Surprises

During my five months on the various trails, I'd left hair and beard go completely. After 25 years of high and tight, I now looked like a hippy out of the sixties. My clothes were worn and I was gaunt, probably 15 pounds lighter than when I'd left the Army. And I'd been in excellent condition, well within height and weight limits, when I'd left the Army.

I took almost a week to drive from New England to Alabama. I stopped at various Civil War battlefields along the way. I spent most of a day at the D-Day Memorial in Bedford, Virginia. I took in some country music in Nashville and toured the Jack Daniels distillery in Lynchburg. As I got closer to Franklin County, the call of home beckoned and I got focused on reaching the farm. When I pulled in on a Tuesday afternoon in early August, it was about 4:30.

I hadn't notified Ben that I was coming, in part because I wasn't sure when I'd arrive and in part because I knew the farmhouse would need a complete overhaul for me to live in it. I figured to camp out for a couple of weeks while I got things squared away, so notifying Ben was not a priority. I'd tell him I'd gotten there when I arrived.

Upon my arrival, I got my second surprise. I was dumbstruck when I pulled up the driveway to the farmhouse. While I'd asked Ben Fellowes to care for the place, I certainly hadn't expected to find the flowerbeds completely mulched and in full bloom, the roof replaced, the front porch and siding painted and the lawn freshly mowed and edged. The place looked like it was lived in by someone who really cared, not vacant for over a decade. Had I not been so surprised, I would have been a bit more cautious about what was going on.

I got out of my truck, walked up the path to the front porch, pulled out the key I'd carried on my key ring since I'd first had a key ring and opened the screen door. To my surprise, the front door was unlocked. I walked into the house, allowing the screen door to slam behind me. For a moment, I paused, waiting to hear Meemaw say, "Billy, I've told you a thousand times. Close that screen door gently. Don't let it slam." As I turned to close the front door, I got my third surprise, in the form of a sound that I immediately recognized. It was my grandfather's Ithaca 37 12-gauge pump shotgun loading a shell into the chamber.

I froze. A woman's voice behind me said, "Mister, I don't know where you're from, but in this part of the world strangers knock or ring the bell and wait to be admitted. They don't just walk in."

I held my hands out from my sides and said, "M'am, I'm going to turn around slowly. Please be careful with that shotgun."

I turned and saw an attractive brunette, apparently in her mid-20s, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, holding that 12-gauge on her shoulder, pointing it directly at my midsection.

"M'am, I'm Billy McKenna. This is my house. I grew up here. That's why I walked in the front door. May I ask who you are?"

"Mister, I don't know who you are, but you aren't Billy McKenna. Billy McKenna is an Army officer. He's a lieutenant colonel in the infantry. He certainly isn't some hippy-haircut bearded freak in old clothes. Now who the hell are you and what are you doing here? You should know I've already called the Sheriff's department and they'll be here soon, so you better start talking." (She hadn't actually called the Sheriff's department, but I didn't find that out until later. The young woman had plenty of self-confidence about her ability to handle the situation.)

I was wearing cargo shorts and my wallet was in the left leg pocket of those shorts. "M'am, I'm going to reach very slowly into my pants and pull out my wallet. I'll show you my ID card. You're going to find that I'm Billy McKenna, U.S. Army retired. I've been backpacking and traveling the last 5 months and didn't see the need maintain military grooming on the trail."

With that, I ever so slowly reached into my pocket, lifted out my wallet and removed my military retiree ID card. I placed it on the table next to the door and backed away so the woman could approach and examine it, which she did. She looked at me, then at the card, then at me again, before saying, "Not much of a resemblance."

"That's all you're going to get until you let me clean up. And I'll ask again, who are you? And would you please put the shotgun down? I come in peace."

The woman lowered the shotgun. "I'm Sarah Fellowes. I live here. Actually, I've been caring for this place since I was 18. After Meemaw and Pawpaw died, I needed a place to stay when I wasn't at college. Then I needed a place to live when I started teaching. Since my father was supposed to be caring for the place for LTC McKenna, I moved in and took over. It's been my home for the last five years."

I looked around and realized that this Sarah woman had been scrupulously caring for the place. The furniture was polished to the point where it gleamed. The interior had a fresh coat of paint. The hardwood glistened and the carpets were spotless. It was as if Meemaw had reappeared to care for the house. It hadn't looked this good the last few times I'd visited, despite Meemaw's best efforts. Sarah clearly loved the place, or at least cared for it as if she did.

It finally hit me. "You're Ben Fellowes' daughter. You were the girl Meemaw was caring for. The one who soaked my shirt at their funeral."

"That's me. You'd only know that if you were Billy McKenna. So it must actually be you under all that hair. What are you doing back here? Are you really retired? Are you moving back permanently?"

"Well, yes, I'm Billy. And yes, I'm retired. I haven't decided whether I'm moving back permanently or not. But I am coming back until I can decide what to do with the place."

"Shit! Pardon my French. Does this mean you want me to move out?"

"Why? There are three bedrooms. You've been caring for the place better than I could. If you don't mind having a housemate, I don't mind having you stay. I do need to insist on a few things, though. I start paying you to care for the place. And I'd like to reimburse you for what you've spent on the place during the last 10 years or so."

"That's not going to happen. You can have the utilities. Treat what I've spent as rent. It's been far less than an apartment in town would have been. Plus, this has been more of a home to me for over 20 years than my father's place. I did what I did here out of love for Meemaw and Pawpaw."

And with that, Sarah Fellowes and I became housemates.

CHAPTER TWO

Once she'd put the shotgun away, I'd taken some time to look carefully at Sarah Fellowes. She was a brunette, hair in a braid at the back of her head extending about halfway down her back, about 5'5" and maybe 120 pounds. If I'd had to guess, she had B-cup breasts and filled out her jeans quite nicely. She had cupid lips and a cute little snub nose. In short, she was pretty, if not model beautiful, clearly took care of herself and quick enough on the uptake to make herself interesting.

As I looked around the house carefully, it appeared no different from when Meemaw and Pawpaw had lived in it, except for one missing photograph. The picture of me at my basic training graduation was gone from the mantle, replaced by the picture of my OCS graduation. I assumed Meemaw had made the switch.

Sarah was living in the guest bedroom. I took Meemaw and Pawpaw's old bedroom. My old bedroom was still as I'd left it, but the memories were a bit too sharp for me to move into it. I figured that the next owner would deal with that room.

Sarah and I quickly fell into a routine. I was still getting up at 5:30 to run and I discovered she was a runner as well. We laid out a 3-mile course and ran it together in the mornings. I let Sarah set the pace, partially to allow her to feel comfortable and partially because I liked watching her ass when she ran. When we got back to the farmhouse, she'd go shower and I'd make breakfast. After she finished, we'd eat together, then she'd leave to teach school and I'd do the yard work. Once the yard work was completed, I'd spend time working on the restoration of Pawpaw's '49 Chevy pickup, which I'd found under a tarp in the barn. With no internet service at the house, I'd frequently end up in town, either trying to purchase parts from the local auto parts house or looking for parts using the library's internet connection. I'd quit around 4:00, shower and start dinner. Sarah would generally return from teaching around 4:30. We'd have dinner around 5:30, wash the dishes, then Sarah would prepare for the next day's lessons while I read. Once she finished, we'd talk for a while, head for bed, and then start all over again the next day.

Sarah was enrolled in an on-line program to complete the last three courses she needed for her master's degree. On class days, she stayed at school so she had access to the internet, using the school's Wi-Fi or library access. The farmhouse still had no television or internet connection and even cell phone service was spotty at the best of times.

It didn't take long for word to spread that I was back. Apparently, solvent, single, reasonably fit men in their early 40s were in short supply in the county. Every time I went to town, I got the distinct impression that there was an early warning system installed somewhere. There was a plethora of single and divorced women from 25 to 55 who felt the need to engage me in conversation everywhere I went. There were also some unhappily married women who felt the same need. It's a small county and I knew that anything I did with a member of the opposite sex would reverberate through the general population immediately. Initially, I found myself comparing the women who approached me to Miriam. They did not do well by comparison. As time passed and I got to know Sarah better, my standard of comparison began to shift to her, although the other women's attractiveness wasn't helped by the change in standard.

I was not unaware that Sarah was a very attractive woman. I tried very hard to ignore that fact. Sarah was not immodest. She tended to wear shorts and a T-shirt in the summer, but that was a reasonable accommodation to the heat of an Alabama summer and fall. As we spent more time together, I did notice that she seemed to crave casual physical contact. She'd put her hand on my arm, or brush against me in the kitchen, or rest her feet in my lap when we were sitting on the sofa. Not surprisingly, her proximity generated a physical reaction on my part, which I did my best to hide. I still pictured her as that 15-year-old girl weeping hysterically for Meemaw and Pawpaw and could hear Meemaw's voice in my head telling me that I mustn't take advantage of her.

By the time the next school year started in August, I was largely done the restoration of the '49 Chevy. I had sent the seats to an upholstery house in Birmingham and was awaiting their return. The engine rebuild was complete, the painting finished, and the instruments replaced or restored. Once the seats were returned, I was ready to go.

With the restoration complete, I needed to find something else to do if I were going to stay. The County had an opening for a deputy chief operating officer. I applied and was offered the job. Since the County building was only a block from Sarah's elementary school, we carpooled most mornings unless one of us had to stay late for some reason.

We had resumed our normal schedule once school began, except that I was now showering after breakfast so I could accompany Sarah into town. Our evenings were not much different, except that Sarah seemed to be dressing a bit less conservatively. By 8:00 most evenings she was in her sleepwear while sitting on the couch. I found myself less able to focus on what I was reading because her T-shirt and shorts didn't cover much at all. Sarah was definitely flirting with me and I was having trouble resisting.

This continued until her girlfriend's wedding. Sarah had asked me to be her plus one and I'd reluctantly agreed. I was still hearing Meemaw's voice in my head cautioning me against taking advantage of my house mate. It was getting fainter, but it was still there.

The wedding was held in Birmingham and it was a delightful event. Sarah and I danced together repeatedly. I found myself aroused by dancing with her and tried to put some space between our bodies. Sarah had reacted by lowering a hand from my shoulder to my waist and pulling me close against her. My reaction was clear and she couldn't help but notice. When I looked in her eyes, I noticed her smiling. Keeping my hands off my house mate was starting to require a major effort. I'd booked us separate rooms at the hotel where the wedding was held and walked her to her door after the reception ended. She'd tilted her face up to me as I'd opened the door. I was sorely tempted, but still had Meemaw's voice echoing in my head. This was Meemaw's girl and I wasn't to take advantage of her. I'd kissed her gently on the forehead and walked away. I didn't see the tears running down her cheeks as she watched me go.

My resistance held until the school's annual Christmas party for the teachers and staff. Once again, I was Sarah's plus one. I ended up sitting at a table between Sarah and a teacher named Bobby Jo Gentry, the homecoming queen of our high school the year before I'd graduated. I'm pretty sure Bobby Jo had no idea I existed when we were in high school. But times change. Bobby Jo had gone to the University of Alabama, intent on obtaining a degree in education and an MRS degree. She'd accomplished both, landing a law student whose father was a senior partner in one of Alabama's largest and most prestigious law firms. The marriage had prospered initially, producing two children, both of whom were now in their mid-teens. Then it had foundered on a combination of her husband's cocaine use, hooker patronage and embezzlement of client funds. The marriage had ended with the now ex-husband disbarred and in jail and Bobby Jo moving back to Franklin County to live with her parents.

Bobby Jo was still an attractive woman and after I'd danced with Sarah several times, she'd asked me to dance as well. She was all but grinding against me, clearly interested in getting a reaction and succeeding. She was also whispering in my ear that she didn't understand why I hadn't asked her out since I'd been back and that she'd gladly spend a weekend with me somewhere private. The woman was all but asking me to take her somewhere and take her to bed.

Sarah could see what was going on and was clearly unhappy. Like at the wedding, when we danced together Sarah was clearly trying (and succeeding) to get a rise out of me. When she saw what Bobby Jo was up to, she hit the wine bottle a bit harder than she should have. By about 10:00, it was time to take her home. Sarah was drunk for the first time since I'd known her (and, I later learned, for the first time in her life). She was all over me in the car going home. I really did try to resist. But as we drove home that night, I was in a state of arousal like only to those Cassia had caused during our wildest times together.

We walked into the house and Sarah led me upstairs. She took me to her bedroom, turned to me, reached up and kissed me. The passion was unmistakable. We were dueling with our tongues as we lockstepped toward the bed. At the last moment, I had a flash of that fifteen-year-old holding me at Meemaw and Pawpaw's funeral and crying hysterically. It was all I could do to stop where we were going, but somehow, I did.

"Sarah, we can't do this. You're drunk. You're confusing what you feel for me with what you felt for Meemaw and Pawpaw. You deserve better. I'm half again your age and not sure if I'm even going to stay here. Please understand. I like you - a lot. But I'm not the right guy for you." With that, I pried her arms from around me, turned and walked out of her bedroom.

Apparently, Sarah was drunk enough to have lost her inhibitions but not drunk enough to have forgotten what occurred in her bedroom. It would be an understatement to say that things were more than a bit frosty at the farmhouse for the next few days. I'd turned down a woman who really wanted to sleep with me. And I'd done it making an excuse that even I didn't believe. Much as I hated to admit it, I'd made a mistake. The question was whether I could keep Sarah from leaving.

My first effort was with her Christmas present. We had agreed not to buy anything for each other. However, I'd found a locket in Meemaw's jewelry box. In it I'd placed miniatures of Meemaw and Pawpaw that our local photography studio had produced from photos I'd provided. I left it wrapped on her plate on Christmas morning. When she found it, she asked, "What's this?"

"It's something Meemaw would have wanted you to have."

"We said no presents."

"It's from her, not me. Open it." She did and looked inside at the photos.

"Oh my God! Billy, I love it. Please put it on for me."

I did.

Sarah gave me a hug and a gentle kiss on the cheek. All was not forgiven or forgotten, but I'd clearly made some progress in restoring balance to our home.

CHAPTER THREE

The next surprise came in the form of a little six-year-old girl who finally forced Sarah and me to deal with the precise nature of our relationship.

Sarah and I had resumed carpooling in the new year. It was March and I was involved in preparing a budget for the fiscal year beginning July 1, so Sarah and I had taken separate cars to our respective workplaces. I was late getting home. When I walked in the front door, I found a child who appeared to be six or seven years old sitting at my kitchen table, drawing pictures.

"Hello. Who are you?"

"I'm Delilah Yarrington. Miss Sarah is my teacher and she said I'm going to stay with her for a while. Who are you?"

"I'm Billy. I'm a friend of Miss Sarah. I live here too."

"Hi Billy. If you're a friend of Miss Sarah, you can call me Lilah. Only my friends get to call me that."

"Well, then Lilah it is. Do you know where Miss Sarah is?"

"I think she's outside talking on her phone."

"Thank you. I'll go find her. We'll have supper as soon as we come in."

I found Sarah in the back yard, finishing a call.

"Sarah, there's a little girl in our kitchen. She says she's staying here with you. What's going on?"

"That's Lilah. She's one of my students. Her mother failed to pick her up from school today. When the Sheriff's deputy went to their trailer, he found Lilah's mother and a guy we think was her boyfriend dead from what appeared to be a drug overdose. Child services didn't have a foster family available to place Lilah with. Since I had all the background checks as a teacher, they said I could act as a temporary foster parent until they find Lilah's relatives. I know I should have asked, but it was an emergency and I had to decide. She can sleep in my room if you don't want her using the extra bedroom."

"You did the right thing. We'll provide her with a place to live until child services finds another location."

As it turned out, Lilah's stay with us extended far more than just a few days. Child services had no luck in locating a living relative. Days turned into weeks, then into months. Sarah and I grew more and more attached to Lilah. Sarah took her to school each day. If Sarah had to stay late for conferences or training, I'd bring Lilah home and start her on her homework. On the weekends, we took her to her softball or soccer games, then to church on Sundays. Sarah's mothering instinct was aroused. When Lilah began to call her "mommy", I began to worry that Sarah would suffer yet another loss if child services removed Lilah from our home and that this one would destroy her.

Things came to a head at the end of the school year. I came home about 7:00 one evening to find Lilah and Sarah crying in the living room. They were inconsolable. It took nearly an hour for them to settle, after which we put Lilah to bed. Then Sarah said the words every man dreads. "Billy, we have to talk."