Home to Sweetwater

by

Sylvia Nickels

Dana tossed a small stone into the pond. Ripples spread out from its entry into the still water. She watched until the brackish green pond was still again, then turned back toward the house. She stepped onto the path through the pine trees. Her sneakers made no sound on it, softened by layers of fallen brown needles, and no trace of her steps toward the pond showed.

She left the shelter of the evergreens and the white, freshly painted farmhouse gleamed in front of her. Shoulders drooping, she paced slowly over the narrow open space between the trees and road. Reliving memories of the breakup with Bret had drained her. Coffee. That's what she needed. Her back stiffened as she noticed a silver Lexus standing in the driveway. A man came around the corner of the house. He must have gone around to the back door when she didn't answer at the front. She wasn't expecting anyone, who could it be?

She raised a hand to block the bright sunlight and the movement apparently caught his attention. He paused in the act of opening the car door. He waited by the car while she crossed the road and walked across the yard.

Tall, dark haired, with silver temples, he wore an open-necked blue and white checked shirt. His designer jeans were well worn as were the Justin leather boots. Something about the face seemed familiar. She couldn't see his eyes, he wore wraparound dark sunglasses.

She stopped a few feet away. "Can I help you?"

He reached up and pulled away the sunglasses. She looked into eyes as green as the pine trees behind her.

Bret.

The sunlight dimmed, her knees buckled, and she felt herself falling. So stupid, fainting here in my own yard. Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and guided her to the porch steps.

"Sit. Head down." He commanded.

In a moment her vision cleared, but she kept her head down, willing facial muscles to a neutral expression. She raised her head and spoke, though not his name, she couldn't say that yet. "You're the last person I expected to see."

A small smile creased the sides of his mouth and the well-remembered eyes widened. "Folks still drop by to say 'Hello' and welcome new neighbors in the country."

"Neighbors?"

"You didn't know?"

She shook her head. Would I have come back if I'd known?

"Actually, I lease your hay fields. Have for ten years."

She knew the shock she felt was mirrored on her face. Why hadn't she read through those papers the property management agent sent? Surely the name of the person who leased the fields was on them. "But - . You moved back to Sweetwater County? Why?"

"It's a long story. Could I beg a cup of coffee? I only had one cup before I left the house."

Anger she couldn't feel twenty-two years ago rose up in her. How dare he waltz back into her life as though he hadn't trampled her heart? Maybe it had been a mistake to come back to Cattail Farm. She hadn't expected the strength of the bittersweet memories it brought back, especially the pond. She should have raged at him then, screamed and cried. Called him names for leading her on. She might, eventually, have gotten over him.

A curt refusal rose to her lips. Something in his eyes stopped the words. That day at the pond, he'd told her he was sorry, but what was between them was over. His eyes had said something else. Now they held an expression that she couldn't read. Replacing the sparkling animation she had loved, patience and understanding were in their azure depths. She knew somehow that if their paths parted again, he would not enter her life a third time.

Curiosity mingled with her anger. Why had he moved back to Sweetwater County? Why had he leased her hay fields? Was he still married? She slammed a mental door on the rebellious spear of hope that tried to spring out.

"That's about all I can offer. But it will take a minute. I was so anxious to get reacquainted with the farm, I left without making any." She led the way through the sun porch dining area to the compact kitchen.

"That's fine. I don't have any pressing chores waiting for me."

She busied herself measuring coffee into the basket, then poured water into the drip coffee maker. In spite of her attempts to control them, her hands trembled and the cups and saucers she took from the cabinet rattled a little.

"I have bread, but the toaster isn't unpacked. I could make it in the oven. Would you like some?" Babbling. Why am I babbling?

"Oh, no. Coffee's good." He lounged against the counter, arms crossed, left hand on top. Too near. No wedding ring. Didn't necessarily mean anything. She took a breath and slipped past him, taking napkins, sugar and milk to the table on the sun porch.

When the coffee was done, she poured their cups. With a slight bow, he motioned for her to precede him and sit down. He raised his cup, eyeing her over the rim. "So. You've come home, Dana."

"Yes. This is my home." She took a sip of her own coffee to gain time. He must have as many questions about her life as she did about his. Okay, who's going to start?

"I heard that your husband died. But you'd lived in Carbondale a long time."

"It was never really home. Not Sweetwater."