The Return Read online

  “He missed you, Phillip. You get that, right?”

  “Sure I do, as evidenced by the blooming purple and brown splotch on my face. After the blowup, Pop stormed after him—I hope to give him the thrashing he deserves—and I escaped on fast feet to let matters settle.”

  Escape and running. Again. Mila sighed at Phillip’s pattern of behavior. “Do I need to explain to you—you of all people—that being left behind has just as much consequence as doing the walk-away?”

  The look he delivered just about seared her skin. “And so, with that, I’m in the wrong yet again. Vacating and abusing everyone’s expectations. I swear, it’s the story of my—”

  “Oh, honey, you can go sell that sad tale somewhere else. If he didn’t care, if your leaving hadn’t affected him, he wouldn’t be so hostile, now would he? He’d be able to just let it slide and let it ride. Right?”

  Following that decisive interruption, Mila stared him down in a way that succeeded in drawing his complete focus. But the stare-down backfired. She didn’t just look at him, she fell into him, absorbed him in all his shades while he raked her with a questing gaze as though seeing her for the very first time. And in many ways, perhaps that was just the case. Times had changed in their handful of years apart; too bad she couldn’t cushion him from the blows of that separation…and desertion.

  Fighting a tingling brush of butterfly wings in her tummy, Mila continued their battle. “You disappeared without a second look back. That hurts. It left a mark on the folks around here who’ve always cared about you.”

  He gobbled his sundae, seeming to ponder things for a bit. “Guess I never realized people held me in such great stock. The family, yes. As a unit of the Fishermen, yes, because of my dad and my mom, and my brothers. Beyond that…” On a shrug, he let the sentence dangle.

  Mila hoped her eye-roll and vigorous head-shake displayed exasperation in no uncertain terms. “Don’t be an idiot, Phillip. You’re who and what you are because of everyone around you, because of your family and what all of you create together.” Remembering her self-assigned task, Mila wiped the counter with hard, circular motions, her thoughts so storm-tossed she had to wonder. Why was she reacting this way? Was she, in some small way, one of the people who had been marked by his leaving?

  Evidently so.

  Phillip stilled her efforts at needless cleaning by settling his hand over hers. The gentle glide of his fingertips against the back of her hand, the dewy warmth of the cloth, seeped through her skin.

  “Do you want to know why I came to your shop, Mila? It’s because I knew somehow, some way, you'd understand, and you wouldn’t sugarcoat the facts.”

  Her shoulders eased from taut to relaxed; her lips softened to a smile. “Well, I do try.” Tension gradually evaporated. “I’m touched that Sundae Afternoon was one of the places you wanted to revisit, seeing as how you’ve only been here a few hours.”

  Phillip looked up, pinned her with a body-warming gaze. “What can I say? Sometimes a guy just needs a heap of ice cream and a friendly face.”

  Mila leaned across the slim, chrome lined counter that separated them and gave his cheek a kiss. She wanted to welcome an old friend home—nothing more. It took her by surprise when that simple, natural brush of lips against warm, musk-scented skin galvanized her senses and lifted her heartbeat into a fast rhythm.

  “Just for that, your serving is on the house.”

  “I can pay for dessert, Mila.”

  Humility, trampled pride, flickered through his eyes the instant before he lowered his head and toyed with the spoon that rested in his serving bowl. He picked at layers of vanilla, chocolate, nuts, and bananas now congealing into a mix of colors, textures, flavors.

  “I have no doubt of that. Let’s just call it a welcome home treat, friend to friend.”

  He relaxed a trace; full lips lifted into a reluctant smile. “You always were a sweetheart.”

  “Still am,” she sassed, giving him a wink and moving away so she could regroup…and focus on a few other folks who crowded her establishment on this bustling, sun-drenched day.

  All the same, her pulse continued to skitter and throb. Phillip Fisher was back. Injured physically and emotionally, for sure, but all the same, he was back.

  Why in the world did that fact send a thrill down her sensory chain?

  2

  Phillip climbed into his dad’s pickup and pulled away from the curb in front of Sundae Afternoon. During his return trip to the farm, the all-consuming memory of reuniting with Mila Thomas rode shotgun in ways both tempting and irritating. On the tempting side of the coin, she haunted him—with those great big brown eyes and that heart-shaped face framed by long, flirty curls of brunette hair that danced free from the confines of a loose ponytail. She had hardly changed since high school. Her demeanor remained unspoiled and as sweet as any treat to be found within the walls of her famed shop.

  On the flip side, he was irritated by that reaction because just like that, she had slipped beneath his skin, and rollercoaster emotions toward Mila were the last thing he needed right now. Right now, he needed to earn back the good graces of his family. Right now, he needed to find a place to live—preferably in town and far from Aaron’s hostility. Beyond those daunting circumstances, the Thomas and Fisher families often found themselves at loggerheads over business matters related to the Antioch farming industry. Nevertheless, her tenderness—something he craved—flooded his senses. The memory of her simple but evocative kiss, the way she had leaned in to brush his cheek with satiny lips, elicited a fresh rush of heated pleasure. The way her peaches-and-cream features softened with affection as they’d chatted stuck to the grooves of his memory and played a sweet, unexpected song.

  Dust kicked into a wavering gray and yellow plume as he turned onto the dirt drive leading to the barn of the family farm. Mila was right. He needed to face the turbulence if matters were ever to be resolved with Aaron. The jerk.

  Hmm. Not a great start on reconciliation from an attitude perspective. Determined to readjust his thinking and try to understand his middle brother’s hostility, Phillip braced an elbow against the open window frame, his touch on the wheel loose and easy.

  Aaron walked across the wide entry of the barn, lugging a bale of hay as though God Himself had orchestrated precisely what Mila suggested Phillip find. An opportunity.

  Going tense, Phillip slowed the vehicle to a stop then rested his forearms against the thin black steering wheel. He leaned forward, peering through cloudy glass into a land full of memories—into the moment of his leaving.

  Sad but quietly resolute, Pop had stood at the center of the farm’s great room, his attention focused hard on Phillip. “Go. I won’t stop you, and I won’t try to change your mind. Some things life and God need to show you on your own without the safety net of home and family. But know this. We’ll always be here. No matter what comes, this is your home. None of that changes. Hear?”

  He had, but despite Pop’s caring words, Phillip had tasted nothing in the air but antiquity, an endless life-cycle that would mean precisely…nothing. What was the point of living and dying for the land? For crops? For never-ending battles with weather cycles, and merchants, and on-again, off-again workers paired with equipment that worked, or didn’t work, at its own seeming whim? What about money—or more precisely, the lack thereof, which eradicated any sense of security, and at times, even dignity? No. No way could he do it. There had to be much more to life than struggle and strife.

  All the same, splinters lodged in his heart. This wasn’t his father’s fault. “I know you mean every word, Pop, and truly, I don’t mean any disrespect.”

  “Not directly, no. I realize that.”

  That piece of gentle acceptance arrived in the form of a laced arrow that pierced the bulls-eye of Phillip’s spirit. He’d clenched his jaw to keep from crumbling and vacating a plan that was foolproof, and most of all, right. Pop would never understand the drive, the need for fulfillment that nipped at Ph
illip’s heels. He needed to break the chains, and that required a touch of temper. “Could you please have some faith that I can actually make something of myself outside of a farm I never understood? A farm-based existence that would only lead to a life I’ve never wanted? It’s not about money, or acclaim, it’s about security. Fulfillment. It’s about finding the life I want, not a life that’s dictated to me.”

  “I get the conflict, son. I’ve battled it myself when times go bad, but that’s when you bear down. That’s when you pray, press on, and find the pathway God intends. Maybe this is it for you. Like I said, nothing’s stopping you, but we’ll always be here.”

  Steel-eyed determination and a gruff tone accompanied the statements. As ever, Pop was unflappable. Steady as a compass arrow pointing due north.

  Phillip snapped to alert and back to the present as Aaron moved past the threshold again. This time, his sibling caught sight of the truck, and most likely realized who sat behind the wheel because he froze for a second, scowled deep, then returned to hauling hay.

  Phillip hopped from the cab and slammed the door closed, boots kicking up dirt clouds as he strode to the barn. He crossed the threshold, surveyed the familiar, musty confines, and searched for a pitchfork. “Hey.”

  Aaron didn’t break stride, didn’t offer a glance. “Yeah.”

  “Can I help?”

  Aaron stomped to the wide-toothed implement Phillip required and nabbed it by the wooden handle. “Start spreading.” He tossed the tool and Phillip captured the time-worn piece of equipment on the fly and with ready ease. Aaron acknowledged that fact with a surprised glance.

  “What’s the issue?” Phillip stared him down. “I haven’t forgotten everything about being on the farm.”

  “Except when you have appointments elsewhere.”

  The accusing jab left Phillip wanting to impale the pitchfork straight into the nearest bale and leave his brother to his misconceptions and irritating, hostile simmer. His hand tightened on the wood. Rather than follow through on a reckless impulse, he joined Aaron inside the nearest horse stall and began to spread a layer of fresh hay. Before long, sweat tacked his shirt to his back, and dusty debris coated his jeans, his arms, and even his hair. Yep. He was home again.

  “Where do you plan to settle while you’re here? Going to spend a few days at the house?”

  “I’m not here for a visit, Aaron. I’m here for good. While I was out, I picked up a copy of the Times Gazette. I’m considering renting a place in town.”

  Aaron harrumphed. “You’ve always been an urban junkie.”

  “Meaning downtown Antioch is urban? That’s news. When’d that happen?” Hey, he could fight fire with fire. Definitely.

  Aaron snickered at the jest, though Phillip could tell his brother had tried hard to stop the reaction and still hadn’t spared him a glance. Even so, for an instant, a familiar sense of levity wound around them.

  That easing prompted Phillip to take a gamble. “What happened, Aaron? What motivates all the anger you’re brewing toward me?”

  Aaron’s motions went still. His back and shoulders stiffened. “The fact that you need an answer to those questions says more than any answer I could ever give.” He returned to pitching hay.

  “Oh, I have theories, but I want the truth. I want answers that come straight from you so we can start to deal. We’re brothers. We were close—”

  Aaron rounded on him and threw his pitchfork against the farthest wall where it banged, clattered, and came to rest. “Oh, forget any kind of trip to the land of nostalgia!” His roar cut the air. “I was the good son.”

  Phillip pointed at his bruised, still aching face. “Yeah. For sure.”

  “Joke away, Phillip, but you know exactly what I’m talking about. I stayed. I was the stronghold. I did what I was told. I did what was needed. What was expected. I had no choice in the matter, but I’d do anything for Mom and Dad. Dad’s health crashed, and he needed me. I stuck. Never once did I complain. Never once did I turn my back. Can you say the same?”

  “No, I can’t, and that’s my shame to bear.”

  “Yeah, but through it all, Dad treats you like some kind of a conquering hero. Unreal.”

  “He’d do the same for you, Aaron, and you know it. Get over yourself and be grateful he didn’t have to. Be grateful you were smarter than me and chose the better course. I thought this farm was what you wanted. It’s like you were born to this life. You’ve been here all along and never missed a beat. How could I know you’d build up such a pile of resentment when I left? This dream wasn’t mine. Where’s the fault? Where’s the sin in that?”

  “The sin is in the way you spit on everything this family created. You walked off, dreamin’ of dollar signs. Meanwhile, Dad had to rely on someone. Well, that someone was me, and that someone was Ben. I, for one, refuse to go kow-towing to the first born just because you’ve deigned to grace us with your presence again. Dad nearly died, and you didn’t even have the decency to—”

  “Pull it to a stop, brother, or you’ll regret it.”

  “This farm had to survive! I took that personal. You should have, too. This was your home, too. We were family! We needed each other, and you could barely spare the time to visit when our father was in ICU, his heart barely functioning!”

  Phillip nearly gagged on a serving of shame and remorse.

  After grabbing a ragged breath, Aaron stormed on. “The heavy lifting had to be done, but you blasted south down I-69 and left us in the dust. Well played, big bro. Well played. You turned your back on us and everything else when we needed you the most. Dad especially. Rubs against me like sandpaper."

  “What rubs you? That I wanted some stability in my life? A sense of order and maybe—just maybe—some small measure of security? You can go ahead and rant on about dollar signs and blasting down I-69, but dollar signs were the least of what propelled me to leave. I wanted a life I could take pride in. A life all my own. A life where I was in control.”

  “Control?”

  Phillip nodded—emphatically.

  “Control is an illusion, you idiot! Did nothing at all about this place rub off on you? Impact you? Teach you?”

  “Yeah, it did. It taught me to cling to what’s right. That’s why I’m back. My erroneous expectations about security crash landed. That’s why I’m back—because of the wrongs I’ve done. I know I have no one to blame but myself.”

  “You left us. Without a backward glance or even a thanks-for-the-memories. Meanwhile, the rest of us fought to manage and just get by while Dad did his best to recover.

  “Congratulations. You lived life exactly the way you wanted. Now, you’ve come back with your tail between your legs because you failed, and all the while the ones you hurt most—Mom and Dad—extend a hallelujah chorus. Well, not here. Not from me. Suffer the consequences. The consequences are I'm angry. I’ll tolerate you, but I can’t forgive you. Not yet, and maybe not ever. From my point of view, nothing mattered to you except you."

  Phillip sank, sadness, guilt, and regret all crashed into him like a runaway freight train. “Your fist-plant to my jaw told me your views already, but thanks for removing all doubt. Take it or leave it, but I want you to know I appreciate your honesty.” He forsook the hay-spreading chore.

  Aaron snorted, his face contorted by an ugly smear of hostility. "Want more? I’ve got piles of it. Take that bruise with you as a reminder. I'm watching you, Phillip. You're my brother, but I don't trust you anymore. You’re in it for your own gain. You’re standing here because you needed a safe place to land when the rug you created got yanked from under your feet. I’ll bet you take off all over again, and at the first opportunity if that stinkin’ cell phone of yours starts bleeping.”

  “You’re wrong on that count, Aaron. And the rest of the crap you’re heaping on me is the mess I have to live with, and atone for. No need for you to carry the load as well.”

  A wavering took place, a falter in Aaron’s self-righteous attitude, but then
he blinked hard and his eyes went to stone. “Yeah. You’re right. You do have to atone. The kind of trust I’m talking about needs to be earned all over again. You broke it.”

  “Are you finished?”

  “For now. Probably not for long, though.”

  Aaron’s smug retort caused Phillip to growl beneath his breath. His skin prickled hot with repressed rage, and patience evaporated like moisture being baked into the dry air all around them.

  “I have a parting thought of my own, little brother.” He referred to Aaron as such only to tick him off. “You better be careful of that high and mighty horse you’re riding. The fall that’s headed your way is gonna be epic.”

  Aaron’s face went beet-red in the instant it took him to rear back and hiss like a garden snake.

  Phillip let that reaction roll away like so much crop dust. He had no doubt his sibling was ready to launch into another verbal harangue, so he decided to cut him straight off. “And let me assure you, I don’t issue that warning out of arrogance, you sanctimonious jerk. I speak from experience.” Phillip clenched his fists to keep from using them in violence. He bit down hard against a snarl. “So, don’t forget to tuck and roll on the way down.”

  Aaron’s ripe curse rent the air as Phillip stalked away.

  3

  Sunday morning, a knock sounded at Phillip’s bedroom door, soft at first and then louder, followed by his mother’s voice. “Philip, wake up. Time for church.”

  The traditional call to arms. Phillip groaned, rolling from his stomach to his side, sheets and blankets twisting as he checked the face of the clock on his nightstand. Seven-brutal-o’clock in the blessed morning. Another groan echoed as he lifted to an elbow and glanced outside the window opposite his bed. Sure enough, the sun barely peeked over the horizon. The milky gray of dawn barely gave way to the light of a new day…on a Sunday, for heaven’s sake…a day of rest, right? Yet here he was, transported straight back to his childhood while he bumbled out of bed chasing time to get to eight o’clock services.