Right Where We Started. Pamela Hearon

Bailey had found Mark and were talking his ear off.

      “Let’s go, punkin,” she called as she approached them. “Grandma’s tired, and we need to get her home.”

      Bailey’s eyes went wide. “You can’t go home yet. We haven’t done the greased pig contest. Please don’t go.”

      Tess’s eyes turned pleading. “Can we stay, Mama? Please? I don’t want to miss the greased pig contest.”

      Although Bailey brought it up, Audrey knew she had no one but herself to blame. For years, she’d told Tess hilarious stories about kids trying to catch the greased pigs—standard entertainment fare at Taylor’s Grove picnics.

      “I want to go home.” Audrey’s mom’s voice had an agitated edge. “Take me home. I want to go home, now. Take me home.”

      “Please, Mama? Can we stay?” Tess whined.

      “Home! Take me home!” Her mom jerked on her arm, and Audrey felt herself coming apart, pulled in two directions.

      “I’ll bring Tess home.” Mark was suddenly beside her. He kept his voice low, in case she wanted to turn him down.

      “Thanks, but no. I don’t want to put you ou—” Her mom broke away and started back to the gazebo.

      “It won’t put me out. We’re neighbors.” A lump lodged in her throat at the kindness in his words.

      She turned around to check on her mom, thankful that some of the ladies had stopped her and were calming her in hushed tones.

      “Please, can I stay, Mama?” Tess bounced up and down in her eagerness.

      The whole town was holding its breath, waiting for her answer.

      Or maybe it was only Mark.

      Either way, she so didn’t want to be the center of attention.

      She looked around and found Bree headed back to the table, too busy with Isaiah to be cognizant of the drama brewing around her.

      Audrey caught up with her. “Hey, Mom’s ready to leave, but Tess wants to stay for the kids’ activities. Could y’all bring her home when you leave?”

      “Of course. No problem.” Bree grinned and nodded at Tess, who’d followed her mom.

      Audrey was rewarded with a hug to her leg and then Tess bounded off, perhaps before she could change her mind. “You sure you don’t mind?” She kept her eyes on Bree and away from Mark.

      “Not at all.” Bree waved her away as she started toward the table again. “Go take care of Helen.”

      “Okay. Thanks.” Turning back toward her mom, Audrey couldn’t continue to ignore Mark’s looming presence. She glanced up at him. “Bree’s taking care of it. Thanks anyway.”

      The look shadowing his face spurred her away, barbecued ribs and his alienation congealing in a heavy mass in the pit of her stomach.

      * * *

      “ISAIAH THREW UP on Bree and Kale both.” Mark answered the question on Audrey’s distressed face as she held open her front door.

      She recovered quickly, her face twisting into a look of feigned horror as she took in her daughter’s appearance. “Did they decide to grease you in place of one of the pigs?”

      Mark wasn’t sure he was being invited in, but he wasn’t going to lose the opportunity. He grabbed the door and followed the child’s giggle inside.

      “I had one, and I tried to hold on real tight.” Tess made a circle with her arms, pantomiming the tale. “But he squirted out like toothpaste does when I smush it, and then he ran ’round and ’round and ’round.” She scrambled around the two adults in a tight circle.

      Audrey watched Tess, shooting him a look during the third orbit that asked where he’d picked up this alien life form.

      He gave a sheepish shrug. “Too much sugar, probably. I let her have a snow cone with extra syrup.”

      “Two!” Tess said, correcting him, still making laps around them.

      Audrey scrubbed her hand down her tired face, squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head. She grabbed her daughter on the next pass and brought the pig chase to a stop. “Hey. You know the rules. Tomorrow’s a school day. Shower, teeth, then bed. Lights out at eight. No exceptions.”

      “I’m not sleepy.” Tess gave a petulant thrust to her bottom lip—exactly the way Audrey used to do when she was peeved. The expression twanged a poignant chord across Mark’s heartstrings.

      “No exceptions,” Audrey vowed. “Now tell Mr. Dublin thank you for bringing you home and good night.”

      He noted the slight emphasis she placed on the last word but chose to ignore it.

      Tess shot him a look of reluctant surrender. “Thank you for bringing me home. Good night.”

      “Good night, Tess.” His wink flattened her protruded bottom lip into a slight smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

      “Thank you.” Audrey’s words dripped with dismissal. “Good night.”

      He made no move toward the door. “I thought I might stay a while if you’re not too busy.” He saw the protest on her lips and added, “To talk about how things are going.”

      Her eyes cut to her daughter and back before she drew a deep, resigned breath. “All right. Let me get her tucked in. Please have a seat.”

      He did as she instructed, but the formality in her tone made him want to throw something. It wasn’t like he was a first-time visitor. He’d practically lived in this house, spending more hours here some days than he did in his own home.

      He scanned the dining area of the kitchen—the part he could see. Countless meals he’d shared at the Paschals’ table—even had his own designated seat. The piano still sat where he’d last heard Helen playing the Chopin she so dearly loved. The couch he sat on was different from the maroon-and-green plaid of their teenage years, and the recliner where Audrey’s dad had snored in front of the television had been replaced. That observation brought on a pang of regret he hadn’t been home for Owen’s funeral. The guy had been like a second father to him... Would surely have been his father-in-law but for the events of that tragic night eleven years ago.

      The night that threw his life on a totally different trajectory from what he’d always imagined it would be.

      And yet...here he was.

      He forced himself to turn and look at the arrangement of pictures on the sofa table in front of the window, ready to confront Callie’s memory. But not ready to confront what was there. Not the one picture of Callie he remembered—her junior year school picture, her last one. Instead, the table was filled with photos of her, all the other family photos replaced by Callie from birth to her last days.

      The sight punched him in the gut so hard, he felt bile rise in his throat. Burning guilt left a trail as he swallowed and it singed his soul, exposing the tender, raw wound that never completely healed.

      His heart flew into a beat that pumped blood into his legs and encouraged him to run from this place and never return.

      But he had returned—to this town, this house—for precisely this reason. He’d run from his demons for far too long. Tonight he would face them, and every day from here on.

      He stood and walked to the shrine on legs that were stiff and heavy. His fingers clenched, drawing tighter into fists with every step. By the time he stood by the table, they refused him the right to touch even the frames. But he forced his eyes to linger on each picture, met her gaze in every one and spoke his heart. “I’m sorry, Callie. Sorry for the part I played in your death. You were a good friend. I loved you, and I miss you every day. I know I can’t take back the words, can’t bring you back.” Tears stung his eyes, and he stopped. His vision had to