Comin' Home to You (40 page)

Well, that’s a thought.
He looked around the area. Very few trees were thorny locusts. He walked away from the vehicles, examining the area thoroughly. About three hundred feet away from where he was, he noticed a low spot. It was covered in leaves and dirt, and near it was a thorny locust tree. A weird smile appeared on his face. That was his landmark. It was dried up, but it gave him all the recollection he needed. He took a few more paces away from the vehicle. Brushing his boot across the ground, he looked at the bare brown soil. The memories of that day and the déjà vu all combined to create an awareness and calculated guess; this was the spot.

Finding a few sturdy sticks, he jammed them into the ground to mark his spot, lest he forgets where it was again. He headed back to the truck and helped himself to the shovel from the bed of Scar’s truck. Scar followed, stumbling along. The sounds of birds and their noises echoed from tree to tree, creating a quaint and natural soundtrack.

Owen stopped on the spot and looked down. Scar crossed his arms, unimpressed by Owen’s tracking skills. “This is it, huh?”

“Yep.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“What the fuck ever. Just get this shit done.”

Scar leaned up against a sturdy and broad trunk, guzzling down beer as he watched Owen drive the shovel into the ground. Owen felt like an old prisoner on work detail, with Scar being the jailer, looking on in boredom. After digging up just a small amount of soil, he was already exhausted, as if he had been doing this from sun up to sun down. He forgot his water in the car, so he would just have to deal with it. But he was getting closer and closer. Owen did recall being extra careful and digging the hole as deep as he could. Now, physically less than he was years ago, he was paying for it.

Scar seemed bored and threw an empty beer can at Owen, lightly hitting off of his shoulder. “How does this make you feel?”

“What?”

“It’s a fucking question and I want a fucking answer.”

Owen kicked the beer can away from him, into a high grass area full of poison ivy. He was confused by the vague question. “How does this make me feel?”

“Yeah. Do you feel, say, remorseful?”

“Not really.”

Scar smirked. He was only doing this to rattle Owen’s bones. “Then tell me how you feel.”

“Annoyed. I know I feel that.”

Scar got up from the tree and approached the growing hole. “Fuck. Well, I feel fucking…drunk.” He started laughing at his intoxicated attempt at humor. Watching him drink was making alcohol feel less enticing to Owen.
God, I hope I don’t ever act this dumb. I probably do.

A few more minutes of silence and hard work passed. Scar kicked a few rotted branches out of the way. Something else was on his mind. “What do you think it means to be tough?”

Owen stopped digging. He welcomed another break. “I’m sure you want a serious answer.”

“Wouldn’t ask it if I didn’t want one.”

“To me, being tough is about facing life and fighting through it. It ain’t about who’s the strongest or who can take the biggest beating. It’s more mental. Standing up to all of life’s challenges, even though it wears you down and still be able to smile. That’s tough. My father was an asshole. Whipped me pretty good whenever I got in trouble. But he wanted me to see that the world was tough in itself. He had some money from working in oil. Tried his hands at opening a parts store for the oil fields. That was going good until one of his employees stole half of his shit.”

“I remember that. Tom Burgess did it, right?”

“Yeah, they caught him. But he had already fenced all of the shit. Never could find it. So with the remaining funds he had, he tried opening a café here, since there weren’t a lot of places to eat at the time. That flopped. All of a sudden, we went from well off to poor. He took whatever odd job he could find to support us. But he still came home every night with a smile on his face. Then I’d do something obnoxious to ruin that smile, which is why I got spanked so damn hard a lot of the time, but he still fucking tried. That’s tough. Sticking it out even though life shits on you.”

Scar nodded. His eyes looked toward the hidden sky above, searching for his own answer. Owen resumed digging, but it didn’t take long to hit something solid. Getting down on his knees, Owen used his bare hands to clear the dirt from the area, digging and sweeping in unison. Sure enough, the black tarp was visible under the dark brown soil.

“This is it.”

“Well, get it out of there.”

Owen cleared as much area as he could before grabbing a hold of the tarp. It felt heavy, though he factored in his own current weakness. Straining and combating bouts of dizziness, he was finally able to grab the heavy tarp and pull it to the surface. It was tied at both ends by faded yellow ropes. He almost felt like taking a nap right there. But he knew that was a good way to stay trapped in the hole. He looked up just to have a sinking and queasy feeling in his stomach when he noticed the silver handgun that Scar had pointing at him.

“You know what, Owen? It’s like you just dug your own grave.”

Owen’s suspicions were correct. “Get that gun out of my face.”

“The past few days, all I’ve thought about is killing you. When you admitted that you were the one who killed Roy, I really wanted to kill you. I mean, I think I knew this whole time. But I got that confirmation that you did and I could not stop fucking fantasizing about how to kill you. Whenever I sleep, I have dreams of you dying by my hand. There was one where I used an axe, and then I used a flame thrower. I shoved a grenade in your mouth. I never wanted to wake up. To kill my brother’s killer in the flesh. Shit, that’s blood for blood right there. Killing your enemies and being the only one standing, to me, is fucking tough.”

Owen stood firm and held his ground. He’d been through so much. Another gun in his face wasn’t going to make him waver. “Get the god damn gun out of my face.”

“Fuck you, Owen. Fuck you. Fucking brother killer.”

“You’d better think about Austin. You’d better think about his little face.”

“HE’S ALL I FUCKING THINK ABOUT!”

Scar’s voice made Owen almost jump out of his possible grave.

“What fucking sucks is that every time I picture you dead in a pool of blood, I see Austin. You don’t understand.”

Owen was utterly confused. “Understand what?”

“Nine long fucking years ago, I started to realize some shit. I’ve been with so many girls, I lost count. Thing is, I wasn’t careful with most of them. Most of the time, I didn’t give a shit. I was ready to continue the line of Graysons. I ain’t the most tenderhearted person, but I thought about havin’ me a little boy to teach how to fish and hunt and be a man. But as many girls as I went in, it seemed kinda odd to me that not a one of ‘em ever got pregnant. So, I went to a doctor in Frisco. I was already there on some business, so thought I’d check it out. Did some tests. I learn I ain’t got a sperm count. I can’t have fuckin’ kids. That fucked me up, man. Fucked me straight up.”

Leaning on the shovel’s sturdy wood grip, Owen was thankful for Scar’s suddenly random story. It was more time for him to figure out how to slyly pull out his own gun to even the odds. Still, he had to be wary not to make it obvious. Something clicked in his mind. This was starting to play out just like the situation with Roy. As much as he wanted to avoid that, if it came down to it, he would kill again.

Scar squatted down like a catcher in a baseball game. “I just remember leaving that doctor’s office and finding the nearest bar. I got fucking drunk as shit. This red haired girl I met told me to come back to her place. We were about to fuck, then she asks if I have protection. I said I ain’t got any STD’s. She tells me she isn’t worried about that. So I have to look her dead in the eye and say for the first time to anyone, that I can’t have kids. She laughed and said then that’s a good thing. I fucked her, but I was so angry. So distraught. The bitch thought it was funny. I sure as hell didn’t.”

His gun slowly lowered, pointing to a small pile of dug up dirt, where an earthworm emerged from the soft brown soil. “So I go back home. I wasn’t really ready to tell my mother yet, but I knew I had to. I walk in her house and she has this fucking angry face. I asked what the hell was going on. Because usually it’s my fault why she’s angry. She raises her voice, saying it isn’t you, it’s your little brother. He got the little Tomkins girl pregnant. I was pissed at first. Ya know, since I hated all you Tomkins and all that shit. But then I realized this had to be a sign from God or something. I may not be able to have kids, but I can damn sure raise one to be mine.”

Owen cleared his throat and took the subtly sneaky opportunity to climb out of the freshly unearthed grave. “Except you aren’t raising him. What’s your point exactly?”

“I asked you what it meant to be tough. You say it is mental. Standing up to life’s shit and all, regardless of how bad life was. Well, I stood up to life’s shit. Fuck, here I am, fuckin’ babbling on and on to you of all people about how I shoot blanks and never have my own son. But I’m fucking tough enough to love a son that ain’t my own. What’s that say to me now? That I can’t fucking pull the trigger on one motherfucker that I hate so goddamn much, because I worry what one little boy is going to think if I do that? I used to be fucking ruthless, man!”

“Austin changes everything. There ain’t a fault in how you feel about him. He’s one of the best things that ever happened to me. But you think about it, I probably would never have Austin if I was a good father. Funny how things work out.”

“How old were you when you had Ali? 16?”

“I was 15 when she was born.”

“And how old were you when Austin was born?”

“Um, 29.”

“I remember that day. We were all waiting in the waiting area. Me, my ma, my sister, a cousin of mine, I think. And I remember you weren’t there.”

“She told me not to come.”

“Your grandchild was being born and you didn’t even bother to show up?”

Owen looked to the sky, but quickly averted his eyes. The sunlight was beaming harshly into his face. “I wanted her to know that I respected her decision. Though I did come the next day. Got to hold Austin for the first time. Loved that boy immediately.”

“Me too. But Clint didn’t even see Austin until three days after he was born. He was out getting drunk with his friends instead of being there. Ma was so fucking mad. So was I.”

Both men paused their meandering conversation to look at the tarp. Owen had excavated it over a minute ago, yet Scar hadn’t bothered to undo the tarp to take a look. He instead struck up a conversation that still had an unclear destination. Owen was guessing that Scar was stalling to avoid seeing the remains of his older brother. Putting himself into Scar’s shoes, Owen couldn’t blame him. If Ben was in that tied off tarp, as bad as he wanted the confirmation, he’d have trouble unveiling the shrouds.

It had been a decade and a half for Scar to keep giving himself false hope about his brother’s livelihood. He had the audial confirmation of Roy. Now it was time for the visual proof. Slowly, as if not wanting to scare whatever may lie underneath, his hand went to the rope. He still wasn’t in any hurry to untie the rope, but after getting frustrated by the double knot’s difficulty, Scar pulled out his knife and cut both ropes with ease. Once again, he was gentle and careful as he lifted one end of the tarp upward. The insides were wrapped like a fruit roll up, so it took some time before he saw what he needed to see.

A large bag of bones, so big that if you put the body together, it would be taller than Scar. They were mostly intact, but signs of decomposition could be seen around the feet and hands. Old scraps of blue jeans were noticed among the bones, and two leather boots were mostly intact. Scar did nothing but just look at the skeletal remains. Finally, he stood up with his head down. His body slowly made a trembling motion. He rose from his squatting position. His open hand squeezed so hard that he could have broken a walnut inside of it. The hand holding a gun once again was pointed at Owen.

“You fucking motherfucker!”

Owen could almost feel the heat from Scar’s tears. But as soon as he raised his gun, he just as quickly lowered it. His free hand covered his eyes. Scar’s grief, combined with his feelings being swayed by his state of drunkenness were greatly affecting him. Never had Owen seen feelings from Scar, especially conflicted feelings like these. Taking a step away and turning his back on his brother’s remains, Scar wiped his open hand on his jeans. Owen’s hearing wasn’t as good as it once was, but he could have sworn he heard the hints of sobs from his Grayson enemy. He never thought he would see the day where he witnessed Scar shedding a tear.

Scratching his itchy scalp, Owen was beside himself. He looked around, noticing a squirrel run up a tree. He also thought he saw a snake, but it was just a convincing looking stick. Saying anything might provoke Scar. It was best to just sit and wait.

Scar finally made a noise, clearing his throat and blowing snot from his nose. A bird chirped at the same time his shaky voice spoke. “I just remembered something.”

“What’s that?”

“It was something my dad said when I was younger.”

Owen was all ears. He placed his hands on his hip bone. It would give him a better and quicker advantage to grab his gun if needed.