{"id":10543,"date":"2025-07-29T16:29:40","date_gmt":"2025-07-29T21:29:40","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/?p=10543"},"modified":"2025-07-29T16:29:42","modified_gmt":"2025-07-29T21:29:42","slug":"home-away-from-home","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/home-away-from-home\/","title":{"rendered":"Home Away from Home"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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By Patricia Crisafulli<\/strong><\/em><\/h3>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
A basket of blueberry muffins sat on the sideboard beside a quiche made the night before and reheated that morning, a bowl of fruit, two coffee urns\u2014regular and decaf. Not fancy, a far cry from gourmet, but sufficient to cover the second \u201cB\u201d in the farmhouse B&B. No one came there expecting luxury, Lesley knew. They came for the quiet countryside, easy access to small towns offering antiquing and galleries. And excellent Wi-Fi.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Seven years ago, when she\u2019d inherited the property from a widowed aunt, Lesley figured she would sell it. Then the pandemic hit. An IT consultant, she could work anywhere, so why not this house that had once been part of her grandparents\u2019 farm. She installed a commercial grade network with superfast downloads and excellent security. Then she rehabbed three upstairs bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, and kept two downstairs rooms for her office and sleeping quarters. She listed the place as a B&B catering to remote workers and, unable to think of a better name, called it \u201cHome Away from Home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A couple escaping the city had been her first customers, committing to stay a month\u2014then two, then three. After the lockdown eased, casual travelers began passing through\u2014spending one night, maybe two. But from time to time, Lesley still had people who booked rooms for a week or two, wanting a break from their routines and to work by an open window that let in a breeze scented by apple blossoms and lilacs, pine trees, and freshly mown hay.<\/p>\n\n\n
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At the end of the day, after her two guests had checked out, Lesley took a hamburger patty out of a package and headed out to the grill on the back deck. She returned with a plate and silverware, a split bun, two lettuce leaves, a thick slice of beefsteak tomato, and a carton of potato salad. Sitting alone at the patio table, Lesley listened to the house finches trill their melody from the old apple orchard. Birdsong always reminded her of childhood summers in this place, with her grandparents when she was very young, and then with her aunt and uncle when she was a teenager. Divorced and in and out of relationships, her mother had moved them a lot, so this old farmhouse had offered the most predictability in Lesley\u2019s life, a north star she orbited around until it became her permanent home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Having to share it with strangers to pay the property taxes and the upkeep would not have been her first choice. But the remote workers who rented rooms tended to keep to themselves during the day, used the kitchen sparingly, then wandered the area on the weekends.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Forking up the last of the potato salad on her plate, Lesley watched a red-tailed hawk launch out of a towering jack pine with a flap of its broad wings. It gained altitude, caught a current, and sailed on the wind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019ll give you twenty bucks for one of those burgers.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lesley felt her heart lurch. Swinging her head around toward the kitchen, she saw a man standing in the doorway. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cSorry. Didn\u2019t mean to startle you, but I knocked. Called the number on the sign, too,\u201d he added.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lesley tapped the pockets of her cargo shorts; no phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Pushing open the back door that led onto the deck, the man introduced himself as Jeff Spencer, a supervisor with the state highway department. \u201cWe\u2019re rebuilding Highway 115. I\u2019ve been staying at a motel by the onramp, and I can\u2019t take one more night.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lesley knew the project from the traffic tie-ups\u2014fifty-seven miles of highway expansion and a new bridge across a deep gorge. She sized him up, asked to see some identification, and caught a glimpse of the mustard yellow pickup truck with the highway department insignia on the cab doors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHow long are you planning to stay?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAs long as I can. I\u2019ll take whatever you have.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lesley led him to her office on the ground floor where she kept her credit card reader. Multiple computer screens scrolled with data and line graphs; three hard drives hummed on a rack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhoa\u2014that\u2019s some setup. What are you? CIA?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Jeff nodded, hands on hips. No wedding ring, not that she was at all interested. He was 40 to her 55, and her last relationship had been with a woman she\u2019d loved most of her adult life, until she died.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He signed up for an extended stay of three months, then month to month after that\u2014probably six months total and maybe longer. When he asked about kitchen privileges, Lesley told him to help himself as long as he bought his own food. Tonight, she\u2019d make an exception and brought the rest of the hamburgers and buns outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lesley had never mastered the art of chitchat but listened as Jeff kept up a steady stream of conversation while he cooked two burgers for himself and a second one for her. His home was almost three hours away in the same town as his ex-wife and their eleven-year-old son, who he tried to see every other weekend. \u201cIt\u2019s hard\u2014I work a lot,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSame,\u201d Lesley replied. \u201cThe work thing\u2014not the family.\u201d Then they ate in silence.<\/p>\n\n\n
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Summer waned into Labor Day Weekend, which brought a few more travelers. After that, there were weeks when Jeff was the only occupant. Lesley\u2019s IT consulting picked up, with another school district needing to overhaul its email system and a credit union that had gotten hacked. Sometimes at night, Jeff and Lesley traded stories about work over a simple meal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
One unseasonably warm Saturday afternoon in early November, as they sat on the back deck with their laptops, Jeff told Lesley his son had a week off from school at Thanksgiving. His ex-wife and her fianc\u00e9 were going away, so Jeff had his son for the entire time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m thinking of bringing him here. Asher\u2019s a good kid. Quiet\u2014total computer nerd. He\u2019ll spend the day in his room with a screen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Lesley ran a hand through her short salt-and-pepper hair. She didn\u2019t relish the idea of babysitting but liked Jeff and wanted to help him out. \u201cHe can have the room across the hall from yours,\u201d she said. \u201cNo extra charge.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On the Sunday before Thanksgiving, just as the weather turned colder, Asher stood beside Jeff in Ashley\u2019s kitchen. The boy was tall like his father, but skinny in the way that kids can be, with dark hair that fell into his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Feeling as nervous as this kid looked, Lesley gave Asher the tour, starting with the kitchen and back deck. But when she moved toward the parlor and the staircase to the second floor, Asher stayed put, staring through the sliver of an opening into Lesley\u2019s office.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He pushed the door with one hand before Jeff could stop him. \u201cDo you code?\u201d the boy asked. It was the first sentence he\u2019d uttered since arriving.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSome. Mostly I do networks,\u201d Lesley said as she turned from the staircase and headed back to her office. Clicking on one of the screens, she gave Asher a quick digital tour of her work. Transfixed, the boy looked like he would have stayed there all day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On Monday, Jeff left early for work, assuring her that Asher would play games most of the day. Shortly after nine, the boy came downstairs. Lesley heard faint noises in the kitchen where she\u2019d left out a platter of muffins and found the boy looking at them as if unsure of what to do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThey\u2019re cranberry.\u201d Lesley nabbed one with tongs and deposited it on a plate. \u201cOrange juice? Hot chocolate?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWater,\u201d Asher said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lesley motioned for the boy to sit at the small round table in the corner and refilled her coffee mug. She couldn\u2019t think of anything to say, and the boy didn\u2019t seem to mind the silence, so she just watched him eat with careful, steady bites\u2014the same way she ate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d Lesley asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The boy looked up, brown eyes widened in confusion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI mean, on the computer,\u201d Lesley added.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Asher shrugged. \u201cGames. I challenge people.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lesley calculated the seven hours before Jeff came back. \u201cYou want to see what I\u2019m doing?\u201d she offered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Asher raced off to get his laptop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He asked a million questions\u2014a torrent a words that Lesley had not expected from the nearly silent boy who had arrived. But they were good questions, about firewalls and security protocols. As she answered him, she showed Asher how things were done, which meant everything took twice as long. If it got too much, she\u2019d shoo him back up to his room to play.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lesley taught him a little coding, just an exercise for fun, and Asher puzzled on it for the better part of an hour while she worked on a new user interface for a client. At quarter after three, pleased with how much she\u2019d managed to get done with an audience, Lesley announced they should take a break and put on their jackets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d Asher asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI want to show you something.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Asher dawdled, but Lesley managed to get him out the door. Four steps away from the back porch, he stopped. Without looking back, she continued as far as the picnic table and sat on the bench, facing the old apple orchard, the bare branches now gnarled fingers poking into the gray sky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lesley didn\u2019t speak until she heard a deep inhalation and the boy stood beside her. \u201cJust beyond those trees, there\u2019s a river. But we don\u2019t have to get there today. We can go a little farther every day until you feel comfortable.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Asher\u2019s fingers worried the end of the zipper on his jacket. The small, tense movements told Lesley all she needed to know\u2014the shy awkwardness, difficulty making friends, probably getting picked on in school. A page right out of her own book.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLet\u2019s try as far as those apple trees.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Together they continued across the backyard, the house still in sight. \u201cThe deer love these.\u201d Lesley tapped a half-eaten apple with the toe of her shoe. \u201cAt night and the very early morning, you\u2019ll see them in here. You like apple pie?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Asher pointed to a mound of brown pulp on the ground. \u201cYou can\u2019t make pie out of these.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lesley laughed. \u201cThat would be gross. I buy them at the store.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n
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On Wednesday, they went to the grocery store. Asher wanted to sit in the car and wait, but Lesley cajoled him with a promise he could pick out what they had for Thanksgiving dinner. They came out thirty minutes later with two frozen pizzas, a package of Hot Pockets, two bags of salad, a bottle of ranch dressing, and a bag of apples. \u201cI don\u2019t like turkey either,\u201d she told him, and drove home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On Thanksgiving morning, Jeff wielded a paring knife in the kitchen as Lesley muttered mild curses at the pie crust that slid out of the waxed paper and stuck to the rolling pin. They watched the parade on television and ate Hot Pockets for lunch. Then, with the pie cooling, Lesley sent everyone for their jackets. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
A protest trembled on Asher\u2019s lips\u2014it was cold, it might rain. Jeff tried encouragement\u2014it would be fun, good to get fresh air, a better appetite for all that pie. Lesley rummaged around the top shelf of a narrow closet in her office, found the hat she\u2019d been given the previous Christmas as a gag gift, and plopped it on Asher\u2019s head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou go, you get to wear it. You make it to the river, you get to keep it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Asher pulled it off, read the words over the visor. \u201cWorld\u2019s Best Coder.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They were out the door ten minutes later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Across the yard, through the orchard, and into a woodland of hemlock, beech, and maples, Leslie kept them moving toward the river. Jeff scanned it appreciatively, asking about fishing. Asher looked nervously at the narrow path that led down a vertical drop of about ten feet. Lesley went first, grasping branches for balance, stepping off the path to gain better traction in the hummocks of dry grass, then hitting the stony shoreline. Jeff followed, Asher in tow\u2014step for step, side by side, father and son. She let out a breath when they made it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Further downstream, small rapids frothed white. Beyond it, the current slowed and the banks widened. Jeff skipped a stone, and it kissed the surface three times. Asher tried but each small rock sank. Jeff stood behind him, their hands holding a flat stone together. With a flick of two wrists, it hopped once across the water, and Lesley let out a victory cheer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Asher poked a long stick into a tangle of tree trunks and branches, asking about fish and birds and animals. Lesley didn\u2019t know if he was genuinely curious or trying to quell his fears, but figured it was more or less the same. After an hour of rambling, they headed back to the house, the journey more direct this time but still took a good forty minutes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As the orchard came into view, Asher stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s going on, buddy?\u201d Jeff asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The boy squinted up at his father, then looked over at Lesley. \u201cCan we live here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThis is Lesley\u2019s\u2014\u201d Jeff began.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYes,\u201d she interrupted. \u201cAny time you want, as long as you want.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Jeff\u2019s stare was unreadable, and Lesley knew she was making things more complicated. But she wanted Asher to know he was always welcome there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou can come here for winter break,\u201d Jeff said. \u201cAnd this summer, we can come back if you want. I\u2019ll have a couple of weeks off then.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He glanced at Lesley. \u201cFine with me,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Asher started walking toward the house, slowly at first and then picking up his pace to a run. Jeff jogged behind him, while Lesley slowed, letting them have a moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She knew how good it felt to belong, to fit in. Her aunt and uncle had done that for her. Maybe she could offer something like that to Jeff and Asher. That\u2019s what this place was for\u2014home, away from home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
By Patricia Crisafulli<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2,18],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-10543","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-original-online-fiction","category-patricia-crisafulli"],"yoast_head":"\n
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