Read Online And Then I Found You by Patti Callahan Henry - Free Book Online
Authors: Patti Callahan Henry
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one wrong turn, the
drive was a view of spring’s birth, taking Kate through the dormant cotton fields
and farmland. The radio stations faded in and out until Kate finally shut off the
radio and rolled down the windows, allowing the passing wind to be the music.
What she didn’t tell Rowan was a lie of omission, which according to their Baptist
preacher was as large a lie as one of commission. Either way, unannounced, Kate was
on her way to Birmingham to see Jack Adams.
Kate knew that if she’d called Jack to tell him she was coming, she wouldn’t have
gone at all. There was something about overplanning that would have killed the trip
before she even put her keys in the ignition. So, she drove with her windows open
while her thoughts were as cluttered as the roadside trees drooping with their too-many
blossoms. Memories scraped against one another, vying for attention.
When she arrived, Kate smiled at Jack’s house as if it were a person—an old friend—which
in many ways it was. The last time she’d seen the house, the front door had been a
plywood board and the rick-a-rack trim unpainted. The windows had been cracked, their
wooden mullions peeling old paint. Now double doors dominated the front, dark, carved
oak with wrought iron dividing their bubbled glass into intricate patterns. The windows
of the house were wide and long, divided also by thick iron into oversized rectangles,
which looked out onto the street with a wide and curious gaze as she parked her car.
Even in the day of Facebook and Twitter, of social networking and cell phones, where
everyone knew everything about everybody, Kate knew very little about Jack’s life.
He worked as a lawyer in downtown Birmingham. He was divorced. He lived with his son.
Kate drove into a parallel parking spot on the street and her body remembered everything:
the comfortable ease that nestled next to the jittery desire. All this time, all these
years passed, and she’d believed the feelings gone, or at least diminished beyond
recognition. Yet there she was within a hundred yards of his house, and the exact
desire returned as if it had waited patiently at the end of a long road.
The front door opened. Framed by doorway and sunlight, a young boy emerged with a
baseball in his hand, a hat on his head, and a large bag slung over his left shoulder.
Kate gripped the steering wheel, holding her breath. The boy—he had dark hair and
was small—looked younger than the eight years she knew him to be. He hollered something
over his shoulder and his mouth formed a single word, “Dad.”
Then there was Jack. He came through the door, placing his hand on top of his son’s
hat and twisting it straight. Kate took in a quick breath. He still moved with the
ease of an athlete. The baseball cap on his head bore the same emblem as his son’s,
a hornet or bee, Kate thought. Jack grabbed the bag from his son and took two steps
down the walkway toward the back driveway.
In her stomach, tiny birds opened their wings and flew up toward her throat. Just
because he’d written yearly letters, just because they’d once loved and had a daughter,
did this give her the right to show up unannounced in his driveway?
Jack and Caleb were obviously on their way to a game. If she stopped them now, she
would make them late and ruin their afternoon. Maybe she’d watch them for a little
while. Then decide. Only a little while.
She followed Jack’s pickup down the winding roads into Mountain Brook village, an
enclave of beautiful homes tucked into the valley. She followed him through the town
dominated by old English architecture and brick-lined sidewalks. He turned right into
the elementary school, which at first glance Kate thought was a large estate. The
field to the left of the school was packed with families. Baseball bags were scattered
like litter, spilling bats and gloves, uniforms and Gatorade bottles. Parents
drive was a view of spring’s birth, taking Kate through the dormant cotton fields
and farmland. The radio stations faded in and out until Kate finally shut off the
radio and rolled down the windows, allowing the passing wind to be the music.
What she didn’t tell Rowan was a lie of omission, which according to their Baptist
preacher was as large a lie as one of commission. Either way, unannounced, Kate was
on her way to Birmingham to see Jack Adams.
Kate knew that if she’d called Jack to tell him she was coming, she wouldn’t have
gone at all. There was something about overplanning that would have killed the trip
before she even put her keys in the ignition. So, she drove with her windows open
while her thoughts were as cluttered as the roadside trees drooping with their too-many
blossoms. Memories scraped against one another, vying for attention.
When she arrived, Kate smiled at Jack’s house as if it were a person—an old friend—which
in many ways it was. The last time she’d seen the house, the front door had been a
plywood board and the rick-a-rack trim unpainted. The windows had been cracked, their
wooden mullions peeling old paint. Now double doors dominated the front, dark, carved
oak with wrought iron dividing their bubbled glass into intricate patterns. The windows
of the house were wide and long, divided also by thick iron into oversized rectangles,
which looked out onto the street with a wide and curious gaze as she parked her car.
Even in the day of Facebook and Twitter, of social networking and cell phones, where
everyone knew everything about everybody, Kate knew very little about Jack’s life.
He worked as a lawyer in downtown Birmingham. He was divorced. He lived with his son.
Kate drove into a parallel parking spot on the street and her body remembered everything:
the comfortable ease that nestled next to the jittery desire. All this time, all these
years passed, and she’d believed the feelings gone, or at least diminished beyond
recognition. Yet there she was within a hundred yards of his house, and the exact
desire returned as if it had waited patiently at the end of a long road.
The front door opened. Framed by doorway and sunlight, a young boy emerged with a
baseball in his hand, a hat on his head, and a large bag slung over his left shoulder.
Kate gripped the steering wheel, holding her breath. The boy—he had dark hair and
was small—looked younger than the eight years she knew him to be. He hollered something
over his shoulder and his mouth formed a single word, “Dad.”
Then there was Jack. He came through the door, placing his hand on top of his son’s
hat and twisting it straight. Kate took in a quick breath. He still moved with the
ease of an athlete. The baseball cap on his head bore the same emblem as his son’s,
a hornet or bee, Kate thought. Jack grabbed the bag from his son and took two steps
down the walkway toward the back driveway.
In her stomach, tiny birds opened their wings and flew up toward her throat. Just
because he’d written yearly letters, just because they’d once loved and had a daughter,
did this give her the right to show up unannounced in his driveway?
Jack and Caleb were obviously on their way to a game. If she stopped them now, she
would make them late and ruin their afternoon. Maybe she’d watch them for a little
while. Then decide. Only a little while.
She followed Jack’s pickup down the winding roads into Mountain Brook village, an
enclave of beautiful homes tucked into the valley. She followed him through the town
dominated by old English architecture and brick-lined sidewalks. He turned right into
the elementary school, which at first glance Kate thought was a large estate. The
field to the left of the school was packed with families. Baseball bags were scattered
like litter, spilling bats and gloves, uniforms and Gatorade bottles. Parents
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