The Return Page 6

  “And you’re staying? For the time being, I mean.”

  Why did he keep pushing the point? “For quite a while, I mean, or I wouldn’t be signing a lease. I’ll need to find gainful employment, but I can get by for a short time, especially since I don’t owe much more than rent and don’t need much more than the essentials.”

  “Prudent of you.”

  “Aaron, you got something on your mind about what I’m trying to do? Something constructive? If so, speak up. But if you’re spoiling for a fight, itching to rehash old garbage, I’ll be on my way.”

  “On your way. Like before. Like when you blew into town for a few days when Pop was in critical condition, then blew right back out again before he even had a chance to see you.”

  Phillip’s skin burned, but outwardly he kept right on sorting beans, leaving the early-birds on the conveyer belt for further processing, tossing unsalvageable produce and waste into a large wicker basket with two metal handles. “At the time, I was in the middle of a make-or-break business deal. I was struggling to keep my job at Millenbech Incorporated, not that I expect you to ever understand the humiliation, the gut-punching, conscience-draining pressure of what I had to face. It was high-stakes finance centered on retirement investing and the market was far from kind.”

  Aaron struck a sarcastic pose. “Gee. Sounds kind of like what we live right here on the farm. Kind of like what Mom and Dad contended with all their lives. So, tell me, how’d that whole security thing work out for you, Phillip?”

  “It crashed and burned. Thanks for celebrating.” Bellowing a mighty roar, Phillip hefted then pitched the entire basket of soybean refuse straight into a leaf-riddled, green-and-yellow mass of vegetation across the length of the ground. “I’ve had it! I’m done! I’m finished being your whipping post! I’ve done nothing but swallow crow from the minute I crossed through the fields of this farm, and I’m done! What does it get me?” Phillip didn’t give his brothers time to answer. Rather, he exploded into a deeper fit of emotional pyrotechnics. “My acceptance of your criticism, and your disdain, has gotten me exactly squat. Nothing.”

  Rounding on Aaron, Phillip pointed a finger straight toward his chest. “I’ve received nothing but resentment from one of the people I’m trying hardest to make peace with and make understand what I went through. My silence regarding the guilt you’re determined to pile my way might seem to indicate I accept your attitude. Let’s be clear, here and now. I don’t! I’m finished! You can take your resentment, take your bitterness and anger and shove it, Aaron!

  “You’re the one I need the most, and you’re working twenty-four-seven to make me feel like garbage and push me away. If that’s the way this is going to play out, I guess I have to deal; but I say to you here, and now: Give me the respect I deserve, if not your affection, for being here and for making amends. Or, are you too blinded by hatred to see clearly and not man enough to be civil?”

  Diatribe delivered, Phillip didn’t look left or right. He didn’t even attempt or offer to clean the mess he’d created. He’d done enough of that lately. Let Aaron come to terms. Stalking from the barn, he made a straight line for the farm, slammed the back door behind him and took the stairs two at a time. In his room, Phillip flopped onto his bed, hoping he wouldn’t catch Mom’s heat for rattling a few door hinges. He covered his eyes with his arm as silence—and ramifications—set in. Man, how he needed Mila right now. He needed her with an ache that came to life vividly, and with overwhelming power. He needed a place where he belonged again, and her refrain played straight through him.

  ~*~

  Phillip sequestered himself in Pop’s office. He completed his notes and accompanying financial analysis for the meeting with Byron day after tomorrow. A knock sounded at the closed door. Assuming it was Mom, he looked up and smiled to himself. Nobody comforted like Mom. “Come on in.”

  When the knob turned, and Aaron crossed the threshold, Phillip struggled to keep from falling out of his chair. “Ah…Mom’s in the kitchen, and if you’re looking for Pop, he’s at the barn, with Ben, and they’re—”

  “I’m looking for you.” Aaron’s quiet tone was followed by the door closing and a husky clearing of the throat. “Mind if I sit?”

  Phillip’s nerve endings sizzled to alert. “That all depends.”

  Aaron maintained eye contact and sat in the chair opposite. “Phillip, I…”

  “Phillip? Want some tea? Coffee or anything?” Oh, sure. Now Mom arrived, calling from the hallway just beyond.

  “I’m good, Mom, but thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, honey.”

  Her footsteps faded against a tense, gauging silence between Phillip and his brother.

  “Phillip,” Aaron began again, “I had no idea you had been through the wringer like that.”

  “Now you know.”

  Silence followed.

  “Do you feel like talking?” Aaron leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes shuttered, but Phillip caught a glimpse of something—a vibration of vulnerability.

  “As I said, that all depends.”

  “I’ll listen this time, OK?”

  Phillip stretched back, took the figurative temperature in the room, and then decided to go for broke. Holding nothing back, he explained the struggle of surviving in the world of finance, of finding a way to maintain ethics, sanity, and a positive attitude while witnessing business dealings that crushed people and their life circumstances like eggshells. All in the name of profit. All in the name of stockholder security rather than the future of people who worked in the trenches day after day.

  “I made the mistake of thinking this place was too small to hold my dreams.” In the present moment, worlds wiser now, Phillip cringed at the idea. “Me and my idiotic, self-centered, materialistic ideas.”

  “Materialistic?” Aaron shook his head. “You were never about money grubbing.”

  “No, I never wanted money for the sake of money. But you convicted me on the whole security thing and craving money as a safety net, as a means by which to build a soft place to land. I wanted stability. You also convicted me on all of that being an illusion.”

  “Maybe. But, I was rough. Mean-spirited.”

  “Yeah.”

  After a heartbeat, they shared a grin, full of knowing, full of history—full of brotherhood.

  “I want you to know I’m behind you on the whole Thomas meeting thing. I know you’ll get us some good information about what’s to come locally and in the Midwest. I appreciate it. You’re not just helping Dad, you’re helping all of us, and despite my—moods—I realize that fact.” Aaron cleared his throat and stood. Looked at floorboards rather than meeting Phillip’s eyes. “I love you for that, and more. I’m your brother, and I know it’s about time I started acting like it again.”

  Phillip didn’t answer with words. Rather, he stood and took hold of Aaron’s arm, tugging him into a chest bump, then a long, hard hug that was returned full force. “Thank you, Aaron. For that, and more.”

  ~*~

  Pop had returned from the barn and settled into an easy chair in the living room for a quiet reading session.

  Phillip gave his father’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze in passing. He was headed outside—to Ben. Talking with Aaron had given him hope that normalcy—a new normalcy, anyway—might come to them all. Phillip paused at the doorframe of the barn, watching.

  Ben crouched beneath the open, narrow front hood of the tractor. Tinkering. Finessing. Always patiently fixing and manipulating. He grumbled something Phillip couldn’t quite make out. A smooth ascent and subsequent hop onto the seat led to Ben cranking the engine. The rust-dotted antique shimmied, burbled, and expelled a stream of blackish-gray diesel smoke. The tractor backfired once, then revved to smooth, solid life.

  “Well done.” Phillip stepped out of shadow and joined his sibling.

  Ben grunted, revved the engine again, nodded in response to the sounds—whatever they meant.

  “I came back won
dering if I needed to help with clean-up around here. I didn’t mean to explode the way I did.”

  “Aaron and I made do.”

  Phillip looked around. Sure enough, the floor of the barn had been swept into order. “Thanks for—”

  “Make amends.” As usual, Ben didn’t favor extra verbiage.

  “Excuse me?”

  He sighed deep. “Oh, don’t cop some kinda professional, polished, citified attitude with me. I’m sick of it. You’ve been here, what, just over a week or so, and you still can’t find even ground with Aaron?”

  “But I’ve—”

  “But nothing. I’ll say the same thing to him I’m saying to you. I’m sick and tired of watching my brothers go at it like a pair of barn cats. You’re the leader, Phillip. You’re the oldest. The first born. Act like it.”

  Among other attributes, Ben harbored a well-masked, oceans-deep sensitivity to the people he loved.

  “I’m already there.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning Aaron and I have reached a truce. A pretty friendly one, in fact.”

  “You…you did? How did that hap—”

  “Hey, Phillip. Hey, Ben.”

  Hailey Beth Thomas stood framed in silhouette against the sunlit entryway of the barn. Silence descended. HB chewed on her lower lip, watching Ben, clutching the rounded handle of a wicker basket so tight her knuckles turned white.

  Ben kept a steady eye on their visitor. Quick and agile, he leapt to the ground and nabbed his t-shirt from the top of a nearby hay bale. In the sticky silence that followed, he mopped his face with his shirt before yanking it on. “Hey,” he murmured as he brushed past HB.

  Phillip took note of the way she stared after Ben wordless and transfixed. And she swallowed hard.

  Clearing his throat, Phillip sidled up to her. “Is it just me, or is the atmosphere in here a little humid today?”

  She spun toward him and glared. “I heard the engine firing back here…so…I…I figured I’d find you…your dad…mom. Somebody.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Phillip grinned, enjoying the fact that she was tongue-tied. Over his little brother. Wild.

  She shoved the kerchief-wrapped basket into Phillip’s gut, and he expelled a woof of surprise. She had always been feisty and sassy—yet beneath it all, a sweet little marshmallow.

  “This is from my folks, with their regards and good wishes, for your dad’s continuing recovery.”

  The basket nearly overflowed with homemade goodies. Now he felt like a heel for giving her the business. “Thanks, HB. We appreciate it.” He made sure his gentle tone reflected that truth.

  Right on cue, the hardness in her eyes went soft. An echo of Mila doing just the same thing resounded through his system.

  “Mom stocked it. Fresh baked banana bread and her homemade apple jelly. There’s some strawberry preserves as well. Hope you all enjoy it.”

  “I know we will. If you head to the farm you can deliver it to them in person. I think they’re in the front room, and they’d love to see you.”

  She looked over her shoulder, seeming to trace the general trajectory of Ben’s leaving. She chewed on her lower lip for a second but didn’t leave right away. “I hear you’re taking a look at the space above Mila’s shop tomorrow morning.”

  Seeing the apartment was incidental. What he couldn’t wait to do was see Mila. He couldn’t wait to move to a spot where he’d be in even closer proximity. “I’m sure it’ll be great. Hopefully I’ll ink a lease.”

  “And hopefully you’re aware of that fact that I’ll be watching your every move. If you end up”—she made a pair of air quotes— “inking a lease, know this. I’m her little sister, but I’m big enough to take you on if you step out of line or hurt her.”

  Where was this coming from? “You warning me off, HB?”

  “No, not at all. More like making you a promise.”

  She turned away then, haughty and lovely and resembling her big sister just close enough that their exchange made Phillip realize his emotions were crazily out of whack. And he had another fleeting thought as he watched her stride across gravel, kicking up dust plumes as she made tracks for her car: Her unsteadiness regarding Ben left Phillip intrigued. Since he still held the treats basket, it seemed she wasn’t paying a visit to his folks. Was she afraid of running into Ben again? Sure seemed that way. Interesting.

  Ben, you better stay on your toes with that one.

  7

  Phillip stood in the middle of the great room in a sun-drenched, top-floor apartment above Sundae Afternoon. Framed in the expansive center window, Mila turned toward him, smiled.

  So simple a gesture, really, yet his heartbeat quickened. He could feel its vibration, and couldn’t stop wondering. What was with this overpowering need? This attraction? Where did this yearning come from? The emotions were foreign to him, and as unexpected as an afternoon snow squall in late August.

  “So?” She tilted her head, waiting.

  “I’ll take it.” He spoke fast, and he spoke of the apartment, but his focus remained trained on Mila like a beacon finding home.

  “Oh, c’mon. You barely even toured the place.”

  She drew back a gauzy set of white sheers, flooding the room with additional sunlight. The sky was cobalt; through the open window, trees rustled against a soft but arid breeze—curse the stubborn, stinking drought. An occasional car engine split the silence, along with voices that carried from the sidewalk not far below.

  “I don’t need an extensive tour.” Phillip joined her at the window and took in the view, enjoying the restful ambiance of Antioch. “You were right; it’s perfect.”

  And that was the truth. The subtle aroma of fresh paint permeated the air. With creamy gray walls, white crown molding and dark-wood floors, this space was an empty canvas Phillip knew he could happily make his own. Especially since Mila would be a constant presence in the shop that stretched just beneath his feet.

  The living area came alive with a microfiber couch, a love seat and a couple of end tables. The additions helped, since he had stored precious few items of furniture. Autumnal oranges, reds and yellows popped color against the walls in the form of abstract canvases. A quartet of throw pillows, and some glass-encased candles completed the room. The colorful show of vitality probably came straight from Mila’s hand. All he needed to do was install an entertainment unit, a television, and some stereo equipment. The eat-in kitchen was equipped with a small dinette which rested upon sandy-colored ceramic tile and held shiny-new appliances. There was just one bedroom—unfurnished—but it was sizeable, with an en suite bath. Items he presently stored in Indy would do a nice job of seeing to the empty spots. Phillip was prepared to discuss rent terms and the finer aspects of striking a deal.

  Mila stood stock still, sunlight and shadow pouring around her in blocks of gold, transforming her profile into a gorgeous, if surreal, kind of halo.

  Phillip frowned. “Have you changed your mind about offering the apartment?”

  That was about the only thing he could think of that might prompt such a potent—yet unreadable—regard.

  “No, not at all. I’m just wondering if…I’m wondering how…I mean…” She huffed and thrust fisted hands on her slim hips. “I hate having to ask questions like this, but how do you see yourself affording the rent?” Her chest rose and fell on what seemed to be a fast grab for air. “I mean, I’m not trying to be a jerk, I just need to know if—”

  Phillip’s tension eased. He stepped just close enough to take hold of her hands, to capture her gaze. “Mila. I’m solvent. Sure, I need to find a job, and some solid income, but I’m able to provide for a good, long while thanks to a few deals I won and a severance package. My bank can verify those facts. So, no worries, OK?”

  She fought his hold for a few seconds, looked beseechingly into his eyes, then went all soft and easy. Phillip experienced a melting of his own, and maintained their connection.

  “Well, OK then. Let’s head to my office and
finalize matters.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He followed Mila down a wide metal stairwell and to the entrance of her private office. He plopped into a chair across from her desk while she sat and shuffled papers. Uncovering a manila folder, she opened the flap and pushed toward him a sheaf of papers that would initiate the legalese of an apartment lease.

  Phillip went to work filling in the blanks.

  “I hear you’re meeting with my dad the day after tomorrow.”

  “Yep.” Phillip opted to play poker-face and kept on writing.

  “Do you have a particular topic in mind?”

  Pause, pen scratch, scribble. Pause. “That’s for him and me to discuss.”

  Phillip stopped writing. Current position, and length of tenure. Hmm. He reread the sentence and tapped his pen against the top of the paper, thinking of how best to—

  “He’s not the only voice in the market, Phillip. You know that, right?”

  “I know that, Mila.” Would to-be-determined work? He shrugged, filled in the information about his most recent job along with the requisite end date of his employment. “He’s not the only voice, and he’s not even the most powerful voice, but his negotiations have always set the tone for local producers—which you know, because you’re a smart, well-versed lady.” He lifted his head, speared her with an unflinching look. “Byron Thomas has always established precedent in Antioch, and that’s always governed my family’s bargaining point when it comes to crop prices. I need to know what’s to come this October when the harvest is in full swing. I’m doing everything I can to stabilize the farm. Nothing more and nothing less.”

  “Which is wonderful, and it seems I’m about to have you on the hook for a minimum of six months as leaseholder, but all of that leads to another question I want to ask you.”

  “Which is?”

  “What happens if everything turns? What happens to you if the world of big-business comes calling again? Where will you go? Will you stay? Have you even considered such a thing? After all, it could greatly impact me as a landlord—”