Remembering home, p.1
Remembering Home, page 1
Coming Home Series
Book One
J.M. ADELE
REMEMBERING HOME
Copyright © 2015 by J.M. Adele
All Rights Reserved
This work is protected under copyright. Apart from any use permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author of this book.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental. Any actual places, products or events mentioned are used in a purely fictitious manner, without permission or sponsorship, and with acknowledgement of their trademarked status, and trademark owners.
Edited by Eeva Lancaster
Cover Design by Book Flare Publishers
Formatting by Book Flare Publishers
Kindle Edition
Coming Home Series
Shattered Home—a Novella
Remembering Home—a Novella
Finding Home
Home Sweet Home—a Novella
Sensing Series
Sensing You
Convincing You
Indulging You
Bloodlust Series
Ashes and Dust
Ember and Flame
Bone and Blood
To all the authors who’ve gone before.
Thanks for being courageous and showing me that it’s possible.
Chapter One—Self-Hatred
Chapter Two—Whiskey Eyes
Chapter Three—Normal
Chapter Four—Unfinished Business
Chapter Five—Shower Steam
Chapter Six—Sleepovers
Chapter Seven—Bacon and Eggs
Chapter Eight—Harvey’s Auto Shop
Chapter Nine—Ladders
Chapter Ten—Letters
Chapter Eleven—Plastic Trap
Chapter Twelve—Lawnmower Man
Chapter Thirteen—Drive-in
Chapter Fourteen—Hey There, Daddy
Chapter Fifteen—Passed Out Drunk
Chapter Sixteen—Permanent Address
Acknowledgements
Excerpt from Finding Home
About the Author
Self-Hatred
Self-hatred was the purest thing Aiden Thomas had felt in years. He stood in the bathroom of his hotel room, harsh, fluorescent light casting unforgiving shadows over the angles of his face. His shoulders wrenched up and down as each breath grew harder to drag in. The face reflected in the mirror twisted with shame and a fierce disgust. Black eyes bored into the mirror and back again in an infinite battle of wills and intimidation.
The news he’d discovered ten minutes ago was the baseball bat to the head he needed. A wakeup call after more than a decade of numb oblivion, isolation and ignorance. Aiden had let everyone down, including himself. He’d never see Hank Murphy again because he’d been behaving like a chicken shit, little boy. His teeth made a horrible grinding sound as he clenched his jaw.
The urge to destroy proved irresistible. He pounded his fist into the grim reflection, the shattering of the glass deafening in the small space. A satisfied smile crossed his face as he inspected his shredded knuckles. Aiden flexed his hand watching red spill down between his fingers, coloring the shards in the sink. It hurt like a bitch, and it felt fucking awesome.
The pussy in the mirror was gone. Aiden Thomas was awake and determined to make things right.
_____
Almost a day later, he stood deliberately separate from a huddle of black sorrow, listening to the somber tones of a man of God eulogizing and offering prayer. A summary of the life of a man who meant so much to him, the one a young Aiden wished had been his real father.
The intermittent breeze carried away the murmurings of the minister, stirring the rich smell of freshly dug soil mixed with the more delicate scent of the floral adornment on the coffin. He sucked in the smells and the moisture in the southern air, grateful for some relief from the heaviness of his guilt. Beneath a makeshift bandage, his throbbing hand reminded him of the task ahead.
Aiden surveyed the crowd, recognizing most of his fellow mourners, although they were much older now. As a boy, he’d thought of them as his family until his father had disabused him of the notion, called him a foolish leech, and taught him that the only person he could truly rely on was himself.
He belonged to nobody.
All utter bullshit. He had belonged to Hank, his true father in every way that counted. He knew that now. Now that it was too late.
Jesus, Hank. I’m so sorry.
He set his jaw to prevent an agonized shout from escaping, as his eyes locked on the coffin. He forced them away, tilting his head side to side to loosen his neck. The pain from flexing his fingers allowed him to center his torment as far away from his heart as he could get it. It was welcome relief, however brief.
Aiden absorbed the poignant words, and looked around the gathering once again. A petite woman across from him drew his eyes. The only points of color were her red lips, and the green leaves and stem of a white rose visible through a curtain of raven hair. Each tear caught on the corner of her mouth before it trickled down her chin and fell to the earth. Her gloved hands clasped those of a fellow mourner’s, obviously her close friend. They presented a striking contrast, a dark crown beside platinum blonde. The women rocked slightly side-to-side, alternating between supporters and supported.
Something about the ebony-haired beauty pinched at his distant memories, imploring him to remember a familiarity long forgotten. Aiden’s feet wanted to move of their own accord, to circle the huddle to get to her with some amount of stealth. He locked his knees refusing to bow to their demand, dropping his gaze to take in the grass beneath his feet. That’d be a good start. Embarrassing himself the first time he’d seen these people in fifteen years, and at the funeral of one of the town’s most loved. His shoulders dropped as he pushed a long breath out, before raising his eyes once more.
The woman stood trembling, staring straight at him, barely holding it together. She was beyond beautiful, although agony etched her features. Her distressed state tugged at his protective side more than it should have, drawing the corners of his mouth down. Her big, doe-shaped eyes blinked through her tears, draining more rapidly now. Mouth quivering, her distress seemed to grow as she watched him. Jesus, she looked like she was going to collapse.
Aiden’s right foot lifted and he stumbled forward slightly, catching himself before he could go any further. A prickle of awareness caused his stare to shift, taking in the narrowed gaze of her friend as she gripped onto her companion around the waist. He schooled his features, and quickly turned away. What the hell did he think he’d be able to do for her anyway?
Once again facing the minister, he joined in the last prayers for his dear friend. “Rest in peace, old man,” he said to himself, letting his grief wash over him once again. The minister finished the service and the coffin was lowered. A tepid breeze carried some dry leaves to join his friend in his final resting place in the ground.
Aiden watched as the woman broke away from her friend to throw a folded piece of paper and the rose onto the coffin. She made her way straight to him, stopping when the toes of their shoes tapped together, sending a jolt of adrenaline straight into his blood stream. He looked down at her leaning his shoulders away. The fuck? The closeness was jarring. Did she recognize him?
Her face tipped up, presenting him with her tear-stained beauty once more. Aiden pulled out a hanky from his jacket and offered it, needing to comfort her somehow.
“Thank y—” A sniffle and a gasp cut off her words. “… ou.”
“Sorry for your loss.” The rumble of his voice sounded deep as the inane words tumbled out of his mouth. He cringed inwardly. What could he say that didn’t sound trite? Hank would know what to say.
Aiden’s brown eyes drilled into her vivid green ones. She was an ethereal beauty. It was heartbreaking to witness the sadness pouring out of such perfection. Her head bobbed as she curled an unsteady hand around her throat and burst into sobs.
“Oh sh—” He grimaced, raising a cautious hand to pat her on the shoulder. In response, she stepped into his side, grabbing onto the lapel of his jacket. Her jerky movements sent shock waves racing through his veins, the weight of her grip seeping into his bones. His mind blanked for a minute as his body took over. He shook his head to set his synapses scrambling, trying to make sense of this bizarre interaction.
When he arrived this morning, it sure didn’t equate to a feeling of homecoming. He shouldn’t have been surprised at the feeling of displacement and disconnection. That shit was pretty standard. But, this was Alabama. Where he grew up. The only place that had ever felt like home. Now? Sweet home Alabama? Not so much. Standing with his arm around this stranger… this felt more like home. Aiden’s eyes almost crossed from system overload. His body hadn’t really felt anything in so long. He was used to living the life of an international nomad, roaming between photo shoots. His only interactions with others coming from behind a camera lens.
What the hell is happening?
The woman’s shudders slowly lessened to the softer, rise and fall of her chest, as she breathed deeply in acceptance of his comfort. Huh. He had been able to offer something after all. It speared his soul, connecting him to another in a way he had forgotten existed. His breathing slowed in time with hers, every inhale drawing her delicate, jasmine perfume, and the scent of salty tears. Aiden was drawing as much comfort as he was giving, the exchange probably weighing more heavily in his favor. In a moment of tortured surrender, this petite woman had made him see how lonely he was.
Loneliness was his MO.
His life sucked.
Goddamn.
It made him want to wrap himself around this woman, and never let go.
Their cocoon of comfort was shattered as she yanked her body away from his, crossing her arms, consternation written all over her face. At a loss for what to do, he shoved his hands in his pockets. Aiden dimly registered the sounds of car engines starting as the mourners lined up to leave, and the whispers of those few who remained.
“Are you coming to the wake?” Her eyes were almost pleading.
“Yes,” his mouth spoke without connecting to his brain. His intention had been to pay his respects and leave, unsure if he’d even be welcome. Actually, he was certain he was unwelcome. Why was she asking him, a stranger?
Her head jerked in approval, before she again burrowed in the envelope of her friend’s arms, the women then marched away. Aiden hadn’t even noticed the blonde move toward them. He’d been blissfully oblivious, completely absorbed by a woman for the first time in… forever.
He stood on liquid legs, elbows loose, missing the feel of her. Bewilderment doused his ability to think, as he watched her retreat. Something about the texture of her movement stirred the familiarity again. His memories rose closer to the surface, but faded again as she disappeared out of sight.
The energy in the air was noticeably different. Heaviness descended over him again as he turned to the grave to add a shovelful of dirt. Three other men remained to do the same.
“It’s good to see ye again, Aiden. Sorry it couldn’t have been under happier circumstances.” Harry, his friend’s brother, gave him a slap on the shoulder in greeting. The sentiment confused and chipped at his expectation to be treated like a stranger.
He paused to collect his wits, gathering the appropriate words from unused corners of his brain. “I’m crushed that I didn’t get to see him again. He was more of a father to me than my own.” The truth came rushing out, striking him straight through the heart. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” He addressed all three men, again frustrated that he couldn’t think of anything better to say. Harry’s younger brother, Harvey, and Mr. Saunders, the neighbor from across the street, joined Harry.
Hank had been the oldest brother. A tall and sturdy Irishman with masses of black hair, and a beard to match. The younger brothers had inherited red hair from their mother, but they all had the same Goliath stature.
In comical contrast, Mr. Saunders was a petite man with thin white wisps of hair. His eyebrows and eyelashes almost invisible against his pale pink skin.
All three men were in their sixties now. Patches of white had bleached the red hair at the brothers’ temples, with several strays flecked about, elsewhere. It was shocking, how much they had aged. He supposed they could say the same about him. He was not yet sixteen when his parents moved him north.
“Would ye like a lift to the wake, then?” Harry asked.
“I don’t suppose ye’ve got a car, at the minute?” Harvey threw a heavy arm around Aiden’s shoulder, stretching slightly, as they were the same height.
“That’d be great, thanks.”
Harry and Mr. Saunders took a more luxurious, Buick, while Harvey promptly guided Aiden to a rusty, old, Chevy pick-up. He knew that it used to be candy apple red. The painted logo of Harvey’s Auto Shop had faded from the hood over time.
The slamming of their doors was loud, but the rumble of the engine was deafening. His shoes slipped and crunched on the collection of empty chip packets and coffee cups strewn on the floor of the passenger side. Harvey looked over to investigate, propping his sunglasses on his nose. “Sorry ‘bout the mess. I needed sustenance to get me through the long hospital waits. Just kick it out of the way.” He waved his hand as if brushing the offending items away, stirring the smell of sweat and stale coffee.
Aiden took in the scenery as the old truck bumped along; its shock absorbers not up to the task. The town had changed in his absence. Grassy fields had made way for new housing developments. The single traffic light had spawned some friends, though the center of town had mostly remained in its time capsule.
Aiden’s knee jiggled against the door as his nervous energy found an outlet. He was still reeling from the weirdest moment of his life. Seeing his friend put underground, and experiencing what felt like salvation all within moments of each other. He had to put her out of his mind and focus on Hank.
“How long was he ill?”
“Oh, he had the first stroke about a month ago. It wasn’t too bad. He could still talk, though his words were slurred. We thought he’d recover. He was starting rehab, but then he had a massive stroke. Turned him into a vegetable. No coming back from that. He was in a coma for a week before he died. Nasty business, seeing a strong, proud man brought to his knees. Even more horrible, seeing a brother suffer.”
Aiden kept a steady eye on the road, using the horizon to ground him, and stop the flow of tears that threatened. He swallowed against a tight throat before attempting to speak. “I didn’t know.” He cursed under his breath. “I would have come.” I should have been here.
“I just happened to look up the local paper online. I don’t even know what made me do it. His name caught my eye while I was skimming.” Aiden swallowed again, and turned to the window to squeeze his eyes shut.
He felt a firm grip on his shoulder. “Per’aps you wanted news of a certain young lady, as well as her pa?”
Hank’s daughter, Angel. If he weren’t in the habit of denying his true desires, he’d admit that he’d been searching the group of mourners for her. The girl he would never forget no matter how hard he tried. Angel. An appropriate name for the girl who weaved through his thoughts whenever he let them drift.
He sucked in a breath. Light dawned, and memories of green eyes that used to be shadowed behind glasses rose abruptly into transparency. Climbing trees and fishing, later became holding hands and kissing.
Angel.
His plans just changed.
Whiskey Eyes
Thoughts of her broke the fissure around his heart wide open. His mind transported back to the day he left. The day his heart bled for leaving her. Stupidly, he had been searching for the sixteen-year-old Angel, forgetting to make a concession for time’s passing.
The Chevy made a high-pitched squealing sound as its brakes protested. The sound sliced through his brief reverie, snapping him back to reality. He was about to see those green eyes again. Even puffy, bloodshot and flooded with tears, they were phenomenal.
“Time to celebrate the large life of my brother,” Harvey slapped Aiden on the leg, and cranked the emergency brake. The noisy engine cut off, revealing a ringing in Aiden’s ears.
Still reeling, Aiden blinked his eyes to focus on the old, plantation style house. Behind him, cars lined both sides of the street under a canopy of oaks. The house was the same, although faded by time. The shutters were now a powder blue, rather than the original, deep, sky blue. Tall, white columns supported a portico proudly framing the double wooden doors. One of them stood open in welcome. The chatter of people beyond became louder as he neared.
His palms started to sweat, prompting him to lose the jacket. There was one person he was desperate to see on the other side of the threshold. The hammering of his blood pummeled his insides. The swing of emotions he was experiencing today was bound to leave bruises.
The onslaught only worsened when he entered the parlor to find Angel sitting in an elegant pose on a sofa. Her red lips and large eyes in stark, beautiful contrast to her pale skin. Hank’s family and friends were milling about between the living areas, with drinks and plates of food. They all faded into the background when he saw Angel.
The waif of a girl had blossomed into a ravishing woman. Aiden was awestruck. She was a green-eyed, Audrey Hepburn lookalike. With curves, he noted, as his eyes lowered to the swells of her breasts pressed against her simple, black sheath dress. Eyes above the neck, Thomas. Christ, what a time to notice, but how could he not? Gone were the glasses and the braces. She had stopped dyeing her hair red to look like her cousins. Slender legs encased in stockings and black heels replaced the scraped knees and scuffed sneakers.
