The Road Home Read online

  Dr. Rudolph tilts her head. “Gwendolyn. You don’t know that.”

  She pushes out another sigh. “I know. I sound like a baby. I’m too old to put all of this effort into these thoughts. I’m just so…nervous. About all of it. And I can’t seem to turn off my anxious brain. All it’s doing is telling me how nothing is going to go right.”

  Dr. Rudolph shifts in her chair as if formulating an answer, clearly wanting to say something. But will she? Gwendolyn waits on the edge of her seat because if Dr. Rudolph does say whatever she’s thinking, will it be what Gwendolyn so desperately wants and needs? She has been begging her therapist to be brutally honest with her for the past three years, but all she gets is wishy-washy answers filled with psychological jibber jabber. She’s sick of it. And Dr. Rudolph seems to finally understand. At least she better understand, or today may be the day Gwendolyn loses her shit, and it won’t be pretty, either.

  “Gwen,” she starts, pauses, glances at the ceiling, and then leans slightly forward. “Have you ever considered saying, fuck it?”

  Gwendolyn feels her jaw pop as it drops open.

  “You wanted me to be honest with you. And I’m being honest. Go home. Go visit. Meet Lila. You’ve had significant roles in four movies, five stage productions, a slew of commercials. You’re not failing. You’re doing what you set out to do. You may not have been the leading lady in a movie yet, but you’re making a name for yourself. You’re the leading lady in your own life. Do you really want your mother’s inability to accept this part of you to be the determining factor for you to love your entire self? This is your life. You are doing a damn fine job. And being a lesbian is only a part. It isn’t the only thing amazing about you. Stop letting other people’s ideas about how you should live your life be the way you see yourself.”

  “But…” She stops her protest, finger in the air to denote a point she isn’t sure she should make. “It’s a pretty big part of me.”

  “What is? Being a lesbian?”

  Gwendolyn nods.

  “So? Is it all of you? Is being a lesbian all that exists?” Dr. Rudolph shakes her head. “You know it’s not. There is so much more inside of you to love and cherish. Will you and your mom be perfect? Probably not. Probably never, but hey, at least you dropped the front for a weekend to celebrate a man you love more than anything.”

  Gwendolyn wants to chew on the words, masticate the hell out of them, and then swallow, digest, and see how she feels afterward. Will she get sick? Will she find a way to get the words out of her system? Or will she let the words win and fill her up?

  “Go home.”

  “You really think I should?”

  “For the first time ever, I am agreeing with your mom. Your dad wants you home. Go. Have fun. Laugh. Eat. Be merry.” Dr. Rudolph smiles, taps her fingertips on her yellow pad of paper, and lifts her chin. “You told me to be brutally honest.”

  Gwendolyn finally cracks a smile. “I did, didn’t I?”

  * * *

  When Gwendolyn was eight years old, she was cast as Peter Pan in the Vale Park, Indiana local theatre production. It was the most amazing feeling ever. She will never forget the rush of pulling on those tights, the warmth of the spotlight, and most importantly, the applause at the end. She signed her first autograph, and it was everything to her. It was never about fame and fortune so much as about becoming someone else, her driving force. Be as many different people as possible. Maybe one of them would be someone her mother could love.

  “You didn’t get the part, eh?”

  She glances at Samantha, who is reading an article about Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston in People. The glare on the page from the airplane’s overhead light is annoying, so Gwendolyn pushes up the shade covering the window, rests her forehead against the cool glass, and closes her eyes. “Nope.”

  “Do you wanna talk about it?”

  “Do you think I want to talk about it?”

  She hears Samantha flip the pages and feels a whoosh of air. She opens one eye and sees Samantha has turned in her seat. “Sort of, yes.”

  “Well, you’re wrong.” She lets out a sigh as she sits upright and leans back against the headrest. She glances at Samantha who is looking at her with big sad blue eyes. She knows Samantha knows and understands her better than anyone, so lying is not an option, so she nods, sighs, and finally says, “I hate going home.”

  “I know.”

  “This is not going to be good for me.”

  “I know.” Samantha slips the magazine into the seat pocket. “Think of it this way: you are going home to see your dad, who loves you. He’ll be so happy you’re home for his party. And that you brought me.” She shrugs, her dark hair swaying. “He loves me.”

  She can’t help but chuckle. Samantha is right. “It’s always about you, isn’t it?”

  “Of course, it is.” She mimics Gwendolyn’s leaned back position and turns her head to make eye contact. “You’re going to be okay. You’ll bounce back. I know it.”

  “My agent…” She pauses and bites her lip, gathering as much of her vulnerability as possible before she finishes with, “He thinks maybe I should give up.”

  Samantha gasps. She’s way too loud for an early morning flight. “He said that?”

  “Well, no, but he said maybe I should reconsider this as my career. I don’t know if I could do something else with my life.”

  “You realize I went to the same school as you, did the same program as you, and I’m not acting? I am very happy being a drama coach and directing. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

  “Those who can’t do…”

  “Then it’s the best spot for you since, clearly, you can’t act.”

  “You bitch,” Gwendolyn whispers, a smile stretched across her face.

  “Hey, you started it.” Samantha laughs as she nudges her. “You know I’m kidding.”

  “Mm-hmm.” She tries to sound sarcastic and not hurt because she knows Samantha wasn’t being serious. But damn, her joke stung. Was that really it, though? Could Gwendolyn not act? Maybe acting had run its course? Maybe she needed to think about something else to do with her life? Ugh. The thoughts of starting over were making her want to jump out the window.

  “I know what you need,” Samantha says, her voice breaking through Gwendolyn’s thoughts.

  “Please don’t say a good roll in the hay.”

  She chuckles and shrugs. “Well, it’s not a bad idea.”

  Gwendolyn cringes. “I am so not in the right state of mind for…”

  “For sex?”

  “For emotions.”

  “Sex without emotions exists, y’know.” She chuckles. “Don’t act like that’s never happened to you before.”

  Gwendolyn rolls her eyes. The inside of the plane is filled with sunlight. They must be getting ready to land soon. Thank God. The last thing she wanted to do on this flight was talk. She was hoping for sleep, but of course, it didn’t happen.

  “Okay. Seriously. Do you want to hear what I think? Actually, I don’t care if you want to hear it. I think you should go back to the theatre. Get back to your roots.”

  Gwendolyn’s ears perk. “My roots, eh?”

  “You were so good on stage.” She smiles and it seems genuine. “Think about it.”

  Gwendolyn intertwines her fingers with her best friend’s. “Thank you for coming with me.”

  “Try not to worry about your mom, okay?” Samantha squeezes her hand. “She loves you. In her weird way, she does.”

  She turns her head and takes a deep breath. She can feel the tears stinging her eyes. Crying is the last thing she wants to do. She spent the last week crying, moping, trying to figure out how to deal with failing yet again. And then having to tell her family?

  Ugh.

  The idea of dealing with her mother, in her mother’s element, after separating herself from the drama and the disdain so many years earlier is not settling well at all. Leaving Indiana and her past behind was the only reason Gwendoly
n is still sane.

  Well, semi-sane.

  At least in the mornings.

  Most of the time.

  Handling the failure, her relationship with her mother, the anxiety of going back to a place which should be home and isn’t, is the only option at this point. Gwendolyn knows she has the strength in her. But Carol Carter, and all of her nagging and abrasive tendencies, has a way of making Gwendolyn question and hate everything about herself, including who she is as a person.

  And as much as she tells herself she is an awesome person, seeing her mother’s disappointment written as plain as day on her face would negate seventeen years of therapy in the blink of an eye.

  Chapter Two

  “Girls! Come on. You have got to move your feet. Stay low and move your damn feet.”

  Lila Machowicz glances at the head volleyball coach for the Vale Park Lemurs. She tries to hide her smile, but Coach Carol Carter glances at her, does a double take, then finishes with a glare.

  “You got a problem, Coach Machowicz?”

  “Nope. Not at all.”

  “What are you thinking, then? I know you have something goin’ on in that head of yours.”

  Lila turns her attention to the volleyball court, to the sixth rotation, to the setter hidden behind the middle hitter, and clears her throat. “Well, I think we should have Courtney come across the net and set the ball this rotation instead of making Joleen release after the serve. The other team is going to pick on Joleen and Rylee since, well, let’s be real, Rylee can’t pass. She can stay up at the net and hit right side if we need her to.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “She has great hands. And it means we can use Joleen as a back row attacker. And Miranda can pull back from the net and pass.”

  “You think the setter should hit from the back row?” Carol’s tone is full of disbelief, but Lila knows this is the first real opportunity Joleen, Lila’s sophomore setting and hitting protege, has had to show off her skills on the varsity team.

  “Trust me?” Lila scrunches her face, asking for permission to take the reins. Carol shocks her by making a sweeping motion with her left hand, which is holding a very beat-up clipboard. Lila raises her eyebrows, and before Carol can take back her okay, springs into action. “Okay, girls, time out. Huddle up.” Once she’s in the middle of the huddle, she looks at Courtney. “How are your hands? Warmed up?”

  “Hell yeah.” Courtney’s smile is so contagious. “I was born ready.”

  “Joleen, you’re doing great, but I want you to stop hiding yourself and take a pass. If we mix it up, they’ll lay off Rylee and go after you, Hildy. You know you can pass whatever they throw at you. They think because you’re a middle hitter, you can’t pass. But we know that’s wrong. Right? And Rylee, no offense, honey, but they are picking on you when you pull back to hide Joleen. Instead, stay up at the net, out of the way, and be ready to do a swing hit on the right side. Courtney, come across the net, and Joleen, be ready for a back row attack. Okay?”

  Lila makes eye contact with each of the other girls. Stacey, the libero, who will sub in the next rotation, is a good two feet shorter than the rest of the girls, and when she bounces a couple times on her toes, Lila can’t help but chuckle. Miranda and Ella, who are the powerhouse outside hitters, high five each other before they high five Rylee, the insanely tall middle hitter, and Hildy, the other middle who isn’t super tall, but damn, she can jump. “Don’t forget to have fun out there, okay?”

  “Right on, Coach,” Miranda shouts before they run back to their positions.

  Lila watches as they line up as instructed: Joleen now out in the open, ready for a pass. When the referee blows the whistle to signal the serve, the ball comes whizzing over the net, right at Joleen. She moves quickly, absorbs the velocity of the ball with her forearms, and completes a pass to Courtney, who expertly absorbs the bounce of the ball and sets it with her nimble fingers. The set is flawless as it sails exactly where Lila wanted her to set it: into the back row, a step behind the ten foot line. Lila holds her breath as Joleen does her footwork—left, right, left—pulls her arms back, and jumps. Her timing is the best it has ever been as her left hand hits the ball, and she snaps her wrist. Everything about the hit looks incredible, and when the ball slams into the floor on the other side of the net in front of the teams’ very capable back row passers, the girls all turn toward each other. They scream, slap Joleen on the butt, and she’s all smiles when she turns to give Lila a thumbs-up.

  Carol nudges Lila playfully as she calls a position from behind the clipboard for Rylee’s serve. “Nice one, Coach. Looks like you know what you’re doing.”

  “Well, I learned from the best.” Lila laughs, eyes back on the game. Rylee is their worst server, but Lila has been working with her on the side. She hopes the twenty-five to twenty-four score doesn’t ice her up. Rylee tosses the ball up, then lets it drop. “You’re okay, Ry. Nice and easy. You got this.” Lila hears Carol take a deep breath. “She’ll do it.”

  “I know. I trust you.”

  Lila feels the compliment in the middle of her chest. She doesn’t want to focus on the emotion those words bring with it, but it’s too late. She keeps her eyes glued to Rylee, to her tall frame, her lanky arms, her long legs, and prays to God she makes the serve over. As a freshman, it’s a gamble putting her on varsity, but Lila knew that if given the chance, Carol would mold her into an amazing volleyball player. And so far, Lila has been right. Except for serving. The girl can’t serve to save her life.

  And as those words float through Lila’s mind, Rylee serves the ball, and it soars over the net. Lila holds her breath, watches as it starts to drop, drop, drop…until it hits the floor…right on the line. The line judge’s flag is pointed down, and Lila jumps into the air. “Yes,” she shouts before she turns to hug Carol.

  Carol is all smiles. “We won the entire tournament. Holy shit! I cannot even believe we won.”

  “Hey, rebuilding years aren’t always horrible.” Lila puts an arm around Carol’s shoulders. “I told you we’d be okay.”

  Carol sweeps a hand through her short blond hair, pushing it away from her forehead. At almost sixty, her hair has never grayed, and the natural wave the humidity makes worse is something that, at this age, she’s finally said, “fuck it” about. She is a stunning woman with piercing blue eyes and even sharper cheekbones. As far as best friends and sort-of-surrogate mothers go, Carol Carter is everything Lila could have ever hoped for. Carol has taught her everything she knows about living life to its fullest on and off the volleyball court. She wonders often what she would do without Carol in her life.

  “I know you did, my dear,” Carol whispers. She puts an arm around Lila, and the familiarity makes Lila’s heart ache. Carol is the mother she never really had, and David, Carol’s husband, is the father she never wanted but desperately needed. Fifteen years is a long time, but Lila has loved every second of them.

  The locker room is a chorus of laughter and shouting. When Carol raises her hands to speak, a hush falls over the girls, which causes chills to spring to Lila’s arms. She cannot get over how much they respect Carol, and it’s amazing to witness.

  “Ladies, everything looked incredible. I am so very proud of you all. Coming together like a team is the most important part, and you’re all doing it. I cannot begin to describe how much you all mean to me.”

  “We love you, Coach Carter,” Miranda shouts, towering over most of the girls. The rest of the team hoots and hollers, imitating a lemur call. Carol starts to laugh, and Lila can’t help but join in.

  “Okay, so this is our first tournament win with the new starters. Nothing is set in stone. Remember that.”

  There are some murmurs and snickers before someone says, “Yeah, Rylee.”

  “Hey,” Lila says over the voices. “Enough. Rylee got a serve over for the first time in a varsity game. It’s an accomplishment.”

  Rylee laughs as she takes a bow. “Thanks, you guys. Thanks. I mean, I
’d like to thank the Academy and also God.”

  “Yeah, and me,” Lila jokes. Rylee sits back down, and the team pats her on the back. A group of girls can turn on each other and then in the next breath, welcome each other into the fold. Hormones are crazy.

  Carol raises her hand, and they all stop talking. “Monday starts three-a-days. We will have them until the July holiday break or as I see fit. Please come prepared. Five a.m. conditioning. We will be running a 5K every other morning. On the days we don’t run, we will be doing sprints and stairs. What does this mean, Ella?”

  “It means don’t eat a big breakfast.”

  “Anyone care to explain why?” Carol asks, a smile across her full lips.

  “Because you’ll probably ralph.”

  “And how do you know this? Is this from experience?” Carol’s voice is filled with sarcasm, and the other teammates who aren’t freshmen laugh.

  Ella rolls her eyes and sighs. “Yes. It’s from experience.” She looks at all the girls laughing and holds her hand up. “Um, P to the S, if you vomit on her court, she makes you clean it up. So go on, laugh it up.” She smirks as everyone groans.

  “She’s not lying,” Lila adds.

  “Noon practice will be weights. Only an hour. And then three in the afternoon practice will be two hours of skill drills and scrimmage.”

  Lila watches the faces of the girls, their gulps, the shift from happy that they won to “Oh, shit, we’re all gonna die.”

  Carol heads toward the coaching office, Lila following close. “We gotta get back to the house. The party starts in three hours.”

  “I’m going to stop at my place and change. I’ll be right over after.”

  “Sounds good.” Carol stops at her office door. With a hand on the knob, she looks back. “You really are a good coach. I’m very happy you decided to do this with me.”

  Once again, the damn emotion rises up her throat. She nods and watches as Carol pushes the office open and enters, the door closing behind her.