The Return Page 4

  “I’m all braced.”

  The shift seemed to relax her at once. Mila beamed a tantalizing smile and he swung their joined hands, smiling as well. Just because. “Let’s take a canoe ride out on Zeffman’s Pond.”

  “Avoidance?”

  “I prefer the term ‘sanity preservation.’”

  Mila stopped, drawing their sidewalk voyage to a halt. “I’d love it. You know what? This feels like old times. Remember back in high school when we’d jump straight over the side of the boat and into the water?”

  “We always referred to it as ‘the murky deep,’ remember?”

  “I do, even though the water was all of four feet at the most.”

  “Sure, but, it was murky.” Phillip led her forward once more, retracing their path to the pickup truck he continued to abscond from the family. He needed to rectify that at some point. That, and establishing a place to live. Roots. “Let’s do it.”

  ~*~

  Stationed within her second-floor apartment at the north end of town, Mila executed yet another outfit change. Upon rising, bed-rumpled PJ’s had been replaced by proper church attire—an airy, cotton dress with short sleeves patterned by pastel flowers. Following services, she’d traded formality for black shorts and a comfy white tee. Now, following her walk with Phillip, she shucked the shorts and a simple cotton shirt in favor of a bright yellow swimsuit along with a white, knee-length cover-up.

  Reviewing the results in a vanity mirror, she smiled at her reflection, knowing Philip would find a way to dunk her in ‘the murky deep.’ Best to be prepared. So, rather than question her escalated anticipation level, she stuffed her feet into a pair of flip-flops.

  While Mila moved through her bedroom, her sister, Hailey Beth, flopped onto the bed not far behind and continued their conversation. “Wait a minute. You're doing what?”

  “I’m taking a canoe ride. Now, stop with the tone.”

  “What tone? I don't have a tone.”

  Mila skewered her little sister with a hot, disbelieving glance. Ever-so-innocently, HB fluttered her lashes and plucked at the fringes of a pink satin throw pillow propped against the headboard of the bed.

  “Oh, yes you do have a tone.” Mila fluffed her hair. “And it reeks of inquisition.”

  “OK. Guilty. I mean, it’s pretty interesting to me, and worthy of questioning, that this little scenario between the two of you is ratcheting upward.”

  “Give me a break.”

  “I present Exhibit One. That would be the phone call I received from Ben yesterday asking me to give him your cell number so he could pass it on to Phillip.” HB trounced right over Mila’s objection. “Like I said. Ratcheting upward.”

  “Oh, the scandal.” Deliberately playing the “I’m bored” card, hoping to throw her sister off the scent, Mila studied her own reflection, longing to add the sparkle and pop of a little jewelry to her accessories. Nothing doing on that count, though. Not when she’d be on the water with a playful mischief-maker like Phillip Fisher…

  Her eyes went wide. Why would she bother with that kind of fussy little detail anyway? This was Phillip. This was nothing more than the sharing of a friendly afternoon. A frown pulled at her lips while she considered the way thoughts of primping and polishing suddenly careened through her head. Was it possible—heaven forbid—that HB had a point? Was she trying to win his attention? Was she allowing herself to fall for the rebel? The prodigal?

  Blithely unaware of Mila’s conflict, HB continued. “Furthermore, I present exhibit number two. The blush that’s blooming on your cheeks right now. I repeat. Ratcheting upward.” HB grinned, creating a visual of supreme satisfaction. She pushed off the bed and joined Mila, who continued to stare at her reflection in the dresser mirror.

  Shock morphed fast into a form of guilty conviction. Yeah, she was attracted. Yeah, she was looking forward to a few more hours in his company.

  What was the crime? This was no big deal. Right?

  Far past time, Mila decided, to set matters straight. For the record. “He’s nothing more than a friend who’s come back to town for a visit. We're catching up is all. Simple as that.”

  Hailey Beth swiped Mila’s hairbrush and went to work taming the waves of her long brown hair. “You go right ahead and keep telling yourself that. Meanwhile, I’ll keep building my pile of exhibits.” Retort delivered, her gaze tagged Mila’s, punctuated by the dawn of a smug, knowing smirk.

  ~*~

  Mila stretched to tiptoe, unlatched a pair of black band restraints from each end of an aged wooden canoe. In tandem with Phillip, she lifted the vessel from the roof of her SUV. Behind her extended the rounded banks of Zeffman’s Pond—an expansive body of water dotted by lily pads and marked by waving strands of scrub grass that pushed through the bluish-brown surface. This was the perfect spot to don a pair of aqua socks and cool off with a swim when humidity and temperatures lifted. Zeffman’s was a wonderful place to launch a canoe and simply drift with the breeze.

  She shaded her eyes and breathed deep before hefting her end of the canoe and helping Phillip carry it to the water’s edge. Covering a couple acres past Old Plank Road near the I-69 highway, Zeffman’s Pond took its name from an Antioch farm family that had once harvested its now-dormant fields. The Zeffman family moved south decades ago, not long after the pond came to be—created when supporting land foundations for an overpass and abutment needed to be dug from the flatlands as I-69 continued its southern sprawl, and urbanization tracked closer and closer to rolling farmland. The added infrastructure had left the Zeffmans cash-rich, but eager to flee the onset of bulldozers, metal and cement.

  About a half mile away, that highway buzzed with the distant sound of car engines and the deeper rumble of eighteen wheelers; by and large, though, the plot of land remained peaceful, inhabited by nothing more than birds, deep-throated frogs, crickets, and other insects. A couple years before Phillip left, a few families had chipped in to tree-line the edge of the property closest to the highway—his included.

  The recollection fell through her mind and landed in her heart while Phillip steadied the canoe and offered an assisting hand to settle her aboard. He had been a mainstay of the project, helping dig holes to plant a noise-buffering, visually appealing rim of trees.

  “What are you thinking about?” Phillip tilted his head as she stepped inside the canoe and braced herself with care.

  “I was thinking about when this place came to be. You helped polish off this area for our community. You and your family.” She held the sides of the teetering craft while Phillip joined her. He lifted a pair of oars and pushed off, launching their canoe away from the shoreline.

  “At the time, I had no idea how unhappy you were.”

  Phillip plowed thick wooden oars through the water, arm muscles flexing. “Unhappy? I wasn’t unhappy.”

  She absorbed his strong, vital image, and fought not to stare, realizing her senses fluttered and swelled like a crushing schoolgirl. “OK, let’s try restless. Does restless fit any better?”

  “Yeah, I suppose I can own that description.”

  “You left a few months later, and that took most everyone around here by surprise.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt people. To tell the truth, I didn’t realize my leaving would matter.”

  “It does. Maybe that’s why the reluctance you’re sensing comes as such a surprise. Sometimes we don’t realize our importance to people until it’s too late.”

  Phillip stopped rowing and rested his arms against the wooden oar handles. “And do you think it’s too late for me?”

  No, Mila wanted to scream. No, never. But she kept quiet, staunching the flow of emotion that formed a fast-riding cascade through her spirit.

  Phillip stared into the distance. “Lately, I’m starting to wonder. I look at Aaron, and even the attitude of Ben and my folks to a lesser degree. It’s as if they’re afraid to trust me again. I’ll try not to hurt them—I can’t guarantee anything when I’m only human—bu
t I never meant to hurt them in the first place.” Phillip raked his fingers through his hair and groaned. He dug in on the oars with a vengeance.

  “Trust has been broken, sure, but trust can be restored. Doing so might take more than a visit or two, but all the same—”

  “This isn’t a visit, Mila.” His gaze lifted; his tone sharpened to emphatic. “I’m staying. There’s nothing left for me in Indianapolis. I ditched everything when I was laid off. What matters most to me right now is repairing the relationships I damaged. They were…and are…the most important aspects of my life. I lost sight of that once. I won’t do it again.”

  “You’re staying. In Antioch. For sure?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  She barely registered his words. Rather, they buzzed, and echoed.

  “The first thing I want to do is find a place to live. It’s a little cramped for me at the farm right now.”

  Mila shook her head, willing her attention to proper focus. He needed objectivity, the touch of a friend who cared, and shared his history. So, she planted emotional responses behind strong stone walls before speaking. “Look at it this way, Phillip. Maybe cramped is what you need. Maybe being cramped is God’s way of giving you a chance to re-find solid ground, begin again with your family, and deal with that urge you’ve got to help manage your father’s business affairs.”

  He looked at her anew. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For understanding my perspective. With the exception of my mom and dad, you’re the only one who’s extended any authentic degree of caring since I’ve returned.”

  Words stalled when he looked deep into her eyes. Mila caught her breath, battled to remain steady.

  “Like I said. Thank you.” He resumed their cruise along the perimeter of the pond.

  Mila trailed her fingertips against the surface of the water, brushing at lily pads topped by white flowers, the water silky and warm to her touch. “I’m not the only one. You just told me Ben hasn’t given you any trouble. The issue is Aaron, and you know it.” She cast a quick sigh. “Plus, there are your dad’s health concerns. On top of it all, and no surprise here, Aaron’s always had a hot streak.”

  “And he’s bringing out mine, which isn’t something I want clouding matters.”

  “I hear that.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Speaking of stress and short tempers, my dad’s not eager to start negotiations this season. The farming community drives everything in Antioch, and a lack of rain is making everyone itchy. He’s as upset about conditions and projections as everyone else. He’s not looking forward to being relegated to the role of hard-hearted businessman and merchant this fall once the crops roll in.”

  “No worries there. His daughter makes up for that shortcoming.”

  Phillip transformed from somber to playful in the time it took Mila to blink—and breathe. In an instant, she was lifted fast and sure into Phillips arms then dumped overboard—straight into the water.

  Refreshed, but refusing to concede defeat, she sputtered and spewed, then grabbed Phillip’s arm with all her might, yanking him over the side of the canoe. He gave in, she had no doubt, otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to budge him. The spontaneous eruption set her senses on high alert. Water swished and pushed, cascading between them as Phillip dunked her. Mila retaliated by busting through the water and spraying water straight at him. He ducked his head and diverted by diving beneath surface then launched into a breast stroke that took him halfway across the pond; Mila followed in hot pursuit, exhilarated by their interplay.

  Their romp ended a short time later, and they reclaimed the boat, pulling it ashore. While Mila dried off, Phillip laid out two towels, and they stretched side-by-side on the cool grass of the southern-most tip of the water.

  Summer bloomed, so, nowadays, swimming and picnics were favored past times. Then, once winter arrived, groups of teens shoveled snow and turned the pond’s icy surface into a makeshift skating rink. Today those frigid moments seemed far away. Humidity increased; laden, towering clouds tumbled in slow, capturing her attention, along with her hopes for a drenching rain as the day moved toward mid-afternoon.

  Mila tucked her hands behind her head and continued to study the sky. The scent of oncoming-rain slid against her senses, carried on a breeze that skimmed against her skin. “The weather is definitely about to change. Maybe that’ll help everyone’s outlook.”

  “I heard we’re in for a storm system. I won’t complain unless it’s severe. We need the moisture.”

  “For sure.”

  As though in punctuation, a fork of lightning split thin, white lines through the distant sky. Following a weighted pause, thunder rumbled, vibrating through the air beneath a fast-darkening sky.

  “I forgot how quickly storms move through the flatlands of Indiana. I suppose we’d better get going.” Regret pierced Phillip’s words.

  While they secured the canoe and tucked supplies into the back of Mila’s vehicle, her mind spun. An idea came to life, moving from the back of her mind to the forefront as quickly as the push of oncoming cloud cover.

  She just might be able to help him.

  5

  Late afternoon crept to early evening. Ready to wind down, Phillip pressed the power button of the television remote and immediately hunted down a channel that would provide some form of sports action to fill the quiet. Just as he settled in a recliner to relax and watch a replay—Baltimore versus Chicago—a derisive snort sounded from the entryway just behind.

  “Le’me guess.” Aaron entered the room. “You’ve probably gone all turn-coat on the home team. These days I bet you’d be rooting for Chicago, Mr. Big City.”

  All of Phillip’s noble intentions from the afternoon spent in Mila’s company bit the dust and flew straight out the picture window to his left. Outside, rain pounded and drummed, pushing through thick atmosphere, blanketing the world with violent moisture.

  Phillip kicked down the foot rest of the recliner and turned to his brother with a look that he hoped shot arrows. He had endured more than enough of Aaron and his pompous attitude. “How does that chip on your shoulder taste? Need some dip to go along with it? Some salsa, or a soda maybe?”

  Aaron flopped onto the sofa. “So. You. And Mila Thomas. And Zeffman’s Pond. You consorting with the enemy on top of everything else?”

  Surprisingly, humor lit the end of his question, not condemnation. In fact, Aaron delivered a slight smile.

  Phillip smirked. “Mila’s not the enemy, her father is.”

  “Is not.” Mom chimed in from her spot in a chair not far away. The words were gentle, but the warning of her arched brow was expressive enough to halt the line of conversation.

  Phillip arrested all hostilities at once. How could he not?

  Mom, as always, presented a demure image, calm despite literal and figurative storms. She had barely spared them a glance. Rather, she crocheted, hand motions steady and rhythmic, her mood contemplative. Her lone concession to the present tempest was a subtle shake of her head as she murmured. “It certainly is good to have the nest full.”

  “I just came by for dinner.” Aaron addressed Mom, then Phillip. “I’ll leave you to your game watching. Don’t want to disturb. I’ll be doing some sorting in the warehouse. Some of the early harvest beans need packing and storing.” Aaron spoke with quiet respect.

  Mom delivered a lingering look before he quietly retreated. Only then did she set her crocheting on her lap. She tilted her head, regarded Phillip. “You could go after him.”

  “I suppose I could.”

  She shrugged, resuming her triple stitch. “I wish you would.”

  “Are you anxious to get rid of me?”

  “Never. But I’m anxious for matters to be set right between my boys.” She looked up. “When the three of you aren’t getting along, it makes my heart ache, and all-in-all, I don’t think that’s asking for much.”

  “Sorry to disagree, Mom, but in this c
ase, it just might be.”

  “Stubborn. My Fisher men have always been a stubborn breed. Haven’t quite figured out whether that’s a blessing or a curse.” She spoke the words with a smile ripened by love of the deepest, most enduring kind.

  “I suppose it’s a mixture of both.” Phillip ignored pre-game analytics and crossed to her chair. He knelt at her side and lifted the nearest edge of her latest creation, a large square of white rimmed by soft pastel shades made of yarn that felt soft as a cloud. “What are you making?”

  “An afghan for the town’s mom-to-mom sale in a few weeks. The warmth will come in handy soon enough.”

  True, since temps would soon tumble into the frosty darkness of fall and winter. But for now, in the heat of late summer, such things seemed far off, so much like the hope he held of reestablishing himself smoothly within the tapestry of his family.

  “Mom, I’m sorry. About now, and about the way I lipped-off at breakfast, too.”

  Her eyes softened; her features melted into affection. “I know you are, and I know you’ve been required to say you’re sorry a lot lately. We’re not being very welcoming, and that makes it hard for you to return, and to try again. We each have a share in that responsibility.”

  “I hope you know…I mean what I say…both about being sorry and about wanting to help. I really do regret acting like a fool.”

  “Finding your own way is never foolish, Phillip. In fairness, Aaron should be feeling some regret as well. He’s deliberately shoving at you, and everyone sees it.” She shrugged. “Everyone except him, of course.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  Oh, how he loved her. Tender, earnest, possessing such a keenness of spirit, Mom was a treasure he had unwittingly neglected. Taken for granted. Like so much else in his life.

  “You know, the reason he shoves at you has nothing to do with anger and everything to do with love. Your leaving wasn’t easy on him.”

  “I’m learning.” Thanks to an opening of his heart, and the same kind of keen-hearted and knowing instinct expressed by Mila.