The Road Back Home

  Can her family forgive what she can’t forgive herself?

  (A companion to The House That Love Built, a different perspective of the story seen through Ria’s eyes and going beyond)

  Ria Channing ran from a tragedy of her own making six years ago, a pariah in the family and home that were once perfect…until she destroyed them.

  But a deathbed promise to her only friend forces her to return for the sake of the grandson her parents have never met. Homeless, hungry and worn out from fighting for survival, she carries with her no expectation of forgiveness—only heartfelt hope that the house that love built will welcome and care for her child, if not his bad seed mother.

  Sculptor Sandor Wolfe owes his career and his future to Ria’s mother. There is nothing he wouldn’t do to protect Cleo from the thankless daughter who has hurt her so deeply and now threatens the life she has rebuilt from the ashes of the old.

  What he doesn’t expect, however, is to find a vulnerability and a courage that touch him as Ria tries to make up for all she has cost the family she destroyed.

  The battle is one she seems destined to lose, and Sandor finds himself torn between love and loyalty, with the stakes being his friend’s broken heart and a valiant, fragile woman’s survival.

  “Jean Brashear’s distinctive storytelling voice instantly draws in the reader. She writes with warmth and emotional truth.”

  ~ #1 NY Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber

  The Road Back Home

  Second Chances, Book 5

  Jean Brashear

  Copyright © 2019 Jean Brashear

  EPUB Edition

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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  About The Road Back Home

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Dream House

  Books by Jean Brashear

  About the Author

  Connect With Jean

  Chapter One

  September

  The first thousand miles out of L.A., Ria Channing spun tales of thrilling adventures in store for her bright-eyed four-year-old son, Benjy.

  The next five hundred, she tried to convince herself.

  The last leg of the endless trip, head achy and light from denying herself food so her child could eat, Ria alternated between terror and fury.

  It won’t work, Dog Boy. You shouldn’t have made me promise. My parents have never forgiven me, and that won’t change. The wrong child had died six years ago, the golden one, David. The Son.

  But her only friend was beyond hearing now.

  Unfortunately, she could still hear him.

  Go home. Make…your peace, He’d gasped. Carrot curls, dark with sweat. Pale eyes fever shiny.

  The mere thought of returning had her blood roaring in her ears. I can’t. They hate me.

  Your son has no father. Benjy needs…family. Safe…place. Go home, Ria, back to Austin. Promise.

  You don’t understand what you’re asking. After a lifetime of mistakes, I committed the final, unpardonable one: I killed their favorite.

  Try, Ria. Give them a chance. Grant yourself one.

  She’d wanted so badly to ignore him. To run away. Again.

  But she owed him everything. He’d saved her life. Preserved her son’s.

  On the long-ago night, she’d fled from home with no idea of her destination. At the Austin bus station, she’d met Dog Boy, who was headed to L.A. Though barely seventeen to her twenty-one, he was streetwise beyond his age; he’d been her mentor, teaching her how to maneuver through a world her protected existence had never even imagined. He’d been brother and friend and father when no one else cared.

  At his bedside six weeks ago, she’d pleaded again, but his eyes had been merciless in those final moments; he knew the strength of her love for him. They’d never been physically intimate; their bond was far closer than that. The only person she cherished more was the boy now asleep in the back seat, surrounded by their pitiful few belongings.

  Damn you. She’d smiled as tears rolled down her cheeks. You couldn’t ask for ice cream or a mariachi band?

  The fear was back now, full force, as she navigated the tree-shaded streets in the early-morning hours. Temptation grinned and lured…taunted and seduced, willing her to fail Dog Boy, as she’d let down everyone else.

  Her breath was coming in pants, her heart beating too fast as she rolled up to the curb across from the house where she’d grown up.

  Two-story, Victorian, exquisite. Wraparound porch, gingerbread trim, a gracious lady nestled in the embrace of live oaks, magnolias and azaleas. “There it is, Dog Boy,” she murmured. “Home.” The very picture that should be in the dictionary beside the word.

  But not for her, never again.

  “Where are we, Mom?” A small, sleepy voice spoke.

  Ria glanced in the mirror at Benjy’s precious face, his black hair—her hair, David’s hair…her mother’s hair—standing up in spikes.

  Eyes the melted-chocolate brown of her father’s blinked. “Mom?”

  Please. Hate me, but help me save him, she begged the people inside. But because she had no idea if they would, she hedged on their identities. “We’re going to visit the people who own this place.”

  “Do we know them?”

  Had she ever? Once she’d been a part of them, but not for many more years than she’d been gone. “Yes.” Then it hit her again, sheer terror. Could she even be sure that Mother and Daddy still resided here?

  Of course they did. Their roots ran true and deep. They would only leave if carted out feet first. What her mother held, she never let go.

  Except you, Victoria. She couldn’t wait to see you depart.

  I can’t do this. Her fingers tightened on the key, and she began to turn it.

  Nothing happened. The car, pushed to its limits just as she was, had caved. Ria barely contained the urge to drop her head to the steering wheel and give up. She was so tired she could barely see straight.

  “Mom, I have to pee.”

  She smiled, bubbles of hysteria welling upward. You stacked the deck, Dog Boy. What kind of guardian angel are you, anyway?

  Only the best friend she’d ever had.

  Sweet mercy, she missed him.

  Benjy’s car seat buckle clicked. “Hey, I did it, Mom! All by myself!”

  Ah, children. When you thought you couldn’t manage one more step, face one more day, they pulled you back into life, willing or not.

  She unfastened her own seat belt and emerged. Dark dots danced before her eyes; she had to grab the door frame to remain standing.

  Not now. Please.
Let me get him inside. Just a few more steps. A smattering of minutes.

  “Come on, tiger. Can you make it a bit longer?”

  He crawled across the seat and held up his arms.

  She wanted him close but was terrified she’d drop him, so instead of picking him up, she held out her hand. “Ready for the next stop on our adventure?”

  “Yeah!” His head bobbed with enthusiasm at first, but he fell silent as they crossed the street. Moved up the sidewalk.

  Just before they stepped up on the porch, he balked. “Mom.”

  She could barely hear his voice over the pounding of her heart. The buzzing in her head. “What, sweetie?”

  Earnest dark eyes turned up to hers. “Will these people like me?”

  “Oh, honey.” She dropped to her knees, though she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to get up. “They’ll love you so much.” I hope.

  They’d better, Dog Boy, or I’m gone, you hear me?

  “Okay,” he said. “Want me to knock?”

  She eyed the red front door her father had installed so many years ago, the brass knocker she’d never had to use, back when she’d belonged. “I’ll do it this time.” She smiled past her fear and rapped on the wood.

  Please, oh, please…Mother, don’t punish him for my sins.

  The door opened. Ria gawked. “Aunt Cammie?” Why was she here?

  “Victoria?” Stunned silence, then the tiny, gray-haired woman blinked. “Oh, Lordy. Just a minute. I’ll go get—” Aunt Cammie vanished, leaving the door wide-open.

  Ria clung to the frame. Wondered if she should enter, even as her head swum. Tried to think, to decide—

  Chaos erupted. “My stars in heaven, he looks just like David,” said a voice that had be the former B-movie actress grandmother who would only answer to Lola.

  “Oh, dear me, child, please come in,” she thought she heard Aunt Cammie say—

  Hold on, hold on, she told herself, gripping Benjy’s hand.

  Then, at last, there she was.

  Ria’s nemesis.

  Green eyes wide, camellia skin ashen. Statue still. Her gaze filled with horror.

  Ria wanted to weep as the truth sank in. Just as she’d feared, nothing had changed between them.

  Her mother still hated her.

  But then Cleo Channing caught sight of Benjy, and everything about her was transformed. The initial horror mutated into confusion and hurt…then into longing so sharp it was painful to witness.

  He’s safe. Thank you, Dog Boy. Whatever her mother thought of her, she would cherish Ria’s baby. Save him. Fight the world to protect him, just as Daddy would.

  Relief broke past the inky veil stealing over her vision. “Mother—” Ria reached out—

  But the darkness swallowed her.

  Chapter Two

  The murmur of voices teased at her hearing, and Ria stirred. Exhaustion dragged at her bones and weighted her feet as she attempted the climb from umber shadows pressing her into blessed oblivion.

  She could sleep for a week. A month.

  Forever, but something—

  “Is my mom okay?” The child’s quavery tone penetrated the seductive embrace of slumber.

  Benjy.

  “Unhh…” So tired…

  “I want my mom.” Frightened now.

  “Benjy,” she whispered. Instinct propelled her to her feet. Dizzy and swaying, she bumped a chair. A table. Squinting against darkening vision, she staggered toward the sound.

  “Hey, doll, what are you doing up?”

  Ria barely spared her grandmother a glance, her whole being focused on one voice. One person.

  “Benjy, what’s wrong?” She propped herself against the door frame of the kitchen she’d thought never to enter again.

  Saw the woman kneeling, arms around Ria’s child, her green eyes filled with wonder.

  “Mom!” Benjy raced from Cleo’s embrace to her own. “Are you okay? I was scared.”

  She clasped him against her hip, fingers spread over the thick hair so badly in need of washing. “I’m just fine, sweetie.”

  Cleo rose and faced her slowly. “Victoria,” she acknowledged carefully. “Should you be up?”

  “My name is Ria.”

  She saw the shock reverberate through all of them. “Ria” had been David’s special name for her. No doubt her mother believed she had no right to it.

  Ria agreed. The name was her penance.

  “Why—” Cleo battled for composure. “What brought you here, Victo—Ria? Is something—”

  Wrong? Her mother might as well have finished her sentence. Anger battled with bitter disappointment. Bone-deep sorrow. Her mother would always be suspicious of her. “Never mind. We’re out of here. Benjy—”

  “No—” Cleo grabbed her daughter’s arm. “Don’t—”

  Ria stiffened. “Let go of me.”

  Slowly Cleo removed her hand, but in her expression Ria found something she’d never seen in her mother before. Something she’d almost call fear. Uncertainty.

  “Please. Don’t…leave.”

  But Cleo Channing was always sure. Unafraid.

  “Don’t hurt my mom.” Benjy’s voice trembled.

  Cleo looked at him. “Oh, sweetheart, I’d never—” She halted, perhaps unwilling to complete the lie. She and Ria had damaged each other over and over for years. “I didn’t mean—I want you both to stay, that’s all.”

  Benjy glanced up at Ria, checking her reaction, his eyes big and sad and confused.

  “It might be wise for your mother to see a doctor, sweetheart. I’d like to take you both, only to be sure—”

  Of course. Suddenly Ria saw how they must appear, despite her attempts to clean them up. For Benjy’s sake, she was furious. “Afraid we’ve got fleas, Mother? Just because we’ve been living in my car doesn’t mean we have cooties or carry some dread disease. A bath will suffice.” Her voice went sharper. “I’ll clean your pristine tub afterward.”

  “Please don’t, Vic—Ria. Not in front of—” Cleo compressed her lips and gestured toward Benjy. As Ria watched, she metamorphosed into the cool, neutral woman Ria remembered. “I was about to make Benjy some French toast. Perhaps you’d care for some, too?”

  Ria couldn’t stifle the harsh bark of laughter. “Always the perfect hostess.”

  Benjy’s chin trembled as he darted glances between the two of them.

  “Whatever you think of me, consider your child, at least. Let him eat his breakfast in peace. Aunt Cammie, would you mind—” Cleo turned away. “I—if you’ll excuse me, I must open the shop.” With quick steps, she headed for the doorway, giving her daughter wide berth.

  “Where’s Daddy?”

  Cleo halted in mid-step. She and Lola exchanged glances.

  Ria tensed.

  Cleo took a deep breath. “He doesn’t live here anymore.” She paused. “We’re divorced.”

  Shock rooted Ria to the floor. “What?” Her parents were more in love than any couple Ria had ever seen. It was unimaginable. Crushing. She wanted to be sick. Instead, she struck out. “Congratulations. You drove him away, too.”

  It was either attack or scream. Crumple. Her father had been her only ally—at least until she’d gone beyond the pale.

  Her mother didn’t answer, but studied Benjy. Brushed one hand over his hair. Finally, she dragged her gaze up to her daughter’s, now composed. Unflinching. Cold as she had always been when she focused on her problem child.

  Once there had been love in those emerald eyes, but not in so many years Ria could barely remember it. She’d always come up short, forever disappointing this woman. Betsey was the perfect daughter, ladylike, unsullied. Hair neatly combed, dresses spotless. Just like their elegant, beautiful mother.

  And once Ria had prayed every night to change, but the harder she tried, the more stunning her failures, until she’d quit altogether.

  Make your peace, Ria.

  It won’t work, Dog Boy.

  Even if she’d known wh
at to say, her mother was already halfway to the stairs, holding herself with her trademark exquisite posture. “I’m going to get dressed,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll alert Malcolm that you’re here.”

  And then she was gone.

  After nearly a year, Sandor Míklos Wolfe still did not take the miracle of America for granted, and Texas…ah, Texas. The sheer scope of it, the room to breathe and think and move…even a young boy’s dreams of his lost father’s homeland had not done it justice.

  With the still-sharp pleasure of someone who’d spent his first thirty-four years in Budapest, sharing two rooms with his grandmother and a hall bath in a once-grand home with two other families, he glanced around the garage apartment to which only he and his new landlady possessed a key.

  And shook his head at his good fortune. Humble this place might be to many in this country, but his grandmother, with her disdain for all things American, would have clucked her tongue and chided him for the bounty of it. Three rooms—count them, three for him alone—plus half the empty garage below, in which he hoped to set up a workshop. If only he could have provided Nani with such luxury before she died, but Hungary, though the most progressive of all Eastern Europe, now battled crippling inflation and unemployment instead of Soviet oppression.

  He had American citizenship, courtesy of the father who had left Hungary right after Sandor’s birth. Alexander Wolfe had been a graduate student who’d managed to obtain an extended visa to study the rich history of Hungary. He’d promised to send for his wife and child, but his demise in a motorcycle wreck ended that hope. Eight years later, Sandor’s mother had succumbed to pneumonia. Her single, much-cherished photograph of his father had been given into Sandor’s keeping by the grandmother who sacrificed much to raise him. Once grown, Sandor had delayed the long-anticipated journey to his father’s homeland in order to return the favor and care for her.

  But Nani was gone now, freeing him to follow his dreams. The opportunities in the U.S. were breathtaking, he thought, as he descended the stairs he had already strengthened, strode across the driveway he had begun to clear last night in preparation for resurfacing. To succeed here, one only needed the will to work hard and the discipline to be frugal. He had plenty of both.