The Heart Comes Home

By Emma Pitts

Marjean Cantrell becomes the guardian of a ten-year-old when her mother dies during exploratory surgery. She feels that home is where the little girl should stay. Her grandparents are getting reacquainted with the little girl with Marjean's encouragement. The father comes to take the little girl with him, and the fight is on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781503511248

Emma Pitts

I am a lifelong learner. I have always liked to write short stories and poetry. I am retired from working with elderly since 1998. Although I volunteer as a driver, it still gives me time to research for more interesting things to write about in the future. I have a master’s degree in science, psychology, and sociology, which I earned after my children left home. Although I have had small op-eds and articles published in the past, this is my first novel.

Book preview

Chapter One

Pushing damp bangs off her forehead, Marjean unlocked the car door and tossed her book bag on the backseat. She slid under the wheel, pressing her aching back against the hard cushion of the bucket seat, trying to ignore the amp blouse sticking to her back. Early October heat seemed to smother her. Removing the sunshade decorated with the Bulldog of Gentry High School, she noted that, although it did nothing to suppress the heavy heat of the late afternoon, it kept the steering wheel from searing her hands. Sunlight glared off the remaining cars in the parking lot. She was late leaving school again. Turning on the ignition, she switched the air conditioner on high.

In the rearview mirror, she noticed new furrows in her brow. She tried rubbing them away with her fingers, knowing it was useless. They were the product of the stress this past two months. She took her foot off the brake and smoothly moved the car back from the reserve spot for teacher of the month. She regarded it as one good happening as opposed to other happenings in her life lately. She figured she was the first person to be teacher of the month and become a parent of a ten-year-old girl in the same month. It has been a unique experience, to say the least, she thought.

One major change was the loss of her best friend, Cindy Griffin. She was now the guardian of Cindy’s ten-year-old daughter, Corey.

The care of a child of ten years is no small matter. It is one thing to have children in class all day and another to deal with them on a twenty-four-hour basis. She had always figured when she decided to raise a family she would be a stay-at-home mother. Boy, were her plans changed in a hurry.

Pulling out into the traffic on Main Street, she drove to the post office. She slowed to let some boys jaywalk in front of her, returning their friendly waves. She smiled as she watched them swaggering in their youthful strides.

In the sixties, boys adopted a rebellious walk—the swagger. The hair was shorter then … not much, though, she mused. The rebels of her day had adopted the below-the-collar longer style, slicked back with one lock falling onto the forehead. One rebel in particular came to mind: Cindy’s ex-husband, Michael Griffin. I wonder if he still wears his hair longer than fashionable, she reflected, remembering Michael as the rebel. His parents dead, he practically raised himself. He lived with his oldest sister when he was home. He worked after school and was very active in sports in school. He wanted to play pro football. Marjean remembered Cindy being excited about it.

Just think, Marjean, we’ll get to travel all over the world. We’ll meet famous people and live in great places like New York, Miami, and—her eyes got bigger—and maybe even Hawaii!

Marjean was stunned at first. She had never thought about Cindy marrying Michael. She blinked and whispered, Hawaii?

Cindy looked puzzled. Yeah, Hawaii. You know, palm trees, beaches, hula dancers. Swinging her hips and waving her hands in front of her, she demonstrated.

Marjean mumbled something about having to go home. She walked home, head down, hugging her books, thinking about the future, but not her future. It had never occurred to her that Michael and Cindy would get married. She parked in a space facing the town square and hurried into the cool recess of the post office. She opened a mailbox and pulled out the mail and retreated to her car.

Near the stop light on the west corner of the town square, she remembered Dick MacCall, Cindy’s lawyer, wanted her to give a final check for outstanding bills so he could wrap up Cindy’s estate. Marjean was thankful for him. Although she had been named executrix of Cindy’s estate and guardian of Corey, she was befuddled by all the legal aspects. She had taken care of her parents’ estate, but she was unsure when dealing with a non-relative’s estate. When she agreed to be named Corey’s guardian, Marjean never dreamed it would ever happen. Neither Cindy nor she foresaw the tragic accident that would take Cindy’s life during a routine operation.

Marjean left the highway through a side street, which opened into a large cul-de-sac. Cindy’s home was a two-storied colonial with an attached double garage.

She sighed and faced the heat again outside the cool car. She stepped into the hallway and lifted the small lid of the mailbox on the wall next to the door. She removed letters and bulk mail inside and took them to the kitchen.

She set one official-looking letter aside and sorted the other mail. Finally, she turned back to the first envelope. It was from a law firm in Milo City. Marjean wondered if she dare open the letter. As executrix of the estate, she could do it.

As she pondered the thought, she looked around the stuffy room. The cool gray sand shell colors of the decor seemed so different from the brassy teenager she knew in high school. The effects of Cindy’s sophisticated lifestyle were reflected in the overstuffed muted-tone couch and loveseat accented by tortoise shell pillows, glass, and brass end tables topped with touch lamps. Blurred nature scenes filled strategic places, complementing the soft reds and browns of the native stone fireplace. A large console television rested under the picture window.

In the small area at the back of the room near the patio doors was a small glass-topped dining set. Things Marjean had seen hundreds of times in the four years of her renewed friendship with Cindy. It hurt to know that soon they wouldn’t be there. My god, how she missed Cindy. Her eyes blurred. She wiped the threatening tears.

Their friendship had begun in kindergarten. Smiling, outgoing Cindy had come up to a frightened Marjean and helped her survive the first day of school. They were steadfast buddies through the lower grades, but they drifted apart as teenagers. Cindy was the party girl; Marjean was the studious one. Marjean went off to college. Cindy remained the hometown girl, marrying right out of high school. Michael Griffin came to mind again. Twice in less than an hour, she thought. When he hadn’t been a hot topic in the four years since her return. Cindy had mentioned that she hadn’t heard from him since their divorce. She never explained further, and Marjean never asked. Her mother had told her in one of her infrequent letters that Michael and Cindy had married.

She wondered what made some people seek their lives elsewhere while people like Cindy and Dick MacCall were content to live their lives in a small town. Dick had gone to law school and come back home to a partnership in his father’s firm. I came home, as well, but years later, Marjean acknowledged. She came home to care for her ailing mother.

There was nothing else Marjean had to do here today. Tossing the junk mail in the trash, she looked again at the out-of-town address on the letter and tried to think if Cindy had ever mentioned this particular law firm.

She supposed she could ask Corey if she had ever heard her mother mention the law firm or any business in Milo City. She doubted it. She smiled inwardly. The image of a small face with a turned-up nose bridged with freckles and sky blue sparkling eyes, just like Michael’s, and a grin to match, showing straight white teeth filled her mind. Corey had her mother’s smile and her zest for life. Her thick dark brown hair was blunt cut, giving it some bounce. Always talking a mile a minute, Corey had more ideas going through her heard than Marjean could keep track of. Sometimes she had to stop the child, make her calm down, speak slower so she could understand her. Corey’s proverbial train of thought was always being derailed by new ideas.

She had worried about Corey when Cindy died. Corey had become withdrawn and quiet for a few days after the funeral. She wouldn’t talk to Marjean about her feelings. After a trip to see a counselor, Corey had finally come into Marjean’s room one night, and they shared their feelings with each other. She felt Corey had adjusted well in the short time since her mother’s death. She was doing better in school, and she laughed more.

Marjean became aware of the heat in the kitchen. She had been so wrapped up in her thoughts she had forgotten where she was. She noticed the letter in her hand.

Decisively, she opened the flap of the envelope. She drew out a check for five hundred dollars made out to Cynthia Griffin. The check was drawn on the law firm’s account in Milo City. Marjean just stared at the check then slipped it back into the envelope. She looked at her watch. Too late to catch Dick at his office. She would take the check to his office in the morning.

Chapter Two

Marjean was greeted with squeals and laughter at the sitter’s house. Silently envying the innocence of childhood, she surveyed the chaos before feeling Corey tug at her skirt to get her attention. Marjean smiled as Edith Mason extracted herself from a clutch of small fry playing in the sand pile.

Edith was older than Marjean by a couple of years. Settled into being a housewife and mother after high school, Edith found herself alone when her children grew up and left home. Her favorite saying was Laughter makes a house a home. With that philosophy in mind, she started a day care to help with household expenses but primarily to fill long lonely hours. Her truck driver husband was away most of the month on long hauls. Having children around kept her from missing him when he was gone for weeks at a time.

Corey, slow down. Marjean put her hand on the brown cap of shining hair.

Interrupting again, the little girl tried to explain, But if we don’t let my teacher know tomorrow, I won’t get to go. The little girl’s face was screwed up with concern.

Where won’t you get to go? Marjean queried.

To the museum. I forgot to give you the paper yesterday, and the teacher said I wouldn’t get to go if I didn’t bring the paper back on Monday. Corey’s eyes shone with unshed tears.

Where is the paper, Corey? Think. Is it in your backpack? Don’t cry, Marjean reassured her. We’ll take care of it, and you’ll get to go to the museum. Go get your stuff while I talk to Edith, OK?

Corey ran into the other room, wiping her eyes on her sleeve of her shirt.

Edith was shaking her head. These children! You’d think the world will collapse if they don’t get to do somethin’. Edith was grinning from ear to ear, causing the wrinkles at either side of her mouth to look like the opening curtains of a stage. Her eyes were narrowed by her smile so that one could only see small dots of black nestled in her cheeks.

Marjean always wondered where Edith got the energy to chase little toddlers all day, not counting the after-school children she cared for when mothers, like herself, worked late.

Well, countered Marjean, I would assume the world was going to end if I was left out of something that big when I was little. Kids get to do so much more than when I was in school. No wonder some outreach their teachers and become bored with learning.

I just can’t see where kids get the idea that they don’t need to learn today. It ain’t all in the books, I guess. But we were told it was. But then we had to walk to school, and there were chores to do afterward. I was one to want to stay at school instead of going home and doing chores. I would get in as late as I could so I missed them. Edith looked at Marjean conspiratorially. Didn’t you?

Shaking her head and laughing, Marjean said, Not me. I never had to worry about chores. Remember, you were the country girl. I was the city girl. My mom always did the housework.

Yeah, the life of ease of the rich and famous, Edith said.

Corey came in with her backpack slung over her shoulder. Marjean took her hand and started for the door. Edith held it open.

Are you going to be home this weekend?

Why? Is something going on I should know about? Marjean raised her eyebrows.

No, no, just a bunch going to crowd around the grill Saturday night and feed our faces and watch some movies. Wanna come? Hank will be home for a change.

I don’t know just yet, replied Marjean. Corey has the weekend with her grandparents, and I need to get some work around the house done, plus some grading to do. If I can come, I will give you a call Saturday morning sometime so you can buy an extra wiener.

Oh, there should be plenty unless you wait until Doug gets into the hot dogs. You know how he is. He is going to turn into a hot dog one of these days.

You shouldn’t talk about your youngest son that way, chided Marjean.

Youngest and biggest to boot. I swear if that boy doesn’t lose some weight, he is going to bust. He says it’s muscle, but I always heard you pump up muscles, not pump out stomachs! Edith laughed, shook her head, and closed the screen door.

Corey got into the backseat of the car while Marjean strapped herself in the front seat. Edith stood in the doorway, waving at them as they drove off.

How was your day other than forgetting to get your trip permit signed? asked Marjean, looking at Corey through the rear view mirror.

Corey gave her a rundown on her day’s events: from Bobby scribbling all over her math paper to the decent lunch of tacos and milk.

Marjean drove up the driveway into the open door of the attached garage of a two-storied gray-and-white house. She pushed the button to close the garage.

Getting out of the car, she told Corey to remember to bring her backpack. She made a mental note to go through it for other mislaid papers, like test reviews. Corey was a smart little girl, but every ten-year-old had the tendency to forget important things.

That thought brought her back to the check from the law firm in Milo City. She had put it in her purse when she had returned to the car. She reminded herself to contact Dick in the morning after she returned from the farm.

She laid her purse on the counter and opened the refrigerator.

Peering into the frozen wasteland of her freezer, she raised her voice enough for Corey to hear, What’ll it be for supper? You have a choice between turkey sandwiches or leftover goulash.

The small voice from the other end of the house was so garbled she couldn’t make out what Corey said. Marjean smiled. A trip to the bathroom was the first thing on the agenda with Corey. Turkey sandwiches, it was. She could finish the goulash this weekend while Corey was at the farm.

Saturday morning Marjean woke up feeling languorous. She knew she needed to get Corey up, but a few more minutes of sleep wouldn’t hurt. She closed her eyes, turned over, covered her head to block out the sunlight streaming in her window.

She was startled awake by the radio blaring in her ear. She reached over and shut off the noise. She had forgotten to shut off the alarm again. So much for