A Gift from the Past

“Hello, Sarge,” Joshua said.

The old man’s face lit with obvious pleasure and he gasped in surprise. “Well, I’ll be damned. Come closer, Joshua boy, so I can smell the rascal and know it’s really you.”

Joshua laughed and walked over to Sarge’s chair, then leaned down and gave the old man a hug, his heart aching as he felt Sarge’s thinness. He didn’t miss the fact that Sarge’s arms didn’t raise to return the hug.

“Ah, don’t smell no rascal, only smell fancy cologne and grown-up man.”

Joshua laughed again. “There’s a little rascal left,” he replied.

“Cookie, put some coffee on, me and the boy got some catching up to do. Joshua, wheel me into the kitchen. They got me this damned fool chair with a motor, but it just makes me run into things at a faster speed.”

Joshua set the tin box they’d dug up on the coffee table, then moved behind the chair and pushed Sarge toward the kitchen. Claire walked in front of him and he knew by the straight set of her shoulders that she didn’t intend to be a welcoming hostess.

The kitchen was just as Joshua remembered it, a large airy space with floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the east. Many a morning he and Sarge had drunk coffee while morning light filtered in through the windows.

There was no chair in the place at the table where Sarge had always sat, and it was here that Joshua pushed him up against the table.

Joshua took the chair across from Sarge as Claire busied herself making a pot of coffee. Samuel Cook, ‘Sarge’ as he had been known for as long as Joshua could remember, had been a robust, strong man who had looked and acted half his age when Joshua had left Mayfield.

Regret swept through him as he gazed at what Sarge had become. He wasn’t sure what had put the old man in the wheelchair and stolen his sight, but he felt he never should have stayed away for so long.

“You still making a killing with those games of yours?” Sarge asked.

“Yeah, business is booming and the games are doing better than I ever dreamed.” Joshua’s gaze slid to Claire, who had her back to them. Her long hair rippled down to the center of her back, sparked by the sunshine dancing in through the windows.

“Who’d have thought it, that a grown man could spend his time playing games and make a fortune.” Sarge shook his head. “In my day, kids didn’t have Play Stations and Nintendos to pass the time.”

“It’s a different generation, Sarge,” Joshua replied. It was still hard for Joshua to believe that he’d managed to parlay the fantasy stories he’d made up to sustain himself through a tough childhood into a financial empire of sorts.

Just a month earlier, Business magazine had done an article on him and his company. The article had been entitled, “Joshua McCane: The Man Behind the Magic,” and had chronicled his meteoric career from his first little company, begun in a rented space above a health-food store four years ago.

DreamQuest Games now had its own building on twenty-five beautiful acres in California. Joshua employed two hundred men and women who worked at producing and marketing the fantasy games both children and young adults had embraced.

He glanced at Claire, surprised to see her staring at him. As their gazes met, she quickly looked away and grabbed the sugar bowl and creamer for the table.

“Mind if I wash up? My hands are dirty.” Without waiting for her reply, he stood and walked over to the sink.

Claire moved aside, but not before he smelled the floral scent of her perfume.

The scent had a touch of honeysuckle to it. Instantly he remembered those summer nights when he and Claire had made out on the porch swing with the sweet scent of the nearby honeysuckle wafting in the air.

“When did you get into town?” Sarge asked, as Joshua turned on the faucet and shoved those memories aside.

“Late last night. I ran into Claire this morning out by the old Dragon Tree.” He finished washing his hands and turned off the water.

“Were you out there digging for the ten thousand bucks, too?” Sarge asked.

Joshua took the hand towel Claire proffered and dried his hands. Her gaze was cool, disinterested, but as she took the towel back from him he noticed that her hand trembled slightly. So, she wasn’t as unaffected by his presence as she wanted him to believe.

He sat back down at the table. “I was drinking a cup of coffee this morning at the diner and reading the paper. I saw the clues for the treasure hunt, and you know I’ve never been able to resist a puzzle.”

“I guess Cookie didn’t find the treasure, otherwise she wouldn’t be pouting now,” Sarge said.

“I’m not pouting,” Claire stated as she poured three cups of coffee. “I’m just listening.” She set one of the cups of coffee in front of Sarge. “Twelve o’clock,” she murmured. “And no, I didn’t find the money. All we found was an old tin box.”

“With a photo inside,” Joshua added. “An old photo of a couple who look exactly like Claire and me.” He took a mug of coffee from her, surprised that as their fingers touched he felt a responding surge of heat sweep up his arm.

She jerked her hand back as if she felt it too and the scowl on her beautiful features deepened.

“Well, that’s strange,” Sarge exclaimed. “You say the people in it look like you and Claire?”

“They could be our twins,” Joshua replied. The photo in the old tin box wasn’t the only thing strange around here, he thought.

He wanted to know what had caused Sarge’s blindness and his descent into a wheelchair. How long had Sarge been sick, and had Claire been dealing with it all on her own? He wanted to know when things had gotten so obviously bad.

What he found stranger than anything was that the woman he’d finally come here to divorce still had the ability to fill him with a white-hot desire and a deep yearning for something he couldn’t identify.

“How long are you staying?” Sarge asked as he carefully brought his cup to his lips to sip the fresh brew.

“I’m not sure.” Joshua leaned back in the chair, his gaze once again falling on Claire.

He’s leaving as soon as he finishes his cup of coffee, Claire wanted to say. He’s getting back on whatever plane or train or bus brought him here, and he’s never coming back again.

He smiled at her, as if he read her thoughts, then directed his attention back to Sarge. “I don’t have any definite schedule. I just decided I needed a little time away from work. You know what they say about all work and no play.”

“Damned right,” Sarge exclaimed. “Making money is nice, but there’s other things important in life, too. You’ll stay here,” Sarge added firmly.

“Oh, I don’t…” Joshua began.

“I’m sure Joshua will be more comfortable at the Red Inn,” Claire interjected quickly. She assumed he was at the Red Inn since it was the only motel in town.

“Nonsense,” Sarge replied. “I’ve been trying to get both the Health Department and the Building Codes people to shut that place down for years. It’s not fit for a skunk. You’re family, Joshua. You’ll stay here and that’s final. Now, tell me all about this business of yours and about all the loony people in California. I hear tell the women sun-bathe stark-naked there.”

Claire didn’t want to listen to Joshua extol the luxurious lifestyle he’d built for himself, nor did she like the way his very presence stirred not only memories of what had once been, but also an edge of physical awareness that was distinctly uncomfortable.

She excused herself from the table and left the kitchen. She wandered back into the living room, drawn to the tin box Joshua had left on the coffee table. She sat on the sofa and pulled the box onto her lap.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened it and picked up the picture. Immediately, a strange electrical surge washed up her arm. It wasn’t unpleasant, just warm and disconcerting. She’d felt it when she’d first taken the picture from Joshua.

She dismissed the sensation, telling herself she was out of sorts, highly on edge and that’s why she thought she felt something strange.

Again she studied the features of the two people in the photo. There was no question about it. They shared more than a passing resemblance to her and Joshua. It was as if she and Joshua had sat for the photo in one of those vacation photo places where you could dress up in historical outfits.

But they had never had a photo like this taken and there seemed to be no explanation as to why Sarah and Daniel Walker looked exactly like Claire and Joshua McCane.

The couple in the picture wasn’t smiling, nor did there seem to be any hint of intimacy between them. He stared straight ahead, one of his hands resting not on her shoulder, but rather on the top of the chair where she sat.

She thought she detected a weary sadness about them, especially radiating from Sarah’s eyes. Who were these people and why had they buried a photo of themselves in the middle of nowhere?

She placed the photo back in the box, disturbed by it more than she cared to admit.

“Sarge would like you to take him back to his room for a nap.”

She started at the sound of Joshua’s voice coming from the kitchen doorway. Fighting against a burst of weariness that had become as familiar as the color of her own eyes in the mirror, she rose from the sofa.

“He usually gets quite tired at this time of the day,” she said unnecessarily.

He stepped out of the doorway and into the living room. “I’ll just wait here. We need to talk.”

“It usually takes me a while to get him settled in.” She hoped he’d get the hint, that he’d realize they had nothing to talk about, that she had nothing to discuss with him.

“I’ll wait.” He sank onto the sofa where she had been seated only moments before, looking for all the world as if he had a right to be there.

It took her nearly twenty minutes to get Sarge into bed and settled comfortably. As always, seeing him so thin and helpless against the sheets nearly broke what was left of her heart.

Sarge was all the family she’d ever had. He’d raised her since she was eight, when her parents had been killed in a car accident. She loved him as fiercely as she’d ever loved anyone in her life. “You rest easy,” she said softly, then left his bedroom.

When she returned to the living room, Joshua was still seated on the sofa. He rose when she entered the room. “You want to tell me what’s going on around here? What happened to Sarge?”

She raised a finger to her lips and indicated he should follow her out the front door. When they were both on the porch, she turned to him. Maybe if she answered his questions he would go away.

“Three years ago, Sarge began to complain about his eyesight, but you know how he’s always been about going to doctors.”

“Yeah, wild horses couldn’t drag him.” He leaned a hip against the porch railing and for the first time she noticed the small differences time had wrought in him. He’d been recklessly handsome at eighteen, dangerously attractive at twenty.

But now, at twenty-five, tiny lines had appeared, fanning out from his startling green eyes, and there was a sheen of worldliness about him that merely added to his physical appeal.

“Anyway, I didn’t realize just how bad it was until he wrecked his police car.” She looked out toward the yard, finding it easier to speak if she wasn’t looking at him.

“The accident wasn’t a bad one, but it convinced him he needed to see a doctor. We discovered he had diabetes, probably had had it for years and the degeneration in his eyes was massive.”

“Is there anything they can do? Any kind of operation?” he asked.

She shook her head, still keeping her gaze focused in the distance. “He’s had two operations on his eyes, but they were unsuccessful. Anyway, over the last two years he’s adjusted fairly well to the blindness. Then, last month he had a stroke. That’s what put him in the wheelchair and he hasn’t been dealing very well with the new challenges.”

She didn’t even realize Joshua had moved from his position until his hand closed around her forearm. “Why didn’t you contact me and tell me what was going on?” His green eyes held the first stir of anger. “I had a right to know that he was ill.”

She jerked her arm away from his grasp and took a step back from him. You had no right. You lost your rights when you walked out, she wanted to say, but she didn’t. “There was nothing you could do…nothing anyone could do. Besides, I’m handling things.”

“Handling things?” He gestured toward the yard. “That’s certainly not the way I see it. It looks like everything is falling apart around you.”

“That’s not true,” she protested. “I’ve just…just gotten a little behind with things.”

He studied her for a long moment. “You look tired, Claire, and you’re too thin. Who is helping you care for Sarge?”

“I don’t need help taking care of him. I told you, we’re fine.” She raised her chin and for a moment their gazes remained locked. “I know Sarge issued an invitation for you to stay here, but I really think you’d be more comfortable at the motel.”

His eyes lightened in hue and a smile curved the corners of his lips. “Why, Cookie, you’re almost making me think you don’t want me here.”

“I don’t want you here. This is Sarge’s house…my home, and you chose to leave it a long time ago.”

“You made it impossible for me to stay,” he replied, the light in his eyes diminishing. “But I have no intention of rehashing the past.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “However, you’re mistaken about one thing. Two years ago I paid off the mortgage on this house, and Sarge insisted I put it in my name. So, I’m really not intruding in your house, for the past two years, I’ve allowed you to live in mine.”

This was the second shock of the day, and Claire wondered how many of these she could take without having a breakdown of some sort. “Then, I guess I have no say as to whether you stay here or not,” she finally said, hoping her voice resonated with a nonchalance she didn’t feel.

“Claire.” He pulled his hands from his pockets and took a step toward her. “Contrary to what you seem to believe, I’m not here to cause you grief. I’d say five years ago we pretty much exhausted that particular emotion.”

He drew a deep breath and looked away from her. “I’d like to spend some time with Sarge, and at least for the short period of time that I’m here, I could help you out a little. You know, maybe mow the lawn and do a little yard clean-up.”

“The spare bedroom is made up,” she finally said, knowing that she was being selfish in not wanting him here. Sarge would enjoy his company and that should be all that was important. Surely she could handle his presence here for a few days as long as he didn’t intend to talk about the past.

“I’ve got some things to do this afternoon. Why don’t I come back here with my things after dinner, say about seven.”

“That will be fine,” she replied, weary resignation sweeping through her.

He turned to leave, but paused and turned back to face her. “Claire, it is good to see you again.” He didn’t wait for her to reply, but instead turned once again and left, walking briskly down the sidewalk.

She sank down on the steps, watching until he was out of sight.

Joshua.

He’d been a teenager from the wrong side of the tracks, raised by an alcoholic uncle and she’d been the sheriff’s granddaughter. They’d been fifteen when he’d first asked her out and on that very first date she fell hopelessly, helplessly in love with him.

She’d spent the last five years of her existence trying to forget him and everything that had happened in that last year of their marriage.

She stood and brushed off the seat of her pants, hoping he didn’t intend to stay too long. One thing was certain, while he was here, she would keep her distance, both physically and emotionally.

She couldn’t go back to that place in time, couldn’t dwell in ancient memories. She feared that if she did, she would lose her mind to the grief and never surface again.

Chapter Three

It was just after seven when Joshua returned to the house. He carried with him a large suitcase of clothing and his state-of-the-art laptop computer.

He was tired. He’d been tired for the last year. From the moment he’d left here five years earlier, he’d thrown himself into work, as if achieving success would banish his heartache. He’d worked long hours, seven days a week to make something of himself, to fill the lonely hours that would otherwise be painfully empty.

He wasn’t sure whether it was his success or merely the passing of time that had finally healed some of the grief he’d left here with, but he no longer felt crippled by the weight of what had been lost.

In fact, it was time to move on and that’s what had brought him back here. He had to resolve the past before he could forge ahead with his future.

Claire opened the door before he could knock, obviously expecting him. Gone was the anger and resentment that had sparked in her eyes earlier in the day. Apparently, she had resigned herself to him being here.

“Come on in,” she said and opened the door wider to allow him entry.

“Thanks.” He maneuvered through the door and dropped his suitcase just inside.

“Hey, Joshua, get your things stored away and come watch this quiz show with me,” Sarge said from his wheelchair in front of the television. “I want to see if I can still whip your butt at answering the questions.”

Joshua laughed. “Okay, just let me get settled in.” He turned to Claire. “Sit down and relax. I know the way to the spare room.” He picked up his suitcase and headed down the hallway.

The first door on the left was Sarge’s bedroom. The first on the right was the room that he and Claire had shared during their marriage. The second door on the left was the bathroom and the last door on the right was the spare room.

As he approached the room where he would be staying, an unexpected knot of tension balled up in the pit of his stomach.

The door was closed and he hesitated a moment, his hand on the knob. The last time he’d been in the room, there had been blue curtains at the window and a teddy-bear wallpaper border around the ceiling.

The room had smelled of little boy and been filled with all of Joshua’s dreams, his hopes, his love.

Drawing a deep breath, he turned the knob and opened the door. White lacy curtains billowed at the window, bringing the scent of summer into the room. Pale-yellow walls matched the sunflower designs on the bedspread and accentuated the white wicker furniture.

There was no hint of baby’s-breath-and-powder scent, no lingering reminder of the beloved child who had once slept here, played here.

He placed his suitcase and laptop next to the single bed, almost able to hear the childish giggles that had once filled this space.

Baby Sammy. Named after Sarge, Claire and Joshua’s son had become the center of the universe on the day he’d been born. With Joshua’s dark hair and Claire’s smoky eyes, he’d been a little charmer with a ready smile and an easy disposition.

I miss you, Sammy, he thought. He missed Sammy and Claire and Sarge and the way things had been a long time ago.

“I just remembered that you like extra pillows.”

He whirled around to see Claire standing in the doorway, two pillows clutched to her chest. She held them out to him.

“Yeah…thanks.” He took the pillows and tossed them on the bed, then walked to the window and peered out onto a backyard as tangled and overgrown as the front. “Do you have a lawn mower that works?” he asked and turned back to look at her.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You didn’t come back here to mow the lawn.”

He smiled. “True, but if you remember, I used to enjoy yard work. I don’t mind doing it, really. I spend most of the hours of my day sitting at a desk. The physical activity will be good for me.”

She uncrossed her arms and offered him a tentative smile. “Lately there just haven’t seemed to be enough hours in the day to get everything done. Sarge doesn’t like to be alone and he’s been so cantankerous it’s been hard to get people to sit with him.”

“Claire?” As if to prove her point, Sarge’s voice rang out.

“We’re coming,” she answered and together the two of them left the bedroom and returned to the living room. Joshua sat on the sofa, vaguely disappointed when Claire sat across the room in a chair instead of on the sofa with him. He wouldn’t have minded if she’d sat close enough for him to smell her sweet fragrance.

The evening passed quickly. Although Sarge couldn’t see, his mind was sharp as a tack and he and Joshua battled each other answering questions on first one game show, then another.

During the commercials, they chatted and it didn’t take long for Joshua to get a picture of what life had been like for these two during the past three years. Since Sarge’s blindness, Claire’s sole job was taking care of Sarge, and Joshua had a feeling there had been little time for leisure or fun in Claire’s life.

It was also apparent from several things that Sarge said that money was always an issue, that between his small monthly checks and his medical needs, there was never any money for little extras.

If only Claire had cashed the checks he’d mailed to her, surely the extra money would have come in handy. But he knew why she hadn’t. Claire had a healthy dose of pride; couple that with the hatred of him she’d professed when he’d left, and he’d never really been surprised that she’d refused any money he’d sent her.

It was just after nine when Sarge fell asleep in his chair and Claire said she needed to put him to bed. She wheeled him down the hallway and disappeared into his bedroom. Joshua waited a couple of minutes, then walked down the hallway.

When he looked into the bedroom, he saw Claire struggling to get Sarge from the wheelchair onto the bed. She’d already managed to take off the old man’s shoes and socks.

“Come on, Sarge, you’ve got to help me here,” she murmured, her arms wrapped around the man’s chest.

Joshua didn’t hesitate. He gently moved her aside, then leaned down and scooped the thin man up in his arms and placed him on the bed. Sarge mumbled something incoherently in his sleep, then turned his head and began to snore.

“Thanks,” she murmured, although her voice held no gratitude, but rather an edge of resentment.

He nodded curtly. “You want him undressed?”

“No, he’ll be fine for the night. In the morning I’ll help him change his clothes.” She covered the sleeping man with a sheet, then she and Joshua left the bedroom.

“Would you come sit on the porch with me?” he asked. “It’s a beautiful night and I’d like to talk to you.”

She frowned. “I’m really tired, and Sarge gets up early in the mornings. Besides, if you want to talk to me you can do it right here.”

He eyed her with a small smile. “What’s the matter, Cookie? Afraid to sit with me in the dark?”

She rose to his bait, a flush of color staining her cheeks. “Just for a minute,” she said and swept past him and out the front door.

He followed behind her and together they sank down on the top step with inches between them. For a moment neither of them spoke. Nighttime in Mayfield was always quiet, peaceful.

There were no sirens in the distance, no traffic noises to disrupt the rhythmic cadence of the insects that filled the air. The sky overhead was a blanket of stars and a plump near-full moon hung suspended in the air as if by magic. “There’s nothing prettier than a Mayfield moon,” he observed.

“It’s the same moon that shines in California,” she replied.

He laughed lightly. “I suppose it is. It just looks prettier from here.”

She released a sigh that whispered of exhaustion, and he turned to look at her, noting how the moonlight bathed her beautiful features in a silvery glow.

“How long do you think you can keep this up?” he asked softly.

She didn’t pretend not to know what he was talking about. “As long as it’s necessary.” She sighed again. “You’ve just caught us at a bad time. Things will get better. The doctor expects Sarge to be able to get out of the wheelchair with some physical therapy and time.”