The Heart's Way Home

By Robert Wilson

The Heart’s Way Home is the story of a young woman who discovers that love can be found in the very place where it was lost. Anna leaves her family and her boy friend after an agonizing last year of high school only to find herself being forced back home. What she finds shocks, and later delights her, as she discovers what was left behind was part of her all along.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Wilson
• Release date: Jul 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476244679

Robert Wilson

Robert Wilson was born in 1957. A graduate of Oxford University, he has worked in shipping, advertising and trading in Africa. He has travelled in Asia and Africa and has lived in Greece and West Africa. He is married and writes from an isolated farmhouse in Portugal.

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The Heart’s Way Home

By R. J. Wilson

Copyright 2012 Robert J. Wilson

Smashwords edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter 1

St. Mark’s Lutheran Church’s traditional midnight Christmas Eve Service in little Cranston, Ohio, had just ended. Retired music teachers, amateur violinists, and the senior choir rehearsed for weeks for their cantata. The service was long and average as always. I fiddled with a bulletin, mouthed the words to the Silent Night sing-a-long, and managed not to spill hot wax on my wrist during the candle lighting ceremony. All in all, I got through it, which is my mantra for the holidays. My father had walked to the front of the church to say hello to some old friends after telling me to wait for him by the side exit door. I let the ghost of recognition in the voice behind me that said my name, Hello Anna, pass through me as I turned awkwardly, holding two sets of coats in my arms.

Hello, I started, expecting to be speaking to an old neighbor or some former teacher. When I realized who was standing next to me I flushed and stammered his name. Jason.

Earlier I wanted to let my father sleep through the service. I wanted to stay at my computer editing reports deep into the night, exhaust myself so I might be able to sleep a little while in the same bed in the same room I used all through high school. I wanted to get up in the morning to open a few presents and go back to the city. I wanted to leave my hometown as soon as I arrived, but as usual guilt wouldn’t let me.

Dad, I said to the man asleep in the worn easy chair who never learned to shave cleanly. Dad, we need go in a few minutes.

He had aged a lot this year. His hair was completely white now, and his hands shook noticeably when he held a cup of coffee or tried to write with his ancient silver Cross pen. When he opened his eyes he looked at me like I was a stranger in his house. When he recognized me the familiar distaste crossed his brows.

I wasn’t asleep, he said.

We’ll need to leave by 10:45, I said flatly. Ignoring his contentiousness was second nature. I could never, however, dismiss my emotions for the man in front of me now who nodded and slowly extended his hand. I lay the coats in an empty pew and took his hand in mine for just an instant.

I thought that was you, he said, but I couldn’t be sure. I was sitting in the back.

We got here a little late, I said. We were lucky to find seats.

By the time my father and I walked in the sanctuary our normal pew on the middle right section was filled. He scowled, then reluctantly took a seat on the opposite side near the front. The regulars stared and nodded, remembering me from last year, never forgetting me from 17 years ago. And a better daughter would visit his widowed father more than twice a year, once at Christmas and once at Easter, but the people would never know I gave up on my father when he gave up on me long ago. I dreaded the day I’d have to make arrangements for him to be put in a nursing home. He blamed me for shaming his good name. He’d blame me for aging too.

The last I heard you lived in Chicago, Jason said.

Still there. I’m just here for Christmas, I said, nodding in the direction of my father. Jason followed my gesture and turned back to me expressionlessly.

What are you doing in Cranston? I asked. His brown hair was shorter than in high school, and he was heavier, but the weight was added to his chest, shoulders, and back. He was a new, improved version of the Jason I knew so well years ago.

Visiting family, he said. Same as you.

Of course if my father knew that Jason was sitting in the same church as us he wouldn’t have said a word to me. Jason’s name wasn’t mentioned after our junior year in high school which for most people here might as well be 2012 rather than so many years ago.

You’re out of the military? I asked.

No, not yet.

But you’re safe, I said.

Safe?

Maybe you were in Iraq? I don’t know, I just guessed you were out of the country at some point. In harm’s way.

Afghanistan. I was in Afghanistan for a long time. And other places.

I told myself to release the fists my hands had become and to keep breathing. A woman stepped next to Jason deliberately standing close to him.

Hello Anna, she said. You’re back for your annual visit.

I looked but still didn’t recognize her, although she obviously knew me. She was pale, and close to 30, the same as Jason and me, and wore a red Christmas dress with a pink breast cancer awareness ribbon pin on her collar.

I’m Janelle, Janelle Meyer, she told me. I was a year behind you two in school.

Oh sure, I said automatically. I vaguely remembered her the way I vaguely remembered the other girls that made the drill team and the chorus in the school plays. How are you?

The woman made of point of handing Jason her coat. Fine, she said. Your dad started taking Meals-on-Wheels. I’m the director for the Senior Center now.

Yes, I said. He mentioned that.

She stared at me disapprovingly. He is getting one nutritious meal a day now anyway.

I’m sure he is, I said.

Well, it’s late and we need to be going. Pull up the car for me, Jason? she asked using her little girl voice.

Ok, Jason said.

I want to say good-bye to Anna’s father before we go, Janelle said. Merry Christmas, Anna.

Same to you, I said and watched her move away.

It can’t be easy, you coming back here, Jason said quietly, then looking in Janelle’s direction. She usually isn’t like that.

I picked my two coats back up and held them to my chest. I’m used to it.

Jason retrieved my bulletin that fell on the floor.

Souvenir, he said. You can tell all your friends in Chicago what a spectacular show St. Mathew’s Lutheran Church in Cranston puts on.

I have a lifetime of souvenirs from Cranston, I said.

We both do, he said.

We looked to the front of the church where my father and Janelle were staring at us.

You staying through the week-end? Jason asked, ignoring Janelle’s obvious demand that he retrieve the car now.

No, I said. Leaving Friday.

Short stay, he said, and I nodded and Janelle was walking toward Jason and my father was waving me to him.

Bye Banana, Jason said. Banana. AnnaBanana. Ridiculous to smile in this town, in this church, in the company of my father. No one else in the world could make me smile here.

Bye Jason, I said. Merry Christmas.

He nodded, walked away, and I folded the bulletin he handed me and slid it in my jacket pocket.

Chapter 2

Cranston has two coffee shops. On Thursday night of my visit I picked the one, Higher Grounds, that provided wireless, ordered a mocha, took a booth in the far corner, and opened my laptop. The only other customers were three teenage girls at a table comparing new cell phones, and a couple in their 40’s at a booth staring out the window or into their drinks. I was ready to click on my first of 22 new work emails when the front door opened and I glanced over.

Jason wore a waist-length black leather jacket and jeans. The girls with the phones stopped their chatter while they turned to watch him walk by. After he paid for his drink he passed by their table and kept moving toward me.

Night on the town? he asked.

I’m living it up, I said and closed my computer. Can you sit down?

I don’t mean to keep you from your work, he said.

It can wait.

He sat across from me.

You could sit with those three girls, he said, nodding behind him, and you’d blend right in. You haven’t aged at all.

I have though, I said. This town made me grow up fast.

He sipped from his Styrofoam cup. Did you go to the 15 year reunion?

I threw the invitation away the day I received it. No, I said.

I was out of the country at the time, he said. Not that I would have gone either.

No?

This town caused me to grow up fast too, he said. But I’ve been here since Thanksgiving and found out people have enough problems of their own to be too concerned about the problems others faced in high school.

So you’ve actually moved back here? I said. You’re more than just visiting?

Well, he said, I’m here for a couple reasons. I’m having a condo I just bought redone in California for one. And I arranged to have my mother put in assisted living, so there’s her house to look after.

Oh, I said.

My father died a few years ago, Jason went on. I didn’t know if you knew that or not.

No, I didn’t know. I’m sorry to hear that.

And sorry about your mom’s passing, he said.

Thank you.

So I hear you’re doing really well in Chicago, Jason said.

I have a very good job, I said.

You like the city? he said.

Some things I like. Some I could do without.

Same with San Diego, he said.

Where are you staying while you’re here? I asked.

I rented an apartment, one of those behind Smith Park.

I thought of the vacant family farm house. Not staying at your mother’s place?

I’m as comfortable there as you are at your father’s, he said.

So you’re not exactly settled in to life here, I said.

I never said I was, he said.

When he first sat across from me I didn’t want him to leave. Now I didn’t want him to stay. Too many wounds. Too many memories.

You found someone here too? I said. What was her name, the one at church?

Janelle?

That’s right, Janelle Meyer. I didn’t remember her from …

She helped with the arrangements for my mother is all. You seeing anyone?

The girls at the nearby table burst into hysterics, but Jason seemed not to notice. He kept his eyes on me.

If you’ve got an apartment maybe you’ll end up living here after all, I said. Change your mind about California.

Probably not.

Me, I could never come back here, I said. Never. I hate this place and everyone in it.

I understand why you feel that way, Jason said after a pause, and he did, probably the only one who did.

Do you know how long it took me to get over what happened? I said. "Do you know what it’s like to come back here and still be treated like I’m 17 and still an outcast?’

The girls at the table stopped laughing and turned to stare. Jason still ignored them as they started whispering in a tight circle.

Doesn’t sound like you are over it, he said in a quiet voice.

I looked away and pretended to drink from my mocha.

I shouldn’t have bothered you, he said. It’s just that I saw the Illinois plates and I figured it must be you. I haven’t seen you in so long, you know, and we went through so much. I’m sorry I’ve upset you. He stood to leave.

Did I want him to go? In another lifetime I’d do anything to make him stay. But how could it be any other way now? I’d started to lose control just by being around him for a few minutes and talking about our past.

I’m not upset, I said, centering my tiny napkin under my cup. It’s good to see you again. In my mind I’d told him again I was sorry for everything that had happened a thousand times, but of course I couldn’t actually say the words now. Too much had passed. And any future for us was hopeless.

Have a safe trip back to Chicago, Anna, he said. As soon as his truck was out of sight I turned off my computer, threw my coffee away and went for my car. I drove back to my father’s to tell him something came up and I’d have to leave tonight. We’d both know I was lying, and both would be relieved that another Christmas was over.

Chapter 3

Dave, an ex-football player at the University of Buffalo who walked with a slight limp after three knee surgeries, was a sales manager at the same company I worked for, Alliance Insurance. Our name tags were next to one another for dinner at the Hotel Allegro downtown at last year’s New Year’s Eve office party. I didn’t know anyone else around the table although he seemed to know everyone. Witty and friendly, he included me in the conversations and I actually enjoyed an evening I had been dreading. When he asked me to dance I accepted and we ended up at the bar talking over glasses of Champaign. The night flew by until I met up with a woman named Maggie, who worked for us at the time in payroll, in the ladies’ room.

Did he mention, she said to me, that he’s married?

I stared. No, that never came up, I said.

Back at the party with less than 15 minutes until midnight I asked Dave to follow me into the lobby.

Do you have something to tell me? I asked.

Tell you about what? he asked.

About you being married, I said.

Anna, he said, my wife and I are separated. We’re going through with the divorce as soon as she finds a job with health insurance. Plus we’re just getting to know one another, aren’t we? Or am I missing something?

I felt like such a fool and I told him so. He smiled. C’mon, he said. Let’s make it through the end of this year and then we can worry about what’s to come.

Our first kiss was a midnight ritual, another glass of Champaign in our hands. Now, a year later, we were in the same hotel for our second New Year’s company party, still together, much more than friends, though Dave still wasn’t divorced. Sometimes he spent the night at my place, sometimes I stayed with him at his home in the Gold Coast. We were both well aware of the company policy regarding sexual harassment and consequently were always guarded around our co-workers, never touched, never emailed anything but business. We were undercover spies in love.

Happy New Year, Dave whispered in my ear.

Happy New Year, darling, I said back.

Your place or mine? he asked.

I lived only a few blocks away toward Old Town and Dave had had a little too much to drink. As we were ready to leave I suggested he leave his car at the hotel and I’d drive us to my townhouse and he agreed. In another hour we were walking in my front door arm-in-arm.

Why don’t you use the bathroom first, I said to Dave as I led him down the hallway. He kissed me on the way.

I love you, he said in a slurred voice.

Love you too, I said, and ushered him through my master bedroom and into the bathroom. Once he closed the door I checked the lock on my front door and went into the second bedroom I’d made into an office where I listened to the missed message on my answering machine.

Hello, Anna. Jason’s voice. It’s New Year’s Eve, about 10:00 o’clock here. I’m calling to say sorry for the way our conversation ended the other night. And if you want, you can give me a call tonight, or sometime. I’m at my apartment watching the same CNN stories for about the 19th time. But if I don’t hear from you, that’s ok too. Happy New Year just the same. Oh wait, you don’t have my number. It’s 260-908-1234. Bye.

The night I returned home from Cranston I pulled my old scrapbooks out from the top shelf of my office closet until I came to the one from high school. There we were through 11th grade, Jason and I at junior/senior prom; Jason and I at the lake skiing; Jason and I at our last date playing miniature golf in the early summer before 12th grade. The perfect couple vanished later that same year. I went in the kitchen to get my cell phone from my purse, returned to my office, replayed the message again and smiled. He was actually nervous on the answering machine. Then I wondered how he got my number. He picked up on the second ring.

Hello Anna, he said.

Happy New Year, I said, just then realizing I’d called at 1:00 in the morning. I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was so late.

Still awake, he said. I, I hope it’s ok I called.

The scrapbook was still on my desk and I opened it to my favorite picture of us together at 16 on swings at the playground when we had nothing better to do than be silly.

No, I’m glad you called. How did you get my number?

It’s listed as a contact at the senior center in your father’s file. I snooped.

Oh. I paused. You’re alone on New Year’s?

I have to be at the airport by 7:00, he said. I’m heading back to California tomorrow. Well, I guess it’s today now.

I wouldn’t press him. Wouldn’t ask if Janelle Meyer was asleep in his bed while he was talking to me from inside his garage.

I’m sorry I got upset at the coffee shop, I said. The holidays are stressful enough without …

Without seeing me?

Without … I guess just being back in Cranston.

I know, he said. And I should have respected your privacy. You probably had work to do on your computer. I’m sorry.

You don’t have to say that, I said softly before saying to myself, You don’t have to be sorry for anything. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was all me.

A silence on the other end before, Did you celebrate New Year’s?

Yeah. I just got back from an office party.

They say you work for an insurance company.

Yes. My first job after grad school.

You were the smartest one in our class, not Haily Stoops.

I’ve tried to forget Haily Stoops. I’ve tried to forget everything about high school. I paused. Not everything. I’ve haven’t forgotten you.

He didn’t answer so, slipping, I added, How’s Janelle?

She’s ok. Busy with work …

Suddenly Dave appeared in the doorway, half undressed.

Who’re you talking to? he asked.

I quickly closed the scrap book before covering the phone with my free hand. My father, I said. I’ll be in in just a minute.

Whatever, Dave said, trying to sound much younger than he was, before turning away.

I went back to the phone. Sorry, I said.

No, I’m interrupting. And it’s late, Jason said.

I hurriedly debated with myself whether or not I should try to explain Dave to Jason. I learned the hazards of late night explanations long ago.

Jason, I said, there’s so much that changed since I saw you last.

I wonder about that a lot, he said. Maybe someday we can share life stories.

I turned back to the door praying Dave wouldn’t still be standing there. I was going to need some time to get control of myself.

I can’t talk anymore right now, I managed. I have to go.

Sure, he said. We can’t exactly take up from where we left off just like that.

No, I said, no we can’t do that.

After a long silence he said, I sent you something. Hope it’s ok that I did.

What is it? I asked.

Something I found going through my mother’s stuff, he said. Sent to your work address.

I never talked to my father this long on the phone.

I really have to hang up now, I said.

Good bye, Anna, he said, and he was gone.

Chapter 4

WGN reported that the temperature the first morning I was back to work was 12 with a wind chill of -2. January in Chicago is notorious for the cold, and people think I’m crazy to run outside after work. But I ran in college