Home to Stay (The Long Road Home #2) - Maryann Jordan Page 0,6

before snapping the recliner down, his feet thumping onto the wooden floor. “Huh. Well, boy, you’re back.” The gravel in his voice gave evidence that he’d probably not spoken yet today… or maybe several days if he’d had no visitors.

John’s lips twitched. “Yes, sir, I am.”

Gramps’ gaze started at John’s head and dropped to his booted feet, then slid to the side where the bags had been deposited. As his head lifted again, his gaze landed on the scar by John’s eye, and he tilted his head to the side. “You visitin’ or home to stay?”

Swallowing deeply, John hesitated. The answer was on the tip of his tongue and yet so difficult to produce. “Home…” He cleared his throat. “I’m home to stay.”

Silence crept into the room, but he held his grandfather’s steady gaze, not releasing his breath until the older man’s head nodded.

“Well, good.” Gramps placed his hands on the arms of his chair and pushed himself to standing. Stooped, his tall frame was diminished but still wiry. He walked toward the kitchen but stopped right beside John and placed a rheumatic hand on the doorframe. “Room’s same as always. Guess you can find your way. Figure we can use a cup of coffee.” With that, he disappeared, leaving John standing alone.

Climbing the stairs, John glanced at the few pictures still hanging on the wall from when his grandmother had lovingly filled five-and-dime frames with snapshots or his school pictures. He shook his head at the scrawny-bodied, geeky-faced boy that peered back at him. “You’ll grow into that body, boy. Be just like your dad.” His grandmother’s words had given him hope and turned out true. He’d grown into his large hands and feet, his stature working in his favor in the military.

At the top of the stairs, he glanced to the right into his grandfather’s bedroom, seeing it unchanged from the last time he was here. Looking over his shoulder, he stared down the steep staircase and wondered if Gramps had difficulty navigating around. He’d bite my head off if I asked. Turning toward the left, he moved into the other bedroom, deciding he’d keep an eye out to see how Gramps handled the house.

His lips quirked upward again as he stepped into his old room. Yep. Same as always. The only improvement had been the double bed he’d bought to replace the small twin bed he’d had through high school. Gramps had thought the expense was unnecessary, but his grandmother had heartily approved. “Rupert, he needs to sleep comfortably when he comes home, so let him have the bed he wants.” She’d covered it with a homemade quilt, and as he stared down at the faded colors, a rush of emotion slammed into him. This was no visit. I’m really home this time.

The furnishings consisted of the bed, a chest of drawers with a small mirror hanging on the wall, and a wooden high-back chair in the corner. Now that he thought about it, it was the same type of chair that Gramps insisted on having in his room as well. “Man’s gotta have a place to sit when he puts on his shoes and socks.”

Dumping his bag onto the floor of the small closet, he walked over to the window and peered out at the coastline in the distance. As a child visiting his grandparents, this view held almost magical power to soothe when thoughts of his mom leaving threatened to overwhelm him. As a teenager who was living here after his dad died, this view simply made him desperate to leave, itching to find his own way outside the little Maine town.

Over the years, he’d spent time on many coastlines and always compared them to this view. Now, he wondered how he’d ever look out this window without thinking of all the places he’d been.

“You comin’, boy?”

Blinking out of his reverie, he scrubbed his hand over his face and stretched his back, as usual hearing his vertebrae pop. “Yes, sir. Be right down.”

He made his way into the kitchen, finding a freshly poured cup of coffee sitting on the table. Gramps had poured another one for himself and had already taken a seat. Settling into one of the chairs, John took a sip of the hot, strong brew and grinned. “You always knew how to make a hell of a cup of coffee, Gramps.”

His grandfather chuckled. “Your grandmother used to chase me out of the kitchen saying I couldn’t boil water. But she had to