Painted Promises

Chapter One

Dad. Dead. Home. 15 years. Dad. Home. 15 years. Dead. Passed away. Back home. Gone.

John's thoughts kept running disjointedly. He could not seem to complete a coherent thought. As he tried to think of one thing, something else cut in, leaving him with single words and short phrases in his mind. He had been overly quiet at supper because of this. Not that anyone had spoken much. Had his stepmother eaten anything? Had his brother? Had he? He must have. His stomach was not making noise anymore. 

Taking in a deep breath he tried to settle his mind, think of nothing for even just a moment. How quiet it was. Had it always been this quiet here? After living in St. Louis the last 10 years, the stillness was disturbing, and comforting at the same time. Home. 15 years. John shook his head to keep the fragments of thought away. He looked around the yard trying to find the changes since he had last been there. The moonlight did not cooperate, though, and he could only make out vague shapes and forms. The tree where the tire swing used to hang was gone. The fence had been replaced. The flower bed in front of the house was bigger. As John walked aimlessly he tried to focus his thoughts on his childhood. He had grown up in this house. This was the place that embodied the first 22 years of his life. Had it really been 15 years since he had laid eyes on this house? Stepped foot on this property? Spent time with his family inside?

The sudden complete darkness halted his steps. He had entered the edge of the woods behind the house. The leaves on the trees blocked what little moonlight had guided him earlier. But he knew where he was. The structure in front of him was a darker blob in the dark woods. As he fumbled for the door latch he marveled at how, even after all of this time, his feet had automatically led him here, like a migrating bird. This had been their playhouse when small, rec room as teenagers, hideout as young adults. John's most ingrained, lingering memories, and regrets, were in this shed. 

He closed his eyes as he reached for the light switch, not wanting to blind himself after walking in the dark. He stood like that for a few moments letting the feel of the room come to him. As he slowly opened his eyes, his glance darted around. The room seemed smaller than he remembered. The stack of boxes of Christmas decorations was taller. The table covered with potting soil and gardening tools was new. The bench along the back wall had a cushion now. He covered the distance from the door to the bench in five steps. No dust. Someone must be making use of this place quite often. 

John dropped onto the bench with a thud. In this place, this refuge, he finally allowed himself to feel all of the pain of the day. The pain everywhere - his body, his mind, his heart. Had it really only been 12 hours since his brother called to tell him their father had a heart attack?

"Mama Ann wants you here. This isn't about dad. This is about her and the rest of us. Come home. There's nothing to stop you now."

John remembered the pleading tone in his brother's voice. Eric's work often took him to St. Louis and the two brothers would meet whenever possible. It was not as though they had not seen each other all of these years. But this was different. Their father was dead. Even though his father had disowned him, he was still John's father. After promising to come as soon as possible, John had slowly made preparations. The fog around him was thick throughout the day. Too much at once. Dad dead. Going home. The emotional turmoil kept him from remembering much about what he did after the call. 

The shed door squeaked as it was opened, startling John out of his thoughts. 

"I knew you'd be here."

Katrina advanced toward John, the slightest twitch of a grin on her lips. He could only look up at her and blink.

"I'm surprised it took you this long to come out here." Without taking her eyes off of him, she raised a cell phone to her ear. "Found him. Just a sec." The cell phone was thrust into his hand as she mouthed 'Timothy.'

Unconsciously, John cringed as he answered the call. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves before speaking. 

"Sorry I didn't call you earlier...I guess...as good as it can be...yeah, I'm okay." Katrina was messing with something at the potting table. "I know...yeah...thanks...me, too...bye."

When she heard him end the call, Katrina went and sat down next to him on the bench. For a few minutes neither person spoke, lost in their own memories and thoughts. John glanced at her without moving his head. Had there ever been a time in his life without her? Their mothers had been best friends, so "JJ" and  "Rini" had always been together. He had always been more comfortable around her than any of his male friends simply because she had always been there and knew him best. Even when his widowed dad married her divorced mom, John and Katrina were best friends, refusing to acknowledge each other as step-siblings.

"Why didn't he come with you?" Katrina asked in a voice just louder than a whisper. At John's silence she continued, "You know how mom and the rest of us feel, JJ. There's no reason you couldn't bring him with you today."

He couldn't tell her the truth with his own mouth. He thought he was past all of the anger and hurt and frustration that had led to his father throwing him out of the house all of those years ago. But his first sight of Rini earlier in the day had brought it all back. Perhaps that is what had been bothering him the most. 

"He'll be here Saturday for the funeral," he finally said. 

Saturday - when the man he gave up his family for and had loved for the last 15 years would, for the first time, meet the woman he had loved all of his life.