Comin' Home to You (26 page)

Owen slowly opened his exhausted eyes. The early morning sunshine beamed through his open blinds, which he chastised himself for not closing before he fell asleep. Although, whether one could call what he did as sleep was questionable. After the shooting shook him and his family to the core, his ability to fall into slumber was compromised. He probably dozed off a few times, but since he didn’t dream about Patricia following the events, he could confirm that he never really fell asleep. His eyes burned, and his body felt like a train wreck. Owen was anxious, but somehow still curious if the punches he took from Scar and Clint left massive bruises. For the last few months, his body discolored easily, even from something as harmless as bumping his thigh into the kitchen table.

Before he examined himself, he went to go check on Austin and Ali. The young boy had fallen asleep in the room his mother grew up in, which was now the guest bedroom. Even after loud gunfire and a broken window that let the mugginess of the night into the house, he still managed to fall asleep. Owen had placed a tarp over the window, but that area of the house was still unbelievably humid. He wondered how his daughter and grandson fell and stayed asleep, though he noticed ceiling and box fans blaring at the sleeping mother and son. Ali was holding Austin with one of her arms, while the boy was in a rather hilarious sleeping position. One of his arms was over his eyes, while the other hand had its fingers almost going up Ali’s nose. When his daughter slept, she slept hard, so she likely didn’t feel his extremities around her nostrils. He didn’t know how difficult it was for her to go to sleep following the shooting, so he thought it was best to just let her sleep longer.

Back in his bedroom, Owen removed his shirt in front of his bathroom mirror. His mouth made the shape of an O when he checked out his abdomen area from where Scar punched him. Purple, blue, pink, and black all combined to form a pained combination that was his massive bruise. Just touching it shot shockwaves of agony through his chest area.
God, that son of a bitch Scar packs a punch
, thought Owen. He had to tip his hat to Scar. Not many men can dish out a beating like him. He’d never felt such a forceful attack in his life, and he never wanted to again.

Once done examining himself, he took a look at his phone that rested on his bed. He’d missed a call from his work.
Shit, I forgot to call in.
It wasn’t the first time it had slipped his mind to call the mechanic shop to report he wouldn’t be able to make it in to work. He’d been let go because of it in the past. Of course, he was usually rehired a day later. His boss was quick to forgive and forget. It always surprised him, however. Owen was a skilled mechanic, but he wasn’t phenomenal at it. He was positive there were others in the town and outskirts that could do just as good of a job as he could. He guessed he could be thankful that his boss supplied a steady paycheck through the years. Throwing the phone down back on the bed, he set a task in his mind to call his boss later and apologize.

Feeling generous, he deemed it a good idea to make his family breakfast. There were some eggs in the refrigerator. He also had some ham he could throw down on the skillet. Add some toast in there, and he was ready to cook a nice breakfast.

But his illness wouldn’t even allow him to leave his bedroom.

Owen didn’t even make it to the toilet. Vomit splattered onto the already dirty linoleum floor. It all happened so fast that it was over before it seemingly started. He scrambled for a towel to wipe up the regurgitated whiskey and beer, since that was all he conceivably consumed yesterday. Perhaps he should have ate something, but with his cirrhosis, everything seemed to come up at will. Owen wondered how much longer he would have to bear this. He was constantly in pain, frequently scratching himself, and throwing up almost consistently every day. It was becoming miserable. But he had to endure for the ones still sleeping in the bedroom across the home.

After cleaning up the mess and gathering his senses, Owen managed to begin cooking breakfast. Watching the ham sizzle in the skillet made his stomach rumble. For once, he was actually hungry. He questioned the last time he cooked a breakfast like this. While thinking what he had eaten the past couple of days, Austin sleepily walked into the kitchen.

“Hey there, bud!” boasted Owen with a smile on his face. “You sleep alright?”

Austin mumbled something that sounded like I guess so. Owen exhaled a chuckle.

Ali soon wandered her way into the kitchen. “Somethin’ smells good.”

“Sure does. Got ham in this skillet. Scrambled eggs in another skillet. About to make some toast. That sound good?”

“Yeah it does. Don’t know the last time that I had a breakfast like this.”

“Hah, you make it sound like a gourmet breakfast.”

“Trust me, this is gourmet compared to what I’ve been eating for breakfast these past few months. If I eat at all.”

“You gotta start eating better. You and Austin.”

Ali nodded, blinking sleepily. “A lot’s has gotta change.”

“I know you can do it, Ali. You got my support, for what it’s worth.”

Austin plopped down onto one of the seats at the table. “It smells good, grandpa.”

“Well your grandpa knows a thing or two about cooking.”

“Don’t lie to the boy,” joked Ali. “He’ll think you should be on the Food Network or something.”

All three of them laughed out loud. It was as if they had been a strong family all along.

Once the food was ready, the family sat down at the kitchen table that Ali cleared while Owen was cooking. The ham had a nice crispy edge to it, with hints of grease still clinging to the meat. The eggs were scrambled to perfection, and the toast was buttered liberally. Ali looked at her father before taking a bite of egg. “Should we talk to him about last night?”

Austin overheard. “People shot at us.”

Biting his lip before replying, Owen refused to hide the truth. “They were shooting at the house. They were trying to scare me.”

“Why you?”

“Well, there are some people that don’t like me very much.”

“Like Dad and Scar?”

“No,” uttered Owen. “They don’t like me.”

“How come?”

Owen stabbed at a chunk of scrambled egg with his fork. “The Tomkins and the Grayson families have never really liked each other. It’s gone on since the day Adrienne was settled. And well, it kinda carried over to us.”

“Why have y’all never liked each other?”

“Cattle disputes. That’s what my granddad told me anyway.”

“But why don’t Uncle Scar and Dad like you?”

“Most of it has to do with our fathers not liking each other. It just carried on to us, I suppose.”

It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was a fact that a boy of nine could live with. His young mind was probably trying to grasp why such a reason even made sense, but even as smart as he was, he wouldn’t figure it out. Not at that age. It was a virtue that Austin was still innocent. Owen hoped he would stay that way for a while.

“But don’t you worry,” chimed in Ali. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

Austin looked at the bandage wrapped around his arm. “Something already has happened to me.”

“Nothing else will, I promise,” swore Owen.

The boy nodded and took a bite of his ham.

Owen steered the conversation into more upbeat subjects. Baseball, girls, and cartoons on television were all spoken about. But every so often, Owen would catch his daughter staring at him. He knew what she was thinking. It was all he could think about too. They had to protect this boy. But the only way to do that, in his view, was to murder two men that Austin cared for. He didn’t even know what if Ali had a suggestion. But his was the only decisive option that he could create in his mind to keep the young man on the straight and narrow.

Once breakfast was done and the dishes put away, Owen excused himself to take a quick shower. Once inside, he almost jumped back out when the jets of water shot on his bruise. He hissed in pain, but withstood it as best he could. Turning around so the shower hit his back, he thought about everything.
How do I kill Scar and Clint? Will they be well-guarded? When are they going to come after me again? Will my family be safe? Can I really kill two of the most dangerous men around?

After washing himself gingerly and hopping out the shower, Owen put on a simple white shirt and black mesh athletic shorts. Once he made his wet hair presentable by brushing it to the side, he rejoined his family in the living room. The mother and son were watching old episodes of Family Feud. Both were actively guessing the words, and both cheered whenever they got one right. It was another moment that made Owen grin. Where had this been all his life? He knew the answer, but he chose not to dwell on it. He’d relived too many of those agonizing memories. Looking forward was the only sane way to go.

Going into the kitchen and looking outside, a fresh idea crossed his mind. He hadn’t gone walking in ages. When he asked if his family wanted to go wander down the pasture with him, Austin jumped at the opportunity. Ali politely declined. While she had an athletic past, once given a chance to be lazy, she took it. Owen was finally beginning to see the daughter he had missed these past few years. He prayed, whatever use that was, that she stayed on the right track.

Once Austin had his shoes on, the two set out past the back wooden fence, each with a large bottle of water in their hands. Owen also grabbed his phone, just in case. It was incredibly hot and humid for the morning. He had lived through a lot of summers, but every year always seemed hotter than the last. There was a great deal of cloud cover in the sky, but the sun was shining unabated at the moment. From the smell of the air, he presumed that it may rain soon. If so, he would welcome a stormy reprieve from the blistering humidity with open arms.

His destination would likely take about 20 minutes to arrive at a slow walking pace. As Owen and Austin marched silently, each step was spent examining and enjoying the morning scenery. They revered the sight of growing pine trees, chirping birds, and beautiful flowers growing in dispersed meadows across the land. Cattle grazed in the distance on a lush grassy hill. The color of the grass was green as an emerald. He could have pinched himself for not doing this and enjoying what nature offered more often.

Even though he used to make this walk many times, the land he trekked upon was not his. The entire area, which expanded well over 400 acres, belonged to a rancher named Henry Day. He was called Old Day by many who knew him. Owen's grandfather and Old Day were childhood friends. He was an active member in the church, and even at age 88, you could still find the elderly man feeding cattle and driving his tractor across the expanse. One thing the Tomkins and Graysons could agree on was that Old Day was a man to be respected. As long as you weren't doing anything illegal or tearing up his land, he typically allowed those that lived in the area free reign to walk his plains. Owen had offered to buy him a drink countless times, but Old Day would always refuse, saying that he hadn't drank a drop of alcohol since 16 years of age. Sometimes it bothered Owen when he believed he would never be half the man the elderly owner of this land was. But he made his life what it was. Now it was up to him to correct his mistakes.

As the journey continued, Owen pointed out to Austin a simple, yet gorgeous sight. On a small hill was a singular, but massive pecan tree. Even now, it still flourished mightily. Owen's father would remark that the gigantic tree was there even when he was a teenager. It was notable due to the fact that there was not another tree anywhere around it. The location made for an ideal place for a picnic, or just to relax and let the day fly by. He was already sweltering, so he and Austin made the trip up the hill and took a seat at the trunk of the tree. The immediate effect of being under the shade made him glad he came up here. It was even more of a privilege to take Austin with him, which he had never done. Taking a swig of water, Owen recalled the days that he and Patricia would spend just sitting there as the hours rolled by. Occasionally, they would bring simple snacks, such as apples and sandwiches. It was about as romantic of a setting for kids as possible. It made him yearn to return to those days. If things were just a bit different, perhaps he could be enjoying this day with his wife, Ali, Austin, and maybe one or two more children that he and Patricia could have had. Fifteen years, and there were still thousands of what-if's his mind was transfixed on. He told himself earlier that he would look forward, but it was nearly impossible when he was sitting in a spot full of memories. An audible sigh escaped his lips.

“Did you come here a bunch as a kid?” asked Austin.

Owen was glad his grandson broke his train of thought. “Yeah, I did. I played out here quite a bit when I was your age.”

“Did you and Uncle Ben come out here?”

“Eh, sometimes. He’s a few years younger than me. It was your grandmother and I that spent most of the time out here. On days just like today, we’d just sit here, look at the sky, and watch the birds, just happily wasting time together.”

“I saw a picture of her the other day,” blurted Austin. “On Mom’s computer.”

Owen gave a curious stare while scratching at his lower back. “Oh yeah? What’d it look like?”

“It was outdoors. By a cool looking waterfall. Mommy wasn’t even looking at the camera.”