can never be too careful. I know there’s not a lot of crime in Holly Grove, but a stranger could wander through here same as any other place.”

“No doubt you’re right,” Carly responded because there was little else she could say without seeming argumentative. She gave Trooper a smile that she hoped appeared sincere. “Thanks.”

When they stepped onto Myrna’s front porch, the night air hit Carly in the face like a damp blanket. “Wow, I can barely breathe out here. How does your aunt keep her house so cool?”

“She says it stays cool because the house is well insulated and has lots of shade around it. I also know that the house cools off during the night and she closes the windows in the mornings to keep the hot air outside and the cool air in.” He nodded his head toward the front steps. “Ready?”