“It’s good. Everything’s good. But I haven’t seen my family in ten years and I need to go.”
“Alright then, brother.” He grabs my hand. “Safe journey. I’ll be here when you get back.”
I give him a half hug and pat on the back, grab my tool bag, and head for the Sunflower.
Stone offers to drive me to the airport, but I decide to leave my truck, Reed finally drove out on one of his visits, in long-term parking. I can’t wait to get home even though I’m cutting the time to get on the plane close with the drive to Denver International. It’s late when I land in Dallas. Luckily, I’m able to rent a car. It’s a tiny thing I have to fold in half to fit into, but I’d shape myself into an origami swan and fly home if I had to at this point.
A long drive later, I realize my family is probably already in bed. Day starts early on the ranch, but I couldn’t wait another minute to see them. The porch light is on, its orange glow so familiar and welcoming. How many nights did I return home to this view, never appreciating the wide plank porch, the swing, even the blooming pots of geraniums my momma always puts out in the summer? Home. It calls to me, invites me to walk up the two steps, and hesitate about what to do next. Never have knocked on my own front door before, but even though I know my home, I’m not completely sure of my place here anymore.
I clench my jaw, roll my fingers into a fist, and rap on the door. Three quick bursts. I half expect to hear the unique response of a shotgun being prepped to pepper whoever is the asshole on my daddy’s front porch. Instead his face appears in the opening, blinking away the sleep. Concern melts away replaced by shock. “Alex?”
“Hi, Daddy.”
The door flies open and my father tugs me across the entry and into his arms. This is no man hug, this is a long lost son being embraced, enfolded back into everything he’s lost. My eyes sting. He calls to my mom over my shoulder. Footsteps flying down the stairs prompts him to release me. A tear tracks down his cheek.
“Oh.” My momma’s gasp pulls my heart from my chest. She’s on the bottom step, hand on her heart.
“I’m here, Momma.”
“My boy,” she says, launching off the stairs and wrapping herself around me.
I don’t remember her being so tiny. She’s a force larger than life that whooped me more than once when I deserved it. But somehow, the ten years have stripped away her fierceness. Left her a little colorless and soft. But she smells the same and her tears can still shred my heart.
“You’re here.” She leans back and holds my cheeks. Water fills her blue-gray eyes. “You’re finally here.”
“Sorry to be so late.” I say it like I missed curfew not that I missed a decade. Seeing my family over internet video chats on the rare occasion they could get a good enough connection to sustain a call is nothing close to standing in my home with my parents. Seeing everything is the same as when I left. This is what I lost. This is what I missed. This is what I came home for.
She sniffs. “You must be hungry. Let me fix you something. Your room is waiting for you.
I eat everything she puts on my plate. Cold ham. Reheated mashed potatoes and gravy. A scoop of green beans and a couple cold corn fritters I dip in maple syrup. Her homemade biscuit is on the edge of being dry, but I slap some butter on it and savor every crumb. My parents sit at the kitchen table with me, silently watching. Probably a lot like how they looked at me as a newborn. Theirs, but unfamiliar. Eating, so that’s a good thing.
The cold glass of milk is the perfect finish. I set down the glass and exhaustion hits me. I worked so hard to get here, and now that I am, all I want to do is sleep in my own room, in my own bed. “Want some help with the cows in the morning?”
My dad nods, a hint of a smile on his lips.
“Best get to bed then. I hear they don’t sleep in like they used to.” It’s an old joke. How I was teaching the animals to sleep in so they could get more rest when I didn’t get up on time.
“I’ve been slacking on their training.” He stands and my mom takes my plate. I offer to wash it but she waves me away.
I kiss her cheek before I head up the stairs, taking my bag from the entryway with me. My room is exactly as I left it. No dust. Ribbons and trophies on a shelf mounted to the wall. Posters that have yellowed and curled. My black belt hangs in the closet with my gi. A picture of me and Alyss at junior prom. We look like babies. I put it face down not sure how my momma dealt with looking at it every week when she cleaned the room. But nothing that happened was Alyss’s fault. I’m too tired to figure out my feelings except quiet joy at being home. I strip down and crawl between the sheets on a bed that’s slightly too short now. A couple punches to my pillow and I’m out.
Despite the fact I’m still on Colorado time, I’m up and ready to spend the day working. Not that different than my normal day, except that I’m home. Momma has breakfast on the table when I come downstairs. Some things have changed. New curtains in the windows and Daddy invested in some automation and has a couple of hired hands to help. He’ll need it if he wins the election for Sheriff. Still can’t believe he’s running but the county is tired of M.D. Littlejohn and his dictator bullshit.
The ranch isn’t quite as big as I remembered it. None of the horses I rode are still here, but I still remember how to ride, even if I am sore the first couple of days. I help with construction projects, fixing the fence and patching a tiny leak in the barn. At night, I tell them stories about my life in Colorado. About how Blake is healing and the resort property is coming along. They tell me about the latest gossip since the last time we had a call which was longer ago than I remembered. I fit here, and I’m family, but I’m still just visiting. Despite being in the places where Alyss and I spent so many hours, it’s not her I miss. SJ crosses my mind more times than I care to admit. Things I want to tell her about my day, places I want to show her. She hurt me, flayed my heart, but she’s the one whose absence I feel there now.
My heart is a dumbass.
Sunday, after church, all the neighbors come by for the barbecue my parents are putting on in honor of my visit. Everyone from my old football coach, to my once best friend’s parents are there. Every neighbor in a ten mile radius has brought their offering to the meal. The tables groan under corn casseroles, corn bread, potato salad, macaroni salad, bean salad, baked beans, pinto beans, and more kinds of pie than I can identify. Daddy has two full briskets, racks of ribs, and burgers and hot dogs for the kids. I haven’t seen a crowd this big since the last football game I played in. But then they were seated in the stands. Now, I’m visiting with everyone and telling the story of where I am and what I’m doing over and over again. A few ask if I’m married yet or have a girlfriend. But only a few. Most know why I left town. I’m sure some of them still believe I’m guilty. Truth can be harder to find than a sober man at a bar. And it rarely tells a better story than a drunken lie.
As the party winds to a close and folks fill up their trucks and their mini-vans with their families, a familiar and unwelcome sight rolls up the road to our driveway. Lights flashing, the sheriff’s car skids to a stop and M.D. Littlejohn, slides out of the driver’s side, placing his had on his balding but still crew-cut head. He hitches up the waistband on his pants and strides over to where my father stands at the head of the drive. Several of the ranchers join him along with a couple well-known citizens, like the chief of the volunteer fire fighters, and our banker, Mr. Curtis.
“What can I do for ya’ M. D.” I note my daddy doesn’t use the sheriff’s title for the first time in my hearing.
“Heard your boy was in my county.”
I move to stand next to my father and cross my arms. “What can I do you for?”
“Got a warrant for your arrest.” He lifts the cuffs off his utility belt and slaps them in his palm.
