“Seriously. If people love each other, the words don’t matter much.”
“You’re very wise, Janeway. And you’re right. I know they’re not going to judge me. They’ll just offer me comfort and shelter and love.”
“And you shudder at the thought.”
“I sure do.”
We sat for another minute. I let the car idle and the heater run and I didn’t push her either way. At last she said, “Let’s go see if Thomas Wolfe was right when he said you can’t go home again.”
I turned into the driveway. It was a long dirt road that wound through the trees. The rain was beating down steadily, a ruthless drumbeat. In a moment I saw lights appear through the trees. A house rose up out of the mist, an old frame building with a wide front porch. It looked homey and warm, like home is supposed to look to a tired and heartsick traveler. But Eleanor had begun to shiver as we approached. “Th-there,” she said through chattering teeth. “Just pull around the house and park in front.” But as I did this, she gripped my arm: my headlights had fallen on a car. “Somebody’s here! Turn around, don’t stop, for God’s sake keep going!” Then we saw the lettering on the car door—the vista printing company—and I could almost feel the relief flooding over her. “It’s okay, it’s just Uncle Archie,” she said breathlessly. “It’s Mamma’s uncle,” she said, as if I had been the worried one. A light came on, illuminating the porch and casting a beam down the stairs into the yard: someone inside had heard us coming. I pulled up in front of the other car at the foot of the porch steps. A face peered through cupped hands at the door. “Mamma,” Eleanor said, “oh, God, Mamma.” She wrenched open the door and leaped out into the rain. The woman met her on the porch with a shriek and they fell into each other’s arms, hugging as if they hadn’t seen each other for a lifetime and probably wouldn’t again, after tonight. I heard the woman yell, “Gaston!…Get out here!” and then a man appeared and engulfed them both with bearlike arms. I had a sinking feeling as I watched them, like Brutus might’ve felt just before he stabbed Caesar.
Now Eleanor was waving to me. I got out and walked through the rain and climbed the steps to the porch. “This is the man who saved my life,” Eleanor said dramatically, and I was hooked by the woman and pulled in among them. The man gripped my arm and the woman herded us all inside. “This place is a shambles,” she said, picking up a magazine and shooing us on. I was swept through a hallway to a well-lit kitchen where a tall, thin man sat at the table. He got to his feet as we came in, and we all got our first real look at each other. The woman was young: she might easily have passed for Eleanor’s older sister, though I knew she had to be at least my age. But there wasn’t a wrinkle on her face nor a strand of gray: her only concession to age was a pair of small-framed granny glasses. The man was burly: my height and heavier, about the size of an NFL lineman. His hair was curly and amber and he had a beard to match. The man at the table was in his sixties, with slate-gray hair and leathery skin. Eleanor introduced them. “This is my father, Gaston Rigby…my mother, Crystal…my uncle, Archie Moon. Guys, this is Mr. Janeway.” We all shook hands. Rigby’s hand was tentative but his eyes were steady. Archie Moon gripped my hand firmly and said he was glad to meet me. Crystal said that, whatever I had done for their daughter, they were in my debt— doubly so for bringing her home to them.
There was more fussing, those first awkward moments among strangers. Rigby seemed shy and reserved: he hung back and observed while Crystal and Eleanor did the talking. Hospitality was the order of the moment: Crystal wanted us to eat, but Eleanor told her we had stopped on the road. “Well, damn your eyes, you oughta be spanked,” Crystal said. She asked if we’d like coffee at least: I said that sounded wonderful. Eleanor said, “I think what Mr. Janeway would like better than anything is some dry clothes,” and Crystal took my measure with her eyes. “I think some of your old things would fit him close enough, Gaston,” she said. “Get him a pair of those old jeans and a flannel shirt and I’ll get the coffee on.”
Rigby disappeared and Crystal bustled about. “Get down that good china for me, will you, Archie?” she said, and Moon reached high over her head and began to take down the cups. Eleanor and I sat at the kitchen table, lulled by the sudden warmth. Impulsively she reached across and took my hand, squeezing it and smiling into my eyes. I thought she was probably on the verge of tears. Then the moment passed and she drew back into herself as Moon came with the cups and saucers and began setting them around the table.
“None for me, honey,” he said. “I been coffeed-out since noon, won’t sleep a wink if I drink another drop.”
“I got some decaf,” Crystal said.
“Nah; I gotta get goin‘.”
“What’ve you gotta do?” Crystal said mockingly. “You ain’t goin‘ a damn place but back to that old shack.”
“Never mind what I’m gonna do. You don’t know everything that’s goin‘ on in my life, even if you think you do.”
They laughed at this with good humor. They spoke a rich Southern dialect, which Crystal was able to modify when she talked to us. “This old man is impossible,” she said. “Would you please talk to him while I get the coffee on?— otherwise he’ll run off and get in trouble.”
Moon allowed himself to be bullied for the moment. He sat beside Eleanor and said, “Well, Mr. Janeway, what do people call you in casual conversation?”
“Cliff sometimes brings my head up.”
“What line of work are you in?”
“Why is that always the first thing men ask?” Crystal said.
“It defines them,” Eleanor said.
“So, Mr. Janeway,” Moon said loudly. “What line of work are you in?”
“Right now I’m between things.”
“An old and honorable calling. I’ve been in that line once or twice myself. Sometimes it can be pretty good.”
“As long as you come up smiling.”
