Out of Exile

There had been an edge in the tone of voice they’d used with each other, but none as sharp as the edge in Matthew’s when he spoke to his brothers and sister.

But that wasn’t what she wanted to discuss with him. She knew that the sibling relationship between the Delaneys was none of her business. She simply thought it was sad that four people who should be bonded together through love, common experiences and blood ties didn’t seem to be a cohesive family unit at all.

She stood on the front porch, saying goodbye to everyone as they left. She watched as each couple got into their cars and felt a strange sort of longing.

They would all go home and perhaps make love, or spend the night-time hours lying in one another’s arms, rehashing the day’s events, offering each other support and love.

The twilight time of day was the time Lilly occasionally regretted her choice to live her life alone. Something about facing the end of the day alone was difficult.

As she leaned against one of the porch railings, the longing deepened. Did they realize how very lucky they were? Did they realize how brave it was to open yourself so entirely to another person and trust that they would never hurt you, never abandon you?

She sighed and looked up at the stars that were starting to appear in the sky. Her loneliness tonight felt deeper than usual.

“You wanted to talk to me?”

Lilly jumped in surprise at the sound of Matthew’s deep voice behind her. She turned to see him step out onto the porch to join her. “Yes, I did.”

He stood just outside the door, looking as handsome as she’d ever seen him in a pair of black dress slacks and a short-sleeved, crisp white cotton shirt that exposed powerful forearms. His thick, dark hair was neatly combed and he looked more like a business executive than a rancher.

“Why don’t you come into the kitchen,” he suggested. “I just made a short pot of coffee. We can talk in there over a cup.”

“All right,” she agreed. She followed him back into the house and into the kitchen. The light above the sink was the only illumination. He didn’t turn on the big overhead light, but rather went directly to the coffeemaker.

He poured a cup of the fresh brew, then turned to face her. “I’m afraid I don’t know how you take your coffee,” he said.

She flashed him a quick smile. “You wouldn’t know. I wasn’t much of a coffee drinker seventeen years ago. Black is fine.”

Once the coffee was poured, they sat side by side at the table and he looked at her expectantly. “Thank you for letting me sit in at the family meeting. It was quite interesting,” she began.

One of his dark eyebrows rose. “Interesting? Hardly the term I would use to describe our infrequent gatherings.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Now what was it you wanted to discuss with me?”

“I was wondering if you knew the name of a good doctor here in town? I’d like to get a complete checkup for Aunt Clara before I leave here.”

“Is she ill?”

“No, nothing like that,” she assured him. “She’s had a couple of dizzy spells and I’d just feel better if she got a complete physical.”

“Johnny Howerton is the local doc. I’ll dig up his number and give it to you in the morning.” He leaned back in his chair, looking more relaxed than he had all evening.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” She sipped her coffee and studied him above the rim of her cup. “Can I ask you a question?”

“If I tell you no will it make any difference?” He offered her a small smile and for just a moment she saw the ghost of the handsome young man she’d enjoyed on those summer days so long ago.

“Probably not,” she replied with a grin. She took another drink of her coffee, then wrapped her hands around the mug and looked at him. “Why do you want to sell your share of this place?”

He scowled and stared down into his own mug. “I told you before, I haven’t made any final decisions yet.”

“But why would you even think about it? It’s so beautiful here, and this place holds your roots, your past. Even when you were young, you talked about this place as if it lived and breathed inside of you, was an integral part of who you are.”

He was silent for a moment, then his frown deepened and he sat forward. “What difference does it make to you if I sell out or not?” he asked, a touch of impatience in his voice.

“Certainly it doesn’t make a difference to me, I was just curious, that’s all.” She hesitated a moment, then continued, “And I was curious about why you and your brothers and sister are all so angry with each other?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied curtly. “Nobody is angry with anyone.” His mouth said one thing, but his eyes said another. They were gray, stormy depths that radiated with a turbulence that belied his words.

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