Coming Home

  Copyright © 2013 by Priscilla Glenn

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Designer: Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations

  Editor: Madison Seidler

  Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  A Note to Readers

  Acknowledgments

  Twelve years.

  She had been doing this every year for the past twelve years, but somehow—even after all that time—it still managed to have the same effect on her.

  She should have been numb to it by now, or at the very least, prepared for it. But the second Leah Marino turned onto the familiar little side street, her eyes began to sting with the threat of tears.

  She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she took her foot off the gas pedal and allowed the car to coast unhurriedly down the narrow one-way road.

  It always seemed so strange to her that something could be exactly the same and yet completely different all at once.

  She’d seen these same houses—packed together like books on a shelf—and their tiny fenced-in yards countless times. She could vividly remember coming down this street in the back of her mother’s car, blowing her warm breath against the window and drawing little hearts in the fog that magically appeared there.

  But that was years ago. Another lifetime.

  The neighborhood seemed to get smaller every year, although she knew that wasn’t possible. The cars parked along the street were always different. Some of the houses changed color; some of the gardens were ripped up or the driveways refinished. But at its core, it was the same little world, one that was as comfortingly familiar to her as it was painfully remote.

  Leah felt her heart quicken in her chest just before the house appeared on the right, and her shoulders dropped in relief as the unchanged yellow siding came into view, standing out against the whites and blues of the other houses. She was always afraid that one year, she’d drive down to discover the new owners had re-sided the odd-colored exterior, erasing the warm, pale yellow that always reminded her of sunlight on sand.

  Her mother once told her that if happiness were a color, it would be yellow.

  Leah jumped as the rude squawk of a horn burst into her consciousness, and her eyes flew to the rearview mirror. The large black pickup riding her tail was apparently in no mood to accommodate her sentimental pace, and if she had to guess, she’d say the three cars lined up behind him weren’t either.

  She sat up straight as something like panic fluttered in her chest. She wasn’t ready to leave yet. She’d barely gotten a chance to see it. And she knew if she kept driving, she wouldn’t loop around and come back. The spell of this little street would be broken; reality and logic would set in, reminding her that this little yearly indulgence was as childish as it was inconvenient.

  The horn blasted again, and this time, the burly man behind the wheel thrust his hand at the windshield, shouting something at her through the glass.

  Her eyes scanned the road frantically, trying to find an open space on the cramped little street, but there was nothing. The cars were lined up bumper to bumper along the sidewalk, the only openings being the entryways for those houses that had garages. Not that it mattered. Even if there were an open space, there was no way she could pull off parallel parking on this narrow street, especially not while the kind gentleman behind her cheered her on by blaring his horn and shouting obscenities.

  Without thinking, she pulled into the empty space in front of the house’s one-car garage. The black pickup sped by with another beep of its horn, this time accompanied by a middle finger pressed up against the passenger window.

  “Merry Christmas to you too, sir,” Leah said, watching the other cars pick up speed again as they continued down the road.

  When the last car had passed, she exhaled, turning to look through the passenger window at the little yellow one-story house. Although she’d been making this trip ever since she could drive, never once had she actually parked the car. It was always a slow crawl down the street, a few quick seconds to take it in, and then back to real life. But now that she was sitting there, so close she could practically reach out and touch it, she was completely overwhelmed by the desire to see it. Really see it.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, Leah cut the engine and got out of the car, pulling her hands inside the sleeves of her coat as she wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the sharp December wind. She walked around to the passenger side and leaned against the car with a tiny sigh, allowing her eyes to drift over her childhood home.

  Up close like this, it looked more modern than she remembered. The shutters—although the same brick color they always were—were brand new. In fact, the windows themselves were new too. The one she remembered to be in the kitchen was now a pretty bay window with a few small pots of daffodils lined up along the sill.

  Leah’s eyes roved over the fence that led to the side yard. It had definitely been repainted recently, and there were newel posts on either side of it now. Even the short driveway leading into the garage had been repaved.

  It was different. Someone was changing it.

  She chewed on the corner of her lip, feeling like a bratty child as she tucked her chin into her scarf. What did she expect would happen? It had been fifteen years since she had lived in that house. Did she really think the owners would never make improvements? Never make it their own? She should have been happy that someone was taking good care of it.

  The wind picked up again, and she closed her eyes, inhaling slowly through her nose. It still smelled the same—like bike rides and jump rope and hopscotch and barbecues.

  And her mother.

  That, at least, never changed.

  With her eyes still closed, she could see them so clearly, all of them in the side yard: Leah and her brother coloring on the pavement with sidewalk chalk while her mother read a book in a fold-out beach lounger that took up half the yard; her mother showing Leah and her little sister how to tie a jump rope to the end of the fence so they could jump double Dutch even when it was just the two of them; the tiny garden in the corner of the paved yard that her mother used to water with the hose while Leah followed behind with a Fisher Price watering can, giving her enormous, imaginary flowers a summer drink.

  “Hello.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Leah gasped as she whipped her head up, bringing one hand to her heart.

  The woman standing before her was tiny, dwarfed in an enormous red coat that hung to her knees. If it hadn’t been fo
r the white hair, cropped short around a deeply wrinkled, olive-toned face, Leah might have mistaken her for a child.

  She smiled at Leah’s reaction, her dark eyes nearly disappearing as her face crinkled further.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Leah dropped her hand from her chest with an embarrassed laugh. “No, it’s fine. I just didn’t realize anyone else was out here.”

  The woman nodded, her broad, amused smile transitioning into a more demure one. Leah smiled in return, expecting the woman to be on her way, or at the very least, to say something else. But she just stood there, staring at her with expectant eyes, as if Leah were the one who initiated contact with her.

  The silence wore on, slowly but surely crossing into awkward territory, and Leah cleared her throat as she began fiddling with her scarf. The woman tilted her head, waiting, and it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps this lady wasn’t all there.

  “So, um,” she said, playing with the frayed edges of her scarf, “are you out for a walk?”

  “No, honey. I came out to see you.”

  “Me?” she asked, pointing to herself.

  The woman chuckled—a soft, sandpapery sound—before she nodded, and Leah pulled her brow together.

  “I’m sorry…do I know you?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” the woman said, her face crumpling with the amused smile again.

  Leah shook her head as if to clear it, trying to place this strange woman.

  “No. I mean…not that I can remember,” she said after a few seconds, hoping she hadn’t just offended someone from her past.

  “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”

  Leah looked over the woman’s shoulder at the little yellow house. “Not for a long time.”

  “Just about a year, I’d say.”

  Her eyes flew back to the woman. “What?”

  “You come every Christmas,” she said with a smile. “You were here last year.”

  Leah straightened her posture, saying nothing, and the woman nodded. “It was you. In this car,” she said, gesturing to the car behind Leah. “I remember your face. I may look to be past my prime, but I’m still sharp as a tack,” she said, pointing to the side of her head with a gloved hand. The bulky black gloves, like the coat, looked far too large to be hers.

  When Leah still didn’t respond, the woman said, “Last year you stopped in the road. I saw you through the window, and I thought, ‘Now what would make such a pretty girl look that way?’”

  She swallowed. “What way?”

  “Heartbroken.”

  Leah dropped her eyes as the woman said, “By the time I got my old bones out here to check on you, you were gone.” She tilted her head, looking Leah over before she added, “You don’t look heartbroken this year. Just…pensive. But I still thought I should check on you.”

  Leah pressed her lips together, her eyes trained on the ground. She knew she should say something, but she was far too taken off guard to formulate a response.

  After a moment, she glanced up at the woman; her smile was unfaltering, but she still had that expectant look in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Leah finally said. “I don’t mean to bother you. It’s just…I used to live in this house…and I’m running some errands near here…and whenever I’m in the area, I like to stop by and just…remember, I guess. I shouldn’t have—”

  “Nonsense,” the woman said, cutting her off. “Don’t you apologize for anything. I like a girl who remembers her roots. Besides, what’s Christmastime without a little nostalgia? I think it’s wonderful.”

  The look in the woman’s eyes mirrored the unadulterated kindness of her words, and Leah was suddenly consumed with the inapt desire to wrap her arms around this tiny stranger.

  Instead, she exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Thank you. For understanding,” she said, pushing herself off the passenger door. “Anyway, I really need to get going, but it was nice meeting you. Merry Christmas.”

  She started to walk back around to the driver’s side, stopping short when she heard the woman say, “Did you want to see the inside?”

  Yes. You have no idea how much.

  She took a tiny breath before she said, “No, that’s okay. Thank you anyway, though.”

  “Don’t be shy, honey. I just put on some tea. You can come inside, warm up for a bit. Maybe see your old room?”

  Leah dropped her head back slightly, blinking up at the sky. She shouldn’t do this. For one, it was getting late. She still had errands to run, not to mention the hour drive back home. Plus, despite the fact that this woman seemed harmless enough, there was always the possibility that she was the innocuous decoy, leading an unsuspecting young girl into the house where a demented serial killer waited.

  She laughed to herself, shaking her head at the absurdity of that last thought before the woman added softly, “I’d love some company for a while. Just one cup of tea. I know you have to be on your way.”

  Leah turned to look at her then. She was still smiling, but her happy expression belied the unmistakable sadness that infused her last words. And for some inexplicable reason, she couldn’t tolerate the thought of this woman being sad, even for one minute.

  “Okay,” Leah said, taking a tentative step forward. “But I really can’t stay long.”

  “One cup,” the woman promised, her eyes disappearing amid a mass of wrinkles before she turned and shuffled up the short driveway, unlatching the gate that led to the side yard.

  Leah followed, stepping into the yard behind her, and without warning, her eyes welled with tears.

  It looked so small. How could it be this small? Leah could distinctly remember playing tag with her brother and sister in this yard, the three of them running back and forth until they were gasping for air. Now, she could probably walk across it in four long strides.

  She glanced around, her vision blurred from her unshed tears. The yard had been repaved as well. The block of concrete, the one they had imprinted with their handprints and initials, was gone. Her chin quivered slightly as she lifted her eyes, looking at the opposite end of the yard. The tiny garden where her mother had grown her tomato and basil plants had been blocked over with pavers. A barbecue sat above it.

  Leah hadn’t realized the tears had spilled over until a gust of cold wind amplified the trails of warmth on her cheeks, and she wiped at them hurriedly before glancing up to see the woman standing in the doorway, holding it open with a sympathetic look on her face.

  “You’re okay, honey,” she said softly, and Leah forced a smile as she walked past her and into the house.

  It felt like being transported back in time, and she placed her hand on the wall beside her, feeling completely disoriented.

  The furniture was all wrong, of course, and the walls were a different color, but the layout was still the same, so that if she stood there long enough, she could see the house as it was when she lived there. Her eyes traveled to the half wall that separated the kitchen from the living room, where two small vases of daffodils sat. She could remember her mother leaning on it with her elbows, peeking out at them with a smile while she fixed dinner.

  The sharp whistle of a tea kettle brought her back to the present, and she blinked quickly, dropping her hand from the wall.

  “Sit, sit,” the woman said, gesturing to the small dining area past the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Leah walked through the kitchen and over to the table, unzipping her coat and hanging it on the back of one of the chairs.

  “Can I help you with anything?” she asked, watching the woman disappear in the nook of the kitchen.

  “That’s okay, thank you. Just tell me how you take your tea.”

  “Two sugars, no milk, please.”

  Leah heard the clinking of glasses and spoons before the woman turned the corner and approached the table with a steaming teacup in each hand. She placed one in front of Leah and
patted her hand before she sat across from her, wrapping her frail hands around her own cup. Without her enormous jacket, she looked even tinier, wearing a thin white sweater and gray slacks. Leah’s eye was immediately drawn to her neck, where a bulky-looking ring was hanging from a thin gold chain. It looked like a man’s class ring.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself, did I?”

  Leah lifted her eyes from the incongruous piece of jewelry to see the woman extending her hand.

  “I’m Catherine.”

  “Leah,” she said, clasping her hand gently.

  “Well, Leah, thank you for agreeing to have tea with me.”

  “Of course. Thank you for inviting me,” she replied, lifting the mug and blowing gently on the steaming liquid. She took a careful sip, humming contentedly as the warmth spread down her throat and through her stomach, and Catherine smiled the smile that crinkled her face and made her eyes disappear.

  “The house looks wonderful, really,” Leah said, looking around. “Especially the outside. You fixed it up beautifully.”

  “Yes, well, my boy helps me with that,” Catherine said softly. She was quiet for a moment as she looked down, and Leah watched her shoulders rise as she took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before lifting her head. “So,” she said, taking a sip of her tea, “you’re here running errands?”

  Leah nodded. “I come down here every year to get some things I need to make Christmas dinner. I live about an hour north, but no one makes homemade pasta like the Italian deli a few blocks over.”

  Catherine quirked her brow. “Giovanni’s?”

  “Giovanni’s,” Leah confirmed with a laugh, and Catherine nodded sagely.

  “I can’t blame you. I can see driving an hour for the food there.”

  “It’s kind of a Christmas tradition in my family,” Leah said with a shrug.

  “Traditions are good. They help keep memories alive.”

  Leah’s eyes flashed to Catherine, but she was looking out the window, her expression unreadable as she carefully sipped her tea.

  “So,” Catherine asked after a minute, bringing her eyes back to Leah, “which room was yours?”

  “Um, that one,” she said, gesturing to the room off the dining area.