Firefly Rain (33 page)

“Certainly,” I began, but Jenna cut me off.

“Hi. I’m Jennifer Conlon. Mr. Logan and I used to work together, back in Boston.” She held out her hand to him. He stared at it for a moment like it had made a rattling sound in the woodpile, and then he gingerly shook it.

“How do you do, Miss Conlon,” he said with a voice like a sock full of gravel. “Welcome to Maryfield, and to my establishment. I hope Mr. Logan is taking good care of you.”

“Oh, he is,” she said, too fast. “He’s the same gentleman he was up north. Hasn’t changed a bit.”

Hilliard blinked. “Oh, hasn’t he? I’ll go draw you those sodas now.” He turned and stared at me for a minute. “On the house, in honor of your friend gracing us with her visit.” And with that, he turned and headed for the back of the store. “Need more syrup,” he called over his shoulder before disappearing into the stockroom.

“Jenna!” I whispered. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to be polite,” she shot back. “And just so you know, he’s got a handshake like a dead fish.”

I thought about trying to explain how what she’d said would be all over town before we finished sipping our sodas, but something kept me from it. Something in the way Hilliard had looked at me after Jenna had said I hadn’t changed, when we all knew that wasn’t true. Instead, I just settled for, “He’s getting on in years. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. “Vanilla cola. Right.”

Mr. Hilliard emerged from the back a minute later, a container of what I assumed was vanilla syrup in his hands. “Sorry about that, folks,” he said. “This will just take me a minute to set up.”

“That’s fine,” I told him while Jenna shot me a furious look. “We’ve got nothing but time.”

“Good, because you’re going to need it.” He set about fiddling with the fountain, while I watched and Jenna fumed. Eventually, all the tubes were connected to Mr. Hilliard’s satisfaction, and he slowly and carefully drew us our sodas.

“Ladies first,” he said, and set Jenna’s down in front of her. He was waiting for her to take a sip, the straw bent precisely to the right angle, before putting mine down in front of me.

“It’s… very sweet,” Jenna said around sips. I turned to look at her, my lips wrapped around my straw, and nearly sent an explosion of laughter down into the bottom of my glass. The poor thing looked so surprised. Of course it was going to be sweet. Too late, I remembered that her tastes ran to Diet Coke and suchlike, and that the level of sugar that was standard in a drink around here was liable to put her into a coma.

“You don’t have to finish if you don’t want to,” I whispered, while Hilliard watched us like a hawk from across the counter.

“No, no,” she gasped. “It’s… just not what I’m used to.”

She tried valiantly, she did. A few more sips, each one scrunching her face up more, while I drank mine slow and easy. Hilliard said nothing, just bustled around back there as if we’d suddenly become unworthy of his attention.

“Thank you, Mr. Hilliard,” she finally said and pushed her half-full glass away. “It was lovely. I’ve never had anything like it.”

“I’ll guess you haven’t,” he said, even as he reached for my empty. “Enjoy your time in Maryfield, Miss Conlon. I’m glad you came to visit us.”

“Thank you,” she said, sliding out of her seat and heading for the door. I looked back and forth helplessly, and then I followed her out.

Jenna had somehow managed to assume a pose that said she’d been waiting for hours when I caught up with her on the sidewalk, despite the fact that she was maybe ten seconds ahead of me. “Jesus, Logan. How can you drink those things?”

“Through a straw,” I said, and I held up my hand to forestall the inevitable explosion. “Look, I’m sorry. I grew up on them, so they taste great to me.”

“It was like shoving sugarcane right into my pancreas,” she said, shaking her head. “I tried, Logan, I really did, but if I’d finished that thing, my teeth would have melted on the spot.”

The urge to defend the honor of the esteemed Mr. Hilliard rose up in me, but I tamped it down, tamped it down good and hard. If I was going to show Jenna the lure of Maryfield, I couldn’t afford to get into a fight with her about it.

At least, not until she’d seen it all. Then, maybe, we’d have some words.

Doctor Trotter wasn’t at the church when we strolled past, but we did run into him across the street from my old school. We’d been up and down the few square blocks that made up the town’s main strip, skipping the library but precious little else. I could see from her expression that Jenna was less than impressed, and that the town’s charm was lost on someone used to bigger, faster, and more.

“Where is everyone, Logan?” she asked at one point. “It’s Saturday. Shouldn’t there be people around, or something?”

“I don’t know,” I said, and I didn’t. “I remember it being a
little more lively than this, but it’s prime growing season. Maybe they’re working the farmer’s market over in Winston-Salem.”

“The whole town?” she said, but let it drop.

Doctor Trotter saw us coming from across the street, and he jaywalked with practiced ease to intercept us. “Jacob. How are you? Who’s your friend?”

“Jenna Conlon,” I said before Jenna could jump in. I got an elbow in my ribs for my trouble. “She’s visiting me from up north.”

“I see,” he said in a way that indicated that maybe he saw more than there was to see. “A pleasure to meet you, miss. Don’t be too hard on our Maryfield. It’s all we’ve got.”

“It’s very nice,” she said, about the first time I’d seen her even near a loss for words. “Logan is just showing me around.”

“Good.” He chuckled. “Maybe it will jog his memory a bit. Goodness knows he could use a refresher.” He turned to me, then, and his smile faded. “Really, Jacob, I’m a little surprised at you.”

“Me?” I squeaked. “Why?”

Doctor Trotter frowned. “From everything I hear, you’ve got all sorts of troubles going on out at your place. It’s not polite to invite a guest into a troubled home, Jacob Logan. It can get uncomfortable for them to come into a… situation.”

I stood there, my jaw fair hanging open, while he turned back to Jenna. “Sorry you had to see that, miss, and it’s no reflection on you. I just expect better of a Logan, that’s all.”

“Logan?” she said in a tiny, strangled voice. “I think I left something back at the house. Can we go now, please?”

“Of course,” I said. “Doctor Trotter.”

“Jacob, Miss Conlon.” He nodded. “Have a good day.” He walked off, and Jenna stared after him.

“Logan…,” she started, but trailed off, wordless.

“I don’t know what the hell that was about, either,” I said. “But you’re right. Let’s go home.”

“Home,” she said. “Yeah. Let’s go there.”

“I’m sorry,” she said as we walked into the kitchen. “I can see why you wanted to leave this place, Logan. I’m less certain why you came back.”

“Cheap real estate,” I joked, but my heart wasn’t in it. “Look, Jenna, I know this isn’t Boston, but there’re things here that mean something to me. Things that helped make me who I am.”

“Things you left behind,” she corrected, and she shivered. “Do we have to always talk in the kitchen?” she asked. “Can we go somewhere else?”

I nodded. “There’s the living room, but no one ever really used it for talking.”

“Perfect,” she said, and she walked away.

I caught up with her as she dropped herself down into one of Mother’s high-backed chairs. “Comfy,” she said, and patted the armrest. “Sit yourself down, too. You’re making me nervous.”

I paced back and forth behind her. “That’s good,” I said, “because I’m nervous. I’m nervous about the ghost, I’m nervous about my car, I’m nervous about that dog, I’m nervous about the fireflies—”

“And you’re pissed off at me,” she finished.

I stopped and stared at her. “Well, yeah.”

“That’s the plan,” she said. “If you’re pissed off, you’ll usually do something. It’s been driving me nuts, Logan, listening to you talk about this. Everything’s happened
to
you. Why didn’t you just shoot the stupid dog? It was on your land. No one would have said boo.”

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully, and I sat down on the floor in front of her. “I honestly don’t.”

“That’s interesting,” she said. “You think you’ve got too much city in you to use a shotgun anymore?”

“It just didn’t feel right.” I shook my head and thought about Carl, and the kick of the shotgun in my hands. “No, that’s wrong. You know what? It never even occurred to me. I had the shotgun in my hands the first time, but I never even thought about using it. Hell, I could have put both barrels through the mudroom door and shredded whatever was on the other side of it. Instead, I just held it.”

Jenna nodded. “Do you really belong here anymore, Logan? I mean, look around. This house is a tomb, this town is dead, and this place is trying to kill you. Why stay?”

“This house is my home! It’s where I grew up and this town is what made me,” I shot back.

She half-rose out of the chair. “It made you leave. Why come home at all? You could have gone anywhere. I know how much you got when you liquidated everything. You could have done anything. Why come back here?”

I blinked and looked up at her. “Because I thought I should,” I finally said. “Because once upon a time, I promised Mother that I would.”

“They’re dead, Logan.” Her eyes flashed with anger—and a little extra brightness that the edge in her voice couldn’t explain. “You don’t have to keep those promises.”

“Yes, I do.” My voice was a whisper. “You always keep your promises to Mother.”

She blinked and sat back. “That’s what your father said, in the book.”

“I know.”

Her voice was almost pleading now. “He left, Jacob. Just like you did.”

“He came back.”

“He didn’t want to. I think he wants you to go. You ever think about that? About how maybe it’s his ghost, not hers, trying to get you out of here?”

I stood and turned away from her. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m here for a while no matter what. There’s the car insurance to take care of, and things to tie up, and new arrangements to make with Carl.”

She shook her head. “Just sell the place. Go.”

“No. You don’t sell family land.” I walked over to the mantel and picked up one of Mother’s knickknacks. It was a porcelain hummingbird, painted bright colors that seemed out of place. “You know why I always call them Mother and Father?”

I could hear Jenna stand and take a few cautious steps toward me. “No. Why?”

“Because I always felt I was theirs more than they were mine. Does that make any sense, any sense at all?”

“No,” she admitted, and she slipped her arms around me from behind. “But it doesn’t have to, if it makes sense to you. I’m sorry, Logan. I’m not trying to make fun of things that are important to you. I was just hoping that I could get you to see them that way, so you could go. I think you should leave. I think you should leave right now. You can take care of the insurance and everything else from the road. Something here’s not right for you. It’s not safe.”

I closed my eyes and just let her hold me. “It hasn’t harmed me yet, whatever it is.”

She exploded. “It’s nearly killed you how many times? And yet you stand there and let it come after you again and again.
Why aren’t you more worried, Logan? What do you know that I don’t?”

I turned to look at her and cupped her face in my hands. She was, I thought, very beautiful at that moment, as beautiful as Adrienne had been. “I know this place,” I said softly, and kissed her forehead. “All right. I’ll come away with you in the morning. You’ve got a week off? Let’s drive around Carolina. We’ll go to the Outer Banks, or maybe up to Asheville. I’ll show you the sights. You might even find something to be impressed by.”

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and ran slow tracks down her face. “Don’t joke about this, Logan. I’m scared for you.”

“I’m not joking. We’ll go. At the end of the week, bring me back and I’ll see what I want to do next. But tomorrow we go.”

She smiled then, a brave smile, and crushed herself against me. I held her for a minute, and then I gently made some distance between us. “Now, more important stuff. Shall I make dinner?”

“God, no.” The old Jenna was back, the tough one who wasn’t afraid of anything. “I remember your cooking when you had good ingredients to work with. Down here, I can only imagine what you’d whip up.”

“Baloney tartare,” I said, grinning as she punched me in the arm. “Come on. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

Dinner took longer than expected, due in large part to the odd assortment of ingredients I had lurking in the icebox. By the time we agreed on what to make, it was dark; by the time we finished it was getting on eleven o’clock.

“Not bad,” I said as I dumped the plates into the sink. “We make a good team.”

“We always did,” Jenna replied from her chair. “As long as you remembered who was in charge.”

“My house, my kitchen—I’m in charge.”

“Keep telling yourself that and you’ll sleep nights,” she said, and she laughed. “On a more serious note, do you think that dog will come back tonight?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.” I jerked a thumb in the direction of the mudroom. “Shotgun is down there, if you want to shoot it instead of waiting for me to try.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she said. “Sit down for a minute. We can do the dishes later.”

I shook suds off my hands and pulled up a chair. “You have a point. Besides, I’ve been thinking about things, and I might have come up with something.”

She sank into the chair next to me. “Do tell, O mysterious one.”

“Bear with me,” I told her. “This is something I’ve never told anyone, and I can’t say that I’m proud of it.”

“Uh-oh.” She moved her chair fractionally closer to mine. “Confession time.”

“Sort of,” I agreed. “Now, this is going to sound stupid,” I said, and I caught myself. “Of course, it all sounds stupid.”

Jenna nodded. “So why stop now? What’s this great revelation you’ve had?”

I took a deep breath. “Did I ever tell you what Mother said about fireflies?”

Her eyes unfocused as she tried to remember. “That they were sort of tour guides into Heaven? I think you told me that at a party in Somerville once, after you’d gotten well and truly plastered on Ketel One and OJ.”