Home to Stay

“No. Don’t even finish that sentence.” She pulled up short and spun on her heel.

“Give a guy a heads-up before you up and change course like that, will you?” Hank managed to stop just inches shy of slamming into her. He held his arms out and his hands up like a man trying to avoid brushing against a live electrical fence as he muttered, “Heads-up, right. Look who I’m talking to.”

She tipped her chin up and narrowed her eyes. “If that’s a veiled reference to our breakup, Hank, it needs to be very clear that you are the one that changed the course of our relationship. You are the one who waited until the night before our wedding to tell me that you did not want to have children.”

“Really, Em? You want to launch into this now?” He retreated a step, his hands still up.

“I was actually sort of proud of myself for having held off this long,” she shot back. Before she could even take another breath, she cringed inwardly. She had made so many strides in life to keep her wild, impulsive tendencies under control, but standing back in this home of her childhood, after just a few minutes gazing into Hank Corsaut’s eyes, and she was blurting out things like that. She pressed her lips together.

Another step back and Hank dropped his hands to his sides.

“I’m sorry.” Emma hung her head, humbled by her own overreaction. “I probably made a big mistake even coming back here. I thought I’d find answers, that the path I need to take would become more clear with distance from my real life but—”

“Emma! My sweet, sweet, baby girl!” Sammie Jo appeared in the doorway from the foyer to the living room.

There was no evidence of a health problem in the rosy color of her cheeks. Her once strawberry blond hair, now streaked heavily with white, hung in a long thick braid over one shoulder. She had tucked her turquoise jeans into her high-top tennis shoes. Despite Ruth whirling about on tiptoe, her tutu bouncing and the dogs winding around Sammie’s every lumbering, labored footstep, she entered the room like a diva commandeering the stage.

When all eyes focused on her, she threw her arms open wide, sending her hand-beaded dangly earrings swinging. “Look at you, all dressed up in that fabulous little black dress and…is that a diamond bracelet? Tr?s chic! But your hair…”

“Note she’s not surprised at what I’m wearing, just that my hair is mussed up a little.” Emma went to her aunt, her arms open wide to wrap her in a hug.

“A little? Emma, honey, a little mussed up is what my hair was when I did a nosedive into the bougainvilleas.” Sammie Jo enveloped her in two tanned, freckled arms.

Emma sank into warmth and the wonderful generosity of her aunt’s unwavering love. This, she realized, was why she had come. She had been stressed, afraid and even in the middle of a crowded restaurant with a man who promised her everything any girl could ever want, she felt alone. Here, in this house, in the arms of the woman who had raised her when her mother died, all of that melted away. She was loved. And more than a bit curious. “You fell into the bougainvilleas?”

“Not on purpose, sugar. I was having a heart attack!”

Emma pulled away, her own heart racing. She twisted her neck to give Hank a scolding look. “You said it wasn’t a heart attack.”

“Oh, now, calm down, Emma, honey.” Her aunt gave her one more brief hug before releasing her, stepping away and starting to pick her way over the tangle of dogs and Ruth. “It wasn’t really a heart attack and I didn’t actually fall into the bougainvilleas.”

“I caught her.” Hank leaned against the doorway, his arms folded.

“You make a habit of hanging around waiting for Newberrys to keel over?” Emma managed to keep her anxiety over her aunt’s precarious health from making that sound like an accusation.

“I’ve just been telling everyone I had a near heart attack and fell into the bougainvilleas because it’s so much more interesting a story than a medication mix-up inducing an episode that caused my heart to stop for maybe two, three seconds which wouldn’t even have rated a call to the doctor if the town vet had minded his own business.”

“You make yourself my business, woman, whether I like it or not.” Hank shook his head.

“Boo-gun-veel-yas,” Ruth sounded out slowly at first then began to spin around, repeating it faster and faster like the beat of a song that she alone could hear. “Boo-gun-veel-yas, boo-gun-veel-yas.”

“That must have been awful for you, Aunt Sammie.” Emma went to her aunt’s side and took her by the arm. Sammie Jo nodded toward the couch and they headed that way, a bit more slowly than her aunt’s usual speed.

“It was awful,” Sammie agreed in her rich Louisiana accent. “And I would have been alone. Of course, God would have been with me—is with me, always—but I had my cell phone on me when I first started feeling poorly so I made a call and this one here—” she pointed to Hank in the same antagonistic attitude he’d been giving her but couldn’t keep it up as she smiled, touched her fingers to her lips then blew a kiss to the man as she said “—came running.”

Emma met Hank’s gaze again, and again found herself overwhelmed by the sense that he could help her find order where now she mostly knew turmoil.

“The pair of them insisted I keep that phone near me and charged up at all times.” Sammie Jo reached out to grab Hank by the arm as they passed him and her strong, slender fingers curled in a squeeze of obvious gratitude. “Of course, now that you’ve come here to stay, that won’t be such a worry.”

“Stay?” Emma halted beside the couch and it seemed that for a split second everything around her blurred into slow motion, much as it had just before she fell asleep on her feet earlier. Only this time, it wasn’t weariness that had her mind and heart out of sync with her surroundings. She had come to Gall Rive to test her wings, not to reestablish her roots. “Aunt Sammie, I didn’t come home. I came back. There’s a difference. I didn’t come to stay.”

“Like a bird who strays from his nest is a man who strays from his home.” Sammie Jo dropped into the corner seat of the couch and motioned for Ruth to come sit beside her.

“What is that supposed to mean, Aunt Sammie?” Emma kept her tone sincere but she folded her arms for good measure. She knew her aunt too well to take anything at face value. The woman might be small and openhearted, but she was scrappy and used to getting her own way. Emma had stayed away for years to avoid her wishes and Sammie Jo’s from clashing. “If it was a jab, you know I won’t be guilted into staying here. And if it was just a flip remark, well, I won’t be cajoled into it, either.”

“Neither flip nor jab. It’s from the Bible,” Sammie said without looking at her niece.

“Proverbs, I think.” Hank strode to the end table, picked up the large black leather Bible and thumbed through a few pages, then dragged the tip of his finger down one page. “Yep. Proverbs 27:7–9. ‘He who is full loathes honey, but to the hungry even what is bitter tastes sweet. Like a bird that strays from its nest is a man who strays from his home. Perfume and incense bring joy to the heart and the pleasantness of one’s friend springs from his earnest counsel.’”

He closed the Bible, laid it down and looked up to find Emma and her aunt staring at him.

“What?” He strode back across the room and looked down at Emma. “I teach Sunday school.”

“To children?” She hadn’t intended for that to sound so hopeful.

“To young adults,” he said.

“Still…” She couldn’t help smiling up at him. It was none of her business, of course, but the idea that this new Hank, actually this older Hank, was comfortable not just having a tea party with Ruth but taking a spiritual leadership role with people younger than himself made her heart cheerful.

“So, there you go.” Sammie Jo struggled to wrangle Ruth up into her lap.

The child wriggled free, protesting with a sound that spoke about her opinion of being held down more than a whole paragraph worth of eloquent vocabulary could. She made a spiral, went up on her toes and ran around the room repeating softly, “Boo-gun-veel-yas.”

Emma did not have the luxury of grunts and temper fits to try to communicate her frustration to her aunt. So she went to the couch, settled on the arm next to Sammie Jo and asked without anger or malice, “There I go where? Unless you mean there I go back to Atlanta in a few days, I have no idea what you mean by that remark.”

One of the dogs whimpered and raised his nose.

Hank turned toward the front house.

A creak came from the general direction of the kitchen.

“It’s okay, boy,” Hank said, scratching the larger of the two dogs behind the ear. “Just a kid looking for pink cake.”

Emma exhaled then looped one arm around her aunt’s slender shoulders. “So, to get back to the topic at hand, if there is anything you want me to know, Aunt Sammie, you are going to have to come right out and tell me.”

Sammie Jo put her hand on Emma’s knee and gave it a waggle. “What I am trying to tell you, child, is that just like the birds of the trees and the beasts of the fields—”

A car door slammed.

Sammie Jo startled.

Both dogs woofed.

Hank quieted them with a hand signal.

Too bad Emma didn’t have something similar for her aunt. Sammie Jo lunged forward, using the arm of the chair and the leg of her niece to push herself to her feet.

She looked to the right, then to the left, then right at Emma. “Hide me! It’s your sister!”