Coming Home Again (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 1) (14 page)

His declarations of
love and promises of protection glued me in my spot. I stood in the abandoned
room and quietly released a few demons that day.
                                                                  

Chapter
Eleven

A
ruckus draws me out of my thoughts, as a scraggly group of children come
scurrying up. Ignoring them, I turn my attention back to the inlet and watch
the water slowly begin its way back home. It’s peaceful all of two seconds
before it’s interrupted by all kinds of twangy chatter. I glance over at this
little motley crew, barefooted and dripping wet. This bunch reminds me of days
long ago spent exploring the mysteries of the inlet with John Paul and Bradley.

A blonde-haired girl, who I’m guessing
is around the age of eight, speaks first. “Where’s that lady with them hush
puppies?”

“Where’s Miss May?” an older boy in his
teens asks. He seems like the leader of the group. He’s a lanky kid who needs
several good meals for sure.

I continue to rock in my chair. “Sorry.
She’s not here today.”

The group erupts in groans of protest.

A young girl with chocolate skin and
eyes pouts. “Her promised us hush puppies for today.”

“Yeah! She promised,” another little
blonde-haired girl pipes in. I’m pretty sure they are twins.

My head darts between all of them as I
try to take in all of their whining. “Sorry,” I say again. “No hush puppies
today.”

One of them nosy young’uns pulls the
framed acceptance letter off my lap, and I grab it back quickly. This little
guy, with his hair falling in his eyes, is in serious need of a haircut. He
asks, “What’s that you holding?”

“My college acceptance…”

Before I can continue, one of them
scoffs, “You too old for college.” Them boogers laugh at that.

I’m only twenty-eight for Pete’s sake!
“Am not!” I snap back. “Besides, I’ve already gone
and
graduated.”

They all once again ramble at the same
time. Questions are circling all around me and I don’t know, nor do I think I
care, enough to answer any of them.

“What are you then?”

“Um…” My brows pinch together in
aggravation.

“What’s your name?”

“What you doing out here anyway?”

“I was really wanting me some of them
hush puppies,” Hair-too-Long whines.

“She promised, and my Pappy said you
ain’t ‘pose to break a promise,” the youngest one pipes in.

“Yeah! Mine says that too,” agree the
twins in unison.

They continue to worry me to no end
until I decide I am going to have to hush them up. I stand and head to the
kitchen door. “Y’all stay here and try not to fall into the inlet and I’ll go
see what I can do,” I say, and they cheer.

I check the fryer first and set the
temperature before heading to the pantry to gather the ingredients. I grab up
the container of self-rising flour and the one containing cornmeal. Balancing
the sugar container on top, I carry the load to the worktable. I ease over to
the refrigerator and pull out milk, eggs, and butter. Once everything is spread
before me, I pause to set a pot of tea to brew. With that underway, I dump
nearly equal parts of flour and cornmeal into a mixing bowl. I combine them and
add a good heap of sugar and a dash of salt. I have watched Miss May perform
this same recipe so many times I need no measuring. Even with the five-year
absence, this task feels like second nature.

After all of my dry ingredients are
combined, a dollop of honey, two eggs, and just enough milk to bind it all
together in a thick batter joins in. I move my mixing bowl along with two
tablespoons over to the fryer. I scoop up the batter with one spoon and use the
other to swipe it into the hot oil. It sizzles and bubbles and the frying aromas
engulf my senses into a content state. Instinct says the oil is right, so I
continue to plop batter into the boiling liquid.

While the dough browns, I pour the
brewed tea into a gallon pitcher and dump in a hardy helping of sugar. After
filling the remaining pitcher with ice, I set it by a tray with a stack of
glasses. I rotate the fried dough to a basket covered with brown paper towels
so the excess grease can drain off. I then set another batch to frying while I
whip up some honey butter. By the time I have transferred the succulent treats
to a fresh basket, my stomach lets out a growl in excitement. I gather the tray
and pitcher of tea and set out to have an impromptu picnic with a bunch of
local young’uns.

They all gather around me and sit on
the bank patiently. I place the goodies down before them and sit crossed leg as
they are doing. “Okay. Let’s eat,” I declare as I pop one in my mouth. This is
when I notice they have all bowed their heads, and the oldest one eyes me
disapprovingly. I reluctantly spit the hush puppy in my hand and bow my own
head. The boy blesses the food, and then they tear into those hush puppies like
a ravenous bunch of animals. Before I can down three hush puppies, the basket
is empty and their tea glasses drained.

“Good grief. Did you even taste the
dang things?” I ask as I sip my tea grudgingly. I really wanted more than just
three
hush puppies. I fried at least
three dozen!

They ignore me, so I declare our visit
over and begin gathering their glasses.

“Wait,” says one of the blondies. “Tell
Miss May we ready for our lesson.”

“What?” I ask confused. “I already told
you she’s
not
here.”

One of the twins skeptically props her
lime-green polished hands on her little hips. “Then who done an’ cooked this
up?”

“I did, I have you know,” I sass back.

She continues to study me as though she
doesn’t believe me. “Then I guess you get to give us a lesson too.”

“Look, I already gave you little punks
enough.” I head to the kitchen, but they all moan and groan like I have just
ruined their lives.

“You gotta teach us something,” the
younger blonde whines.

“I got nothing,” I say, giving a quick
nod of my head, and more grumbling breaks out.

“You old enough, you gotta know
something,” pipes in Hair-too-Long.

Okay, so there they go with that old
crap again. They want old fart advice then I’m gonna divvy some out. “Listen
up, you brats.” I call them this because they call me old and that makes it
right, so don’t judge me. They laugh at this, thinking I’m being funny. I’m
not.
Brats.

I flick my hand, summoning them closer
as I lean towards them like I’m about to share the mysteries of the world with
them. I look around as though I’m making sure no one else can hear and this
automatically causes them to lean closer.

“Never take a laxative and a sleeping pill
on the same night,” I stage-whisper in all seriousness. They stare at me
dumbfounded for a few moments before the understanding eases across their nasty
little faces. Now they are literally rolling around on the ground in laughter
except for the oldest one. He just stands there with a smirk on his face as
though he gets me. I think I may like that kid.

One of them looks up at me and says,
“That ain’t no lesson!”

“It sounds like pretty sound advice to me.
I mean, who wants to mess themselves while sleeping?” I wrinkle my nose for
emphasis. “I read that somewhere and let me tell you, I’ve never forgot it.” I
conclude my
lesson
with a wave and
head once again for the door.

“What’s your name?” one of them yells.

“Pudding Tang,” I say. There’s no way
I’m telling these kids my name so they can go tell their parents that Savannah
told them such mess.

I laugh at this unexpected afternoon
while I clean the kitchen. Once I’m done, I send Lucas a text. I wish I had the
wits to share my encounter with him but decide to save it for another time.

Me:
I
love you.

Lucas:
I love you more.

Me:
I
miss you.

He fires right back:
I miss you more
.

I perch on a stool at the kitchen
counter with my tea while memories of that last significant year of college
keep me company. Lucas showed me what real love was that year. I know what
you’re thinking so let me just go ahead and clear that up for you. Lucas’s
showing me love did not include sex. Some heated kissing sessions maybe, but
that was as far as I’d let him go.

He joked around one night after I
pushed him away. “What? Am I going to have to marry you just so I can get
lucky?” I knew he was just trying to ease the tension caused by my
apprehension. Panic attacks were always begging to emerge, and it took a lot to
keep them in check—especially when I allowed him in my personal space.

In the midst of that turbulent time,
Lucas took it upon himself to become my ally against panic attacks. Sometimes
he could chase the attack away with joking, while other times it demanded
attention and we would have to declare defeat.

One night I awoke from one of my
reoccurring nightmares and couldn’t shake the panic from me no matter how hard
I tried. I just didn’t want to take a pill. My stubborn self wanted to prove to
the attack that I was boss, but I was losing the battle rapidly. I paced the
length of the apartment for a spell with no relief before deciding to plop on
the couch. As the attack latched on, my skin pricked and I broke out in a cold
sweat in defense. Lucas begged me to give in and take the dang pill as he tried
unsuccessfully to comfort me, but all I would do is shake my head. So that man
of mine had at one point reached his limit with both me and the attack. Before
I could comprehend his actions, Lucas had picked me up off the couch and
carried me right outside in the midst of a rain shower. The cold rain sent a
shock over me that demanded I focus on it. We were soaked through within
seconds. The combination of the cold rain and the whooshing sound worked like
magic.

Lucas set me down on my feet abruptly
and began dancing me around the small court yard silently, surprising me
further. Under the watery glow of the courtyard lights, he was stunning with
his shirt plastered to his well-defined chest—my strong protector. I knew I was
in love, no matter the fact that I didn’t really understand it. Now I realize
love is something that occurs on its own accord with or without your
permission. I certainly did not give permission, but it happened.

The feeling of ease had washed over me
right along with the rain that night as Lucas lightly pushed my soaked hair
away from my face. The look of awe and affection softened his features as he
skimmed his knuckles along my cheek and whispered into the rain, “Beautiful.”
And that’s exactly what he has always made me feel like, even though I carry
such a vulgar, ugly past. Even in my worst moments, he has never made me feel
that I meant any less to him than in our best moments.

We danced with our shoes splashing
through water puddles until I was able to brush the remnants of the attack off.
As he twirled me around, I couldn’t help but giggle with relief. My saving
grace had not given up on me and somehow figured out how to guide me through
many stormy issues with steady patience and unconditional love.

There are days now that the attacks
start winning. It’s like the tension of my demons build up until my body
demands I release it. The tingling and rapid heart rate will start taking
effect, so I will go seek out my protector. All I have to do is walk up to him
and say I feel like dancing in the rain. He will drop whatever he is doing,
take me by the hand, and escort me outside. Rain or shine, day or night, Lucas
will help me dance away my attacks. Sometimes it is a slow silent dance and
other times it’s a silly dance that is always performed in front of whoever may
pass by. I think this helps too—being aware that others see me. It helps me
snap out of it. Well…most of the time.

I’m not going to even go near the
honeymoon night episode with you. Let’s just say, the marriage bed did not go
smoothly for quite a long time. Unfortunately, a few panic attacks escalated to
the point of emergency room visits. Some demons were harder to battle.

I’m getting ahead of myself a bit.
Anyway, that year of my life flew by too quickly. I was one of those students
who actually didn‘t want school to end. One of my biggest problems about
finishing school was that I still had no earthly idea what I wanted to do with
the rest of my life. I was content with how things were, but I did have enough
sense to realize it couldn’t last forever. My worst fear after graduation was I
would have to crawl back home to Jean. The closer graduation came, the more it
sunk in that I was going to have to do just that. I dreaded the reality of
actually having to go back home. I had no other choice, and I knew Jean would
relish in my failure.

Lucas’s future was totally opposite of
my own. He already had things lined up perfectly. He was moving back up north.
The graduate program that he had been accepted to was near his home. He was
looking forward to being back near his parents, which was beyond my
understanding. Our families were total opposites.

Lucas was born into a successful,
loving, upper-class family who’s very close knit. His dad, Robert Monroe, was
the CEO of a multi-million dollar investment firm that he founded, until Lucas
took over after graduate school. Although my father-in-law is a very wealthy
businessman, family always comes first. He absolutely adores his down-to-earth
wife, Kathleen and he is the doting father to three sons who each look like he
could have spit them right out of his mouth. All three boys have the trademark
Monroe look of curly, brown hair and hazel eyes. Robert Jr., also known as
Robbie, is the oldest, with Jackson following behind him by only sixteen
months. The baby, Lucas, followed Jackson by only eighteen months. Stepping
stones, just as their parents had wanted. Poor Kathleen threw in the towel once
the third boy arrived and gave up on the chance of ever producing a daughter.
Never one for negativity, Kathleen loved to brag about being the only girl in
the house and that her men treated her as the Betty Crocker Queen. They
absolutely adore her. Lucas grew up in a house that he described as always
smelling like fresh baked cookies and always overflowing with laughter.