The Way Home (53 page)

“I should have realized,” he muttered, angry with himself for not having seen what was happening sooner.

“It’s okay,” she said, smiling up at him. “I don’t pay much attention to what she says.”

Ty wondered how his mother liked that. The thought made his mouth twist in a half smile as he imagined her frustration at not being able to get a visible response from Meg. Without even knowing it, Meg had probably extracted a certain amount of revenge.

But that wasn’t good enough. Looking down at Meg, he saw color in her face and a sparkle in her eyes and thought of how long it had been since he’d seen either of those things. He couldn’t take a chance on seeing the life drained out of her again. Meg might say that his mother’s words didn’t matter, but Ty had had enough experience with her ability to cause the maximum amount of pain with the minimum number of words to know that he couldn’t leave Meg at her mercy any longer.

“What would you think of moving into the farmhouse immediately?” he asked slowly.

The sudden flare of excitement in her eyes gave him an answer even before she spoke. She caught hold of the edges of his opened shirt. “Could we?”

“There’s still a lot of work to be done,” he cautioned her.

“That’s okay. I don’t mind work.” Her smile grew a little wistful. “I’m not as helpless as you think I am, Ty.”

“I don’t think you’re helpless.” He brought his hand up and let his fingers sift through the soft gold of her hair. It wasn’t that he thought she was helpless. But she’d never in her life had someone to really take care of her, and he was determined to change that.

“I got a letter from Millie today,” Meg said as Ty and Jack cut into the buttermilk pie she’d made for dessert.

“She can write?” Jack widened his eyes in mock surprise.

“I bet she had help,” Ty commented, reaching for his coffee cup.

“Of course Millie can write,” Meg told them, trying to look stem — not an easy task when she was as happy as she had been the past couple of weeks. “Do the two of you want to make nasty remarks about her or do you want to hear the letter?”

“I didn’t think we made any nasty remarks, did you?” Ty gave Jack a questioning look.

“Some people just don’t like hearing the truth about their friends, Ty,” Jack said, looking thoughtful. “Like the time Becky Loudermilk told me you had big ears. I didn’t like hearing it, even if it was the truth.”

“I know what you mean.” Ty shook his head as he cut off another bite of pie and lifted it on his fork. “I felt the same way when Mary Kate Davidson told me that she’d like to go out with you if you were just a little less cross-eyed. It hurt me to hear it but it was the truth.”

“I’ll tell you another truth,” Meg said in a friendly tone. “I think the chickens would probably enjoy the rest of that pie.”

The implicit threat brought a shocked silence. Meg held her breath, wondering if she’d gone too far. This kind of teasing was still new to her. The two men exchanged horrified glances. Jack shook his head sadly. “Marriage’ll do that to a woman, I guess. Turn a sweet girl into a cruel harpy. We’d better listen to the letter, Ty. No telling what she’ll do if we don’t.”

Ty nodded, drawing his face into downtrodden lines that were at odds with the laughter in his dark eyes. “I guess my life just isn’t my own anymore.”

Meg relaxed. “I take it that means you’d like to hear Millie’s letter?”

Ty looked at the pie in the center of the kitchen table. “I’d love to hear Millie’s letter.”

“I thought so.” Meg’s prim look dissolved in a smile. She pushed the pie forward so that it rested between the two men before pulling the letter from her apron pocket.

Dear Meg,

I’m glad to hear that you’ve moved to your own place. Living with your mother-in-law is a mistake. Take it from me. If it hadn ‘t been for Larry’s mother, we might still be married today. Of course, then I wouldn’t have asked for the bungalow when we got divorced and that means I wouldn’t have met you and if I hadn’t met you, I probably wouldn’t have met Joe so I guess things worked out for the best, after all, even if it didn’t seem that way at the time.

I met this lady who can see into the future and she says that Larry’s mother being so mean to me and thinking I wasn’t good enough to be a Smith and everything was probably a result of divine intervention because it’s obvious that I was meant to meet Joe and that I’m real lucky because not everyone finds their true soulmate but I did and I should be thankful. Which I am, of course, because who wouldn’t be thankful to have found a swell guy like Joe?

Jack snorted with laughter. Meg looked up from the letter long enough to give him a quelling look and then continued.

We all miss you. Joe and Billy and all the other guys. They sometimes come over to my place but it’s not the same as it was when you were here and it’s not just that I can’t cook, either. Though really, I’m not such a bad cook, no matter what Joe says. I mean, how was I supposed to know that you weren 7 supposed to beat biscuit dough real good and it’s not really my fault that there wasn ‘t enough water in the pan when I made a pot roast. I put the water in and how was I to know that it would go and boil away? And anyway, I don’t see why he made such a fuss because the roast wasn’t really ruined, it was just a little black on the bottom and if you chewed it real good, it wasn’t all that bad.

Meg ignored the open laughter from her companions, though her own lips were twitching.

But I guess it’s okay that Joe thinks I can’t cook, even if I can, because it means he takes me out to dinner a lot. We’ve gone to some swank places. Last week we went to the Brown Derby and we saw Clark Gable and I wanted to go talk to him and ask him if he knew I hadn’t been cast in his movie, because it was obviously such a mistake. I mean, I was perfect for the part and everybody could see it, only then I didn’t get the part. Joe didn’t think it was such a good idea and he said I probably hadn’t been cast because of jealousy. And I guess maybe he was right, because what other reason could there be?

“How about they thought that red hair would blind the cameraman?” Jack suggested.

“I wouldn’t have thought it possible but she writes just like she talks,” Ty said, shaking his head.

“There’s only a bit more,” Meg told them.

Anyway, to get back to the point — Joe says I have trouble sticking to the point sometimes but I know he’s wrong — we all miss you and Ty and Jack. And Max.

Meg’s voice faltered.

Things just weren’t the same after poor Max was killed. With all of you gone, it just isn’t the same here. Joe wants to know if you guys are thinking about coming back He says flying isn’t the same without Jack and Ty. And he says to tell Ty that he’s taking real good care of his plane and if Ty ever wants to buy it back, it’s his for the asking.

I’ve rambled on long enough so I’ll sign off for now.

Write soon.

Your friend,

Millie

Meg folded the letter carefully and tucked it back in the envelope. The soft rustle of paper sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet kitchen. She was afraid of what she might see if she looked at Ty, so when she looked up, it was Jack she focused on. But Jack was looking at Ty, and in his eyes she could see her own questions. Questions she was afraid to ask. How did Ty feel about being reminded of the way things had been? Did hearing that Joe would happily sell his plane back to him make him want to go back to California?

He’d never really talked about how he felt about giving up flying, but Meg knew it couldn’t have been easy. She remembered the way he’d talked about flying, about what it meant to him. The fact that he’d given it up because he thought it was best for her and the baby was one just one of the regrets she carried inside. When she’d lost the baby, that knowledge added to the guilt she felt, as if Ty’s sacrifice had been in vain after all. But he hadn’t suggested giving up the farm and leaving Iowa again, and she hadn’t had the heart to bring it up herself, to be the one to suggest that he go back to risking his life every day.

Now she waited to see if Millie’s letter had opened old wounds, had reminded him of all he’d given up. Afraid of what she might see, Meg forced herself to look at Ty. But if he was overwhelmed with longing for what he’d given up, there was nothing in his expression that revealed it.

“I’m surprised Joe hasn’t strangled Millie by now.” Ty pushed away his pie plate and leaned back in his chair. “Just to shut her up,” he added with a grin.

“Well, since Joe never talks, maybe he likes having some noise to fill up the silence,” Jack said. He tapped a cigarette out of the pack, his eyes meeting Meg’s as he lit it. She knew that he’d wondered what Ty’s reaction would be, but she couldn’t be sure he was relieved by the choice Ty had made. Though she liked him tremendously, Jack had remained something of an enigma to her. She had the feeling that he concealed much more of himself than he revealed.

“If you don’t need me, I’ve got some things to do this afternoon,” Jack said, drawing in a lungful of smoke and then releasing it slowly.

“Sure. Considering the wages I’m paying, I can’t complain if the hired hand takes some time off,” Ty said with a grin.

“Meals like this are more than enough pay,” Jack said.

Despite the smile he threw in her direction, Meg thought she detected a sadness behind his eyes, a sense of loss. Before she could grab hold of the impression, he pushed back his chair and stood up.

“Thanks for lunch, Meg. It was terrific, as always. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning, Ty.” With another smile, Jack pushed open the screen door and walked out, leaving the acrid tang of smoke behind him.

Meg stood up and reached for the plates, frowning a little. “I don’t think he’s happy,” she said as she carried the plates to the sink. When she turned back, Ty was looking after his friend, his expression worried.

“Jack has his own reasons for coming back to Iowa,” he said, when he caught her eye.

“A girl?” Meg was immediately intrigued.

“More or less.” He caught her interested look and shrugged uneasily. “She’s married.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“Couldn’t you talk to him?”

“And say what?” Ty arched one brow in question. “He’s old enough to make his own mistakes, Meg.”

“I guess.” She brushed a damp cloth over the table. “It’s just that — Oh!”

Ty grabbed her around the waist and toppled her onto his lap. “It’s just that nothing. Jack can take care of himself. We’re his friends, not his parents.”

“I know.” Meg toyed with the button at the top of his shirt. She liked the sound of that “we.” It sounded natural, right. “Don’t you think — “

“The only thing I think is that it’s been a long time since you’ve kissed me,” Ty said.

He pulled her more snugly against his chest, giving her a look that made Meg forget all about Jack and his affairs.

Jack knocked on the neat white door and then waited for a response. He was a fool to be here, he thought, angry with himself. He had no business standing on Patsy Baker’s doorstep. He’d managed to stay away from her this long, holding on to the knowledge that she’d kept him from his child, nursing the anger and hurt. But here he was, back like a bad penny, no more able to stay away than he was to stop breathing.

He heard footsteps inside and his palms were suddenly damp. The reaction made him frown, and that was the expression Patsy saw when she opened the door.

“Jack.” Her voice was husky with surprise, and he was unreasonably glad to note that the fingers she pressed to the base of her throat were far from steady. A little nervousness was the least of what she owed him. Still, he couldn’t deny the hunger he felt as he stared at her through the screen.

“Can I come in?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Her voice trembled as much as her hand.

“I can just stand here on the porch but I think the neighbors might notice. And you never know what they might say to your husband.” The last word was bitten off, as if it had an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

“They’ll be able to see your car, anyway,” she pointed out, but she unlatched the screen and pushed it open.

Jack followed her into the house, drawing in the now-familiar scent of furniture polish and lavender. She led him into the living room, which was neither large nor elaborately furnished. A solid, plain room, in a solid plain house, the very essence of midwestem America. He still couldn’t place the girl he’d known in these surroundings yet there she stood, wearing a pale-blue dress that reflected the color of her eyes, her hair a little mussed and her cheeks flushed.

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” she said when the silence had stretched uncomfortably.

“I don’t know why I came.”
Liar. You came because you couldn’t do anything else.
He squashed the mocking mental voice. He wanted to hold on to the anger, the hurt. He wanted to make her tell him — again — why she’d felt she had the right to keep his child from him. He wanted to hear her admit she’d been wrong. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until she admitted that she loved him, that she’d never stopped loving him.