Someday Home Read online

  “Of course.” Don’t get upset. He’s just following procedures, they have to do that. She reached in the car to dig her wallet out of her purse and handed the license to him.

  “Thank you. You know it’s about to expire?”

  “Really?”

  “Didn’t you get a notification?”

  “Officer, as crazy as life has been since my father died…”

  “You are Mr. Sebastian Rutherford’s daughter? Of Rutherford House?” At her nod, he smiled. “My folks used to take us to Rutherford for the logging and lumber industry. I remember touring that house and being in awe that people really lived that way any longer.”

  “Well, it is now a living history site, so you can take your children there and continue a tradition.”

  “Really? That’s good news.” He handed her back her license. “Good thing you stopped when you were tired, but a woman alone in a car…Well, even in Minnesota, that is no longer safe. A motel would be far wiser.”

  “Thank you, Officer Benson, you have been most kind.” She got back in her car and put her license back in her billfold. He waited until she drove away, hand raised in a farewell wave.

  So do I continue on to Melody’s or take his advice? She stopped at the next fast-food place, got some coffee and back on the road. Her cell rang.

  “Where are you?” Melody sounded concerned.

  “I…well, I hit a crying jag and then fell asleep until an officer tapped on my window.”

  “Do you want us to come get you?”

  “Don’t be silly, I’ll be fine. Got some coffee; I should be there in an hour, depending on traffic.”

  “Anselm and I can leave right now.”

  “Melody, I’m fine.” At least she would be when she mopped the tears that bombarded her at the thought that right now someone cared enough to come get her. “Seriously, I think it was a reaction to the crying; after all, I did leave a whole life behind.”

  “You’re not a crier.”

  “I guess I am now. I might stop and get something to eat, too, so don’t worry.”

  “Call me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Judith hung up as her cousin giggled. Between the coffee and the conversation, she drove the remainder of the way without any other incidents, other than slow-and-go traffic, which should have been over by this time. No wonder Melody was worried.

  Before she even parked in their driveway, Melody and Anselm both came out the door.

  “I was this far from calling you again.” She held her fingers half an inch apart, then threw her arms around Judith.

  “I’m sorry, I should have called you again, but I hate to talk on the phone and drive, especially when you see so many red lights in front of you.” Oh, how good it felt to be greeted like this. While Melody and Anselm had come early for her father’s funeral and stayed a couple of days after, since then she’d come to realize the friends she used to have in Rutherford had drifted away through the years as more and more of her time was absorbed by her parents, but mostly her father. He did not share well.

  “I heard there had been an accident earlier.” Anselm hugged her next. “Leave your car for now, Melody has supper all ready. We can unload later. We’re just glad you’re here and safe.”

  Judith leaned back in and grabbed her purse. Now she was glad she’d not stopped for even a snack, let alone supper. Melody was an excellent cook, something she’d never had to learn to be. Ever since the cook left, she’d been eating ready-made food from the grocery store or a restaurant. She could make sandwiches and salads, which were mostly her favorite foods anyway. Since a caretaker would be living in the house, she’d left the kitchen and all the supplies. She had emptied the refrigerator and given the perishables away.

  “You want to wash up while I get the food on the table?” Melody said.

  “I do, thank you.”

  The guest bathroom, like the entire house and Melody herself, welcomed guests with comfort and peace. The walls wore textured layers of various peaches over a creamy base. Peach-and-cream towels, even peach soap with a bud vase holding a Peace rosebud and a bit of baby’s breath. Judith picked up the vase and inhaled her mother’s rose garden. Thanks to her mother’s love of gardening, Judith had followed in her footsteps. Cut flowers, the results of her choices even though she’d had a gardener to do the hard work, graced each room in Rutherford House. She’d planned on a greenhouse so she could cut flowers during snowstorms if she desired, but when her mother died, the joy went with her.

  Why was it today so many of her thoughts returned to times with her mother?

  “You sit there.” Melody pointed to the chair where a box wrapped in bright floral paper of pinks and purples and tied with a sparkly ribbon took up much of the plate.

  “Melody, I should be the one bringing you gifts.” Judith smiled at Anselm, who waited to pull out her chair. “Thank you.” How many years had it been that someone other than a servant seated her at a table? She was usually the one seating people.

  “I saw this and I thought of you.” Melody’s grin reminded Judith of when they were girls and loved to surprise each other and their families with gifts.

  Anselm seated his wife and patted her shoulder as he moved to his own chair. “You know Melody. Nothing pleases her more than someone liking the present she found for them.”

  “I know. Can I open it?”

  “Of course. But it is really no big deal.”

  Judith slid the ribbon off and didn’t bother to try to save the paper. After all, her father was not here to chide her for wasting something. From inside the box she lifted a purple coffee mug with fireworks on one side and the words Freedom at Last on the other.

  “Highly appropriate.” She thought she was smiling at Melody, but when she had to sniff and Melody was blinking, Judith sucked in a deep breath. “Whew, that was close.”

  “Right. No tears at supper.” She lifted the lid on a casserole and the fragrance of mac and cheese made Judith smile. Melody met her with a wide grin and lifting eyebrows. “I know. Tonight we have comfort food.” She pointed to the individual salad molds of green Jell-O, carrots, and mayonnaise, one of the things Melody’s mother used to make for their tea parties. Three little girls playing tea party, including Macy, Melody’s younger sister, only with real food.

  “And she has pulled out all the stops.” Anselm started to push back his chair, then paused. “Let’s have grace first and I’ll bring in the rest of the feast.” He held out both hands, and after a gentle squeeze, he started “Come, Lord Jesus…”

  The two women chimed in with the childhood prayer they had all grown up with. At the amen, he smiled at Judith. “We are glad to welcome you here, too; only as far as we’re concerned, you are not a guest, but a beloved sister.”

  That did it. Judith watched his retreating back through a liquid veil. Blinking failed to stop or even slow the flow.

  “It’s okay, Jude, we just want you to understand that for us, family means we stick together.”

  Jude, Judy, names never used in her father’s presence. Her mind took off for a moment. He used to call her something, a nickname when she was little, before all of life changed in Rutherford. What was it? Or perhaps she made it up. No!

  “What is it?” Melody’s voice came soft and easy on the ear.

  “Do you remember my father calling me a name not Judith?”

  “When we were little?”

  “Yes.” Her mind kept digging for it, but the more it dug, the further off the memory floated, tantalizing but leaving. As her mother always said, think on something else and it will return eventually. “Homemade rolls!” One sniff and who cared about a stupid name?

  “She said comfort food.” Anselm set a basket with a cross-stitched linen towelette folded over the rolls.

  “That’s the one I made for you.” Her eyes widened as she smiled at her cousin.

  “Of course. I treasure it. And your mother’s needlepoint is on the rocker in the living room.”

&n
bsp; Anselm returned with another steaming dish in one hand and a plate of pickles in the other. “Green bean casserole, made to order, the traditional way.” He sounded like a waiter announcing the works of a great chef.

  “I haven’t had green bean casserole since—since I don’t remember when.”

  “Did you ever learn to cook?”

  Judith shook her head and shrugged. “No, not ever. Guess I better start learning.” She lifted a roll and inhaled the scent before putting it on her plate.

  The conversation while they reveled in the meal caught them up on all that had happened since her father’s funeral and of other things during his last days, along with the happenings of the family. When they finally laid their napkins on the table, Judith wasn’t sure if she could even stand, she was so full.

  “Dessert later.” Anselm picked up his plate and silver.

  “Good. Much later, I hope.” Judith fought to keep from groaning.

  “I’ll go unload the car while you two clear the table, okay?”

  Judith looked up from gathering plates from the table. “Don’t bother with the boxes in the trunk yet. Anything I’m going to be needing is in the car.”

  “Your sewing machine and the projects?” Melody asked.

  “Yes. And clothes. I didn’t bring a whole lot. Well, some are in the trunk, too.”

  Melody stared at her. “You didn’t get rid of everything?”

  “No, but I put most things in storage until I have a place to live.”

  “We can turn your bedroom and the one next to it into a suite, almost like a mini-apartment, only you’d have the whole house, too.” Melody followed Judith into the kitchen, both of them carrying things from the table. “You go sit down, you can be company tonight at least.”

  “Sorry, if I sit down I will most likely be out before my back hits the cushion.”

  Judith took over loading the dishwasher, since right now she was having a hard time remembering her name, let alone where things went in Melody’s recently remodeled kitchen. “How’s your mom?”

  “Loving her new digs. We moved her to a retirement complex where she has her own apartment, lovely place. Much against her better judgment, she is seeing, as she puts it, a gentleman friend.”

  “My word. Aunt Kit?” Kit was short for Catherine, her own mother’s youngest sister. Her husband, Don, had passed away not long after Judith’s mother died.

  “I know. But he is delightful, and they share so many interests, opera being one of them.” She wrinkled her lip at the idea of attending operas on a regular basis. “They are talking of a trip to Italy in June. As he said, they have no time to waste and plan to use up every moment they have left.”

  Judith looked around the kitchen, then poured soap in the dishwasher and shut the door.

  “At least you know how to load a dishwasher. Just push the start button. Every machine is different.”

  “I can clean things, just not cook them fit for human consumption. Where’s Bozo?”

  “Mom asked if he could come stay with her for a bit, until she gets used to her new place, said she feels safer that way.”

  “Someday I want a dog or a cat. Or if I can find a place in the country, I would like chickens, not many, but a rooster and hens. I’ve been reading up on them in magazines, but when I mentioned it to Father, he about leaped out of his wheelchair in total disgust.”

  “Why didn’t you just get some? What could he have done about it?”

  “Made my life miserable.”

  “Miserabler, you mean?”

  “Something like that.” The two adjourned to the family room, where Anselm had started a fire in the fireplace and was placing more chunks of wood on it as they sank into the cordovan leather chairs. Judith heard her cell beep and checked for the message.

  “Oh, good grief, someone broke into the Rutherford House. Mr. Odegaard wants me to come back and identify what might be missing.”

  “Will you go?”

  “No. He has a complete inventory, right down to the canned goods.” She heaved a sigh. “I suppose I should go. Obviously someone needs to be there.” And that someone should be you until they find a caretaker. Guilt was a heavy burden.

  Melody stared right at her and brought her back to the new reality. “Don’t you even think about it!”

  Well, she did think about it. Constantly. But Melody was right. She had not abandoned them; they had abandoned her.

  Chapter Nine

  With a divorce pending, income dribbling in and perhaps drying up, Angela had no idea what to do next. The last week had passed in a haze. Yes, she had shown two properties, both private homes. The offer had been accepted on one. The parties were still negotiating on the second house. Her stab at commercial real estate development had failed with only the slightest possibility it might not be dead. Her possibility meter was fast slowing down.

  There was no way she could afford keeping the family home. Jack did not want to buy her out, probably for the same reason. And so she was also getting their home of fifteen years ready for the market. She sent Jack the list of repairs, none of which were major. He had yet to agree to pay for them or do them.

  If Jack wanted the divorce, he was going to have to pay for it.

  One minute she wanted no part of him, to never, ever even see him again. The next she contemplated what she needed to do to bring him back. After those two options, she usually slid into a puddle of tears.

  “Where is your pride, woman?” she demanded of the face in the bathroom mirror as she prepared to go to work. She had informed her assistant, Sandy, of the disaster, then ordered her to show no sympathy or even compassion. That’s the way it had to be to keep their relationship normal with no leaks to anyone else in the office.

  “I’ll try,” Sandy said with a sniff and a swallow, blinking all the while. “But…”

  Angela held up a hand traffic cop–style. “It’s the only way I can maintain.” She dropped her voice. “I need this job and I need to make these sales. And more. I cannot do that giving in to the tears. So please…” She stopped and sniffed before pasting some semblance of a smile on her face. “We can do this. We can.”

  “All right. So be it.” Sandy straightened her shoulders and gave an emphatic nod. One nod. “You have three calls to return, an appointment to show a house at eleven, and an appointment with a possible seller at two.”

  “Thank you.” Angela glanced at her watch. An hour and a half to get prepared, which included finding some backup properties to show if the buyer did not like the one they were walking through. She returned phone calls, one from the seller of the one house saying their last counteroffer was their final one. She thanked them and called the possible buyers back. They said thanks but no thanks and gave their reasons. When she offered to search for more properties for them, they said they’d get back to her.

  Right. One of the calls was for a short sale. Short sales were a lot of hard work for little money, but anything was better than nothing. She arranged the appointment and set Sandy to researching the short-sale lists for her. A couple wanted a second look at a property out in Rosedale, so she drove out and met them there. Should she tell them the traffic around Rosedale had become much more congested in the last few years? Not a chance. They came from Chicago. They knew traffic.

  By the end of the day, Angela dragged herself home to the emptier house. She had assigned herself one room at a time to stage for the showing. She was now on the master bedroom. She’d started with Gwynn’s room, then Charles’s and their bathroom. Those were the easiest. So far the packed boxes were gathering in the guest room aka sewing/craft room that she had appropriated after the children left for school and marriage. Preparing that room would be a nightmare.

  Walk away. Where had that thought come from? I want out. That was Jack’s line. Why was she the one doing all the work when he was the jerk? Jack the Jerk, a perfect name.

  Her phone buzzed; she had it set on vibrate, so she checked the face. Deep bre
ath. “Hi, honey, good to hear from you.”

  “Mom, what’s going on?” Leave it to Gwynn to cut right to the chase.

  Angela collapsed into her leather recliner in the family room. “Why, what do you mean?”

  “I talked with Dad.”

  “And?”

  “And he seemed weird.”

  —er than normal? But she kept the sarcasm to herself. “How so?” She stretched her neck from side to side to try to alleviate the pending headache.

  “Evasive. Like he is keeping some secret. I don’t think he wanted to talk to me.” Her voice cracked.

  Daddy’s little girl was getting a dose of Jack the Jerk. Angela slammed her head back against the cushion. So unfair. What to say?

  “Mom, are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m here. Gwynnie, just ask him. You know he has always said you can ask him anything.”

  “Somehow I get the feeling that old adage of his is no longer true.” A pause. “So what is going on, Mom?” Another pause, this time from Angela’s side. “Mother, tell me!”

  Angela pounded her fist on the arm of the chair. Why, why do I have to be the one to dish out such disgusting news? “How many times have you tried talking with him?”

  “Three. I gave him every chance to tell me and he sidestepped every time. This just isn’t like him.”

  Not the Jack they used to know, but now…?

  “Mother, do not give me the runaround or I will be on the next plane to Minnesota, job or no.”

  Angela knew that tone; Gwynn did not make threats lightly. “Give me a minute, okay? Tell me something good about your life.”

  “That bad? Is he sick?”

  Only in the head. “No, your father is not sick. Look, I need to do a potty run and then I will call you right back.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.” She clicked off the phone, did what she needed, and swung by the kitchen for a glass of water. The dread of this talk parched her mouth. Back in her chair, she hit speed dial. Gwynn answered before the first ring was done.

  “Are you sitting down?”