A Long Way Back to Troy

Chapter Three

"So, you'll come?" Tricia asked from across the miles.

I blew into the mid-May air, which had already grown warm and muggy. I stood outside in what had once been a romantic English garden, which Jason—Mr. Genius in the landscaping department—had created for me shortly after we'd moved into this sprawling house with lush lawns in one of the most desired areas of Central Florida. Jason had made his fortune here during the housing rush when everybody and their brother descended to live near the "happiest place on earth," and this house was living, breathing proof.

(If you think you hear sarcasm in my voice, you do.)

But we'd been happy then, the four of us—Jason, Patrick, Seth, and I. We had everything to live for and nothing to fear. I flourished in my work as a teacher, Jason in his work as a landscape designer, and Patrick and Seth were the typical sons of typical children of the 70s. No wonder I hadn't seen the weeds sprouting among the flowers or the thorns along the roses' dark, thick stems until it was too late to do anything about it.

"Yes," I said, now walking along a brick walkway that snaked between the mostly overgrown garden.

Trisha laughed with relief. "I can't believe it. I simply cannot believe it. Jeannie Travis is actually going to come back home and attend one of her class reunions. Wait till I tell—"

"Don't get too excited. I could always cancel. Back out."

"You wouldn't dare."

I kicked at a pebble with the toe of my sandal before kneeling in front of a cluster of sunflowers with upturned faces to yank at a few weeds growing along the bricks. "I wouldn't dare," I admitted because, once I set my mind to something, that was that. "So, what are the plans? What do I need to wear?"

"We're having a barbecue on Friday night at Barry Paxton's," she said, her voice clearly conveying how ecstatic she'd become at my decision. "The weather is still pretty cool up here at night, even in early June, so plan for slacks and maybe a sweater or a light jacket."

"All right," I said, knowing I'd have to go shopping shortly before the trip. If there had been a single rainbow in my divorce, it had been the weight loss. Not that I'd grown plump in the years since Jason and I had said "I do," but I had most assuredly grown thicker. So had he, for that matter ... not that Tiffany seemed to mind. Who cares if a man has a little paunch in his gut if his bank account is sufficiently cushioned? "And Saturday?"

"A picnic at the river—you can probably get away with shorts or capris for that—and then Saturday night is the fancy-schmancy dinner at Au Petit Salut," she concluded, the accent on the restaurant's name ... parfait. "So, dress accordingly."

I sighed again as I stood, my knees protesting at the strain. "Sounds lovely."

"And don't you dare get a hotel room. You can stay here ... with Earl and me. We've got scads of space and more than enough guest bedrooms."

Yes. That's right ... Trisha and Earl had married somewhere between their junior and senior years of college. Then Trisha, a nurse, put Earl through medical school and Earl, God bless his heart, worked his way to becoming one of the most sought-after cardiac surgeons on the planet. And, from all I could gather, a loyal husband and devoted father and, now, grandfather.

"I don't think—" I started, but Trisha cut me off.

"Look ... I know you and Earl dated through high school and I know the two of you got your freak on in the back seat of his daddy's car, but that's all water under the bridge, Jeannie. Ancient history. I mean, it practically rates right up there with Caesar getting his toga torn on the night he was assassinated. It's just old ... stuff."

My mouth hung open long enough that I was forced to swat a mosquito away. "Excuse me," I said. "Your husband and I never got our freak on in the back seat of his daddy's car."

"Well, I know that, Jeannie."

I started for the shade of the patio where a chaise lounge stretched an invite for me to come unwind. Take a load off. Have a glass of lemonade ... or a beer, whichever I happened upon first in the fridge. "Then why did you say it?"

"I meant the two of you when you dated ... not after he became my husband."

"I'll have you know," I said, now completely indignant, "that Earl and I never ... ever ... did ... that."

"Oh," she said, the single word coming as a staccato note.

"Did he tell you that? Earl? Did he indicate that he'd gotten to home plate with me?"

"No, no, no. I just ... well, I assumed ... I mean, Jeannie, you have to admit that you and Earl were pretty hot and heavy until—"

I stepped into the air-conditioned chill of my home and headed straight for the kitchen where I opened the refrigerator and reached immediately for a beer off the top shelf, the bottle cold and sweating. I twisted off the top, tossed the cap onto the granite countertop, and stepped back into the heat of the patio before plopping down onto the chaise. "Until Truck Hardy came along," I finished for her before downing half of the bottle in one fluid movement. "I wondered how long before the topic of him would come up."

"Jeannie ..."

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. "I'm not upset."

"Yes, you are, Travis. I know you better than that."

"And I never slept with Earl."

"I just assumed. I'm sorry."

"I mean, we got pretty frisky ..." I laughed then, the memory of our fumbling about rushing over me. "Third base and all that."

Trisha laughed, too. "Didn't we all?"

The beer took affect and I settled down. "It was all so different back then, wasn't it, Trish?"

"It was."

I took another long swallow of beer. "Even our sins were innocent."

"Yep."

The musical chime of my doorbell brought me upright, my feet to the polished brick of the patio floor. "Trish, I gotta go. The gardener is here."

"Gardener?"

"Yeah ... I'm hiring someone to get this yard back in shape before I put the house on the market." I stood as the doorbell rang again.

"I didn't know—"

"I gotta go," I saidagain. "But I'll call you later and fill you in."

"Promise?"

"Promise."