Coming Home 1.0

The phone call came in the early morning. The ring rumbled John out of the bed. I heard the small voice on the line, a man, muffled by a haze of sleep and John's cheek. John placed his hand on my shoulder.

“It's for you.” he said, extending the cold plastic curve of the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” It was a word and a sigh at once. The man replied. His voice was bigger than I had first thought, soft, lolling. My eyes shuttered at the steady sound from the earpiece.

“--Lee Hammond.” The voice said. The name snapped me to consciousness, resonated in me like a vivid dream upon waking. “Anne, do you remember me?”

“Mm.” I said, sitting up in bed. I felt John roll over, out of bed, and looked over to catch a sideways look before he went out to the hall. “Lee Hammond. Why—why are you calling me so early?”

“Oh, I don't know—the time—the time difference.” He fumbled. “I should've thought. Listen, I'm sorry Anne, but we had to reach you. We got your—your friend John's number and figured it'd be our best chance at reaching you. Anne, it's happening—Frederick is dead.”

A stone in my throat.

“Anne?”

“When?” My voice and body were still.

“Two weeks ago. We wrote letters, but it was impossible—they never got to you. In Arizona, the three addresses were no good. Our letters were being returned. We got news of your work with the doctor just this morning. Called as soon as we could.”

John came back in from the hall. In the pale blue light, I saw the question faintly drawn by his expression.

“Mr. Hammond--”I began.

“Anne, you need to come home.”

I paused at the command, shifting uncomfortably at the weight still in my chest.

“Mr. Hammond, I'm working out here, and I haven't seen or heard from--”

“Anne.” He said. “You must come. Frederick's will says that he will not be buried until you come. We've waited two whole weeks. Half of the family is in town and they've been waiting. You need to come.”

I remembered him, an old man of unknown years, sitting across an island of an office desk while Frederick signed some papers. Had he been older than Margaret when she died and Frederick inherited the house? I couldn't recall, although it had seemed to be so. When I was a young girl, still living with Frederick, age had already made Hammond into a slight curve of a man, all gray and rough tweed. IT seemed strange now that he would be alive—that he, in fact, would outlive the senior members of the Young family, both Frederick and Margaret.

“How long?”

“Long enough to lay Fred to rest, Anne. Then we have the estate to see to.”

I nodded and breathed a sigh to myself. The line was quiet. I felt John's weight beside me, and contemplated briefly that I'd have to tell him about Frederick, and that I would be leaving. Not long, but John's work was underway, with some funding secured, and he was looking forward to making progress after several months of waiting. But Hammond's voice had made it clear that there was no choice. I would have to tell him—that I was going, that there was nothing else to do—and face those small looks of disappointment.

“I'll come. But you know I don't have the money.”

John shifted beside me.

“We'll take care of it. Can you be at the airport by 9?” I looked over to John's side of the bed. His eyes were on me, an expression of plaintive frustration on his face. Beyond him, the clock read well after four.

“I'm up. I can make it.”

“Good. Your plane'll take off at 10:30. You just be on it, Anne. There's a whole bunch of Youngs that are eager to see this thing through.”

His words made me uncomforable.

“Okay, Mr. Hammond.”

“See you soon, Anne.”

Mr. Hammond was gone. I lowered the phone from my face, and the room went dark. John turned on the bedside lamp. Now he smiled at me.

“You're going somewhere.”

I smiled back.

“Virginia. Frederick's dead.”

“Your grandfather?”

“Yes.” I said, looking down to the phone in my hands. “They tracked me down. Well--” I said, glanding over to him, “They tracked you down.”

“Well--” he began, then shifted over close to me, so our bodies were touching. “I'm sorry, Anne.”

I breathed a laugh.

“You don't have to be.” I stood. “But I do have to go.”

“I understand.”

We exchanged a smile again. I knew, though, that he didn't understand. Neither did I. I had not been close to Frederick for years. John knew this, knew that Frederick broke my heart when he sent me away to school when I was fourteen years old. It was an ancient tragedy, one that I'd closed up and left long behind.

“So, they're going to fly you out there.” He waited for me to nod as I started moving around the room, picking up things and placing them in a small pile at the end of the bed. “He had some money, didn't he? That big house you grew up in. You think he left it to you?”

“I don't know.” I said, shaking out a small bag for toiletries. “I don't want that kind of trouble.” John laughed.

“That's the kind of trouble I could use. An estate.” John let the note of novelty in the word ring. I went out to the hall and came back. “You can't take that on the plane.” He said, motioning to the bottle of shampoo. I took it from the bag and set everything down, a thought seizing me suddenly.

“You know, I don't remember any of the family.”

“Hmm?”

“Hammond—he's the family lawyer, the one on the phone—he said that some of the family was already in town and was waiting. He said that they 'just want to get on with it' or something. What does that mean?”

“Money does funny things to people.”

“I don't want to be like that.” I said, picking up a small bottle and examining the label for the size of its contents. “None of them came around in the fourteen years that I lived with him. Why should they care now? Why should I care now?”

John layed out on the bed, his head to the end nearest to me.

“Well, someone's got to get that house. One of them will get lucky.”

“Lucky.” I repeated to myself. I remembered the thing, like an old animal in the heat of the long summers, breathing and humming as humidity swelled its wooden frame. I would sell it, I resolved, if it came to me.

“Yes, lucky.” John rolled over. “Most people want money and a house and a family. Couldn't it be a good thing?”

“It could be. Isn't there a time when you should just stop looking so hard in that one direction? It's not like I never want a family. But maybe not that family.”
John smiled up at me.

“From the looks of it, Annie, you don't have much of a choice.”

“Not right now. I'm not going to stay there. You're here, our work his here. I choose to be here. Frederick sent me away once, and he's not going to send me away again.”

John rose to his knees in front of me, taking my face in his hands.

“I know you, Anne. No one can make you do what you don't want to.”

His eyes were still on mine. It had the substance of an accusation without the sting. I know you want to go. He didn't wait for an admission or denial, and pressed his lips to mine.

“I'll miss you. Phase two will be hell getting started without you.” He slipped himself back under the sheets. “I'll have to call Drew to see if he can chief for me until you get back.”

“I'm sorry, John.”

“Happens.” He said, rolling over and closing his eyes.