Before he finished the word, the storm hit. A pounding rain that seemed to nail him in place.
He closed his eyes and dropped his chin.
Now his flu would escalate into pneumonia. Another night outside in wet clothes would seal it.
And suddenly he couldn’t live like this anymore. He was sick and tired of being sick and tired.
Home.
The idea came to him like a balmy breeze, took him far away from this ugly spot in the driving rain. He closed his eyes and thought of the small town where he’d been raised, where he’d played shortstop for the local ball team and worked at a garage after school and every summer until he went away to college. If any town would still accept him after what he’d done, it would be that one.
Maybe.
Moving slowly, his emotions a convoluted mixture of fear and anticipation, he went to the phone booth and stepped inside its quiet enclosure. Now the rain was only noise; it was like his heartbeat: fast, breathless.
He let out a long breath, then picked up the phone, punched 0 and placed a collect call.
“Hey, little sister,” he said when she answered. “How are you?”
“Oh, my God. It’s about damn time. I’ve been worried sick about you, Joey. You haven’t called in—what? Eight months? And then you sounded awful. ”
He remembered that call. He’d been in Sedona. The whole town had seemed to be draped in crystals and waiting for otherworld contact. He’d thought Diana had called him there, but of course she hadn’t. It had just been another town to pass through. He’d called his sister on her birthday. Back then, he’d thought he’d be home any day. “I know. I’m sorry. ”
She sighed again, and he could picture her perfectly: standing at her kitchen counter, probably making a list of things to do—shopping, carpool, swimming lessons. He doubted she’d changed much in the last three years, but he wished he knew for sure. Missing her blossomed into an ache; it was the reason he never called. It hurt too much. “How’s my beautiful niece?”
“She’s great. ”
He
heard something in her voice. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she said, then more softly. “I could use my big brother right about now, that’s all. Has it been long enough?”
There it was, the question upon which everything rested. “I don’t know. I’m tired, I know that. Have people forgotten?”
“I don’t get asked so much anymore. ”
So some had forgotten, but not everyone. If he returned, the memory would tag along. He didn’t know if he was strong enough to stand up to his past. He hadn’t been when it was his present.
“Come home, Joey. It has to be time. You can’t hide forever. And . . . I need you. ”
He heard the sound of her crying; it was soft and broken and it pulled something out of him. “Don’t cry. Please. ”
“I’m not. I’m chopping onions for dinner. ” She sniffed. “Your niece is going through a spaghetti phase. She won’t eat anything else. ” She tried to laugh.
Joe appreciated the attempt at normalcy, however forced.
“Make her some of Mom’s spaghetti. That should end it. ”
She laughed. “Gosh, I’d forgotten. Hers was awful. ”
“Better than her meat loaf. ”
After that, a silence slipped through the lines. Softly, she said, “You’ve got to forgive yourself, Joey. ”
“Some things are unforgivable. ”
“Then at least come home. People care about you here. ”