by Lisa Bilbrey
Travis shook those thoughts out of his head as he took the escalator down to the baggage area. He waited for his luggage to roll out on the conveyer belt — it never did. He waited for over half an hour before letting out an aggravated growl and storming over to the lost luggage office. There were a dozen people in front of him, all with similar looks of irritation on their faces. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who’d come up a little short today.
He stood in line for another twenty minutes before he was able to file his claim. The smarmy-looking kid behind the counter assured him that they’d deliver it to his father’s house within twenty-four hours, but Travis had his doubts. Muttering a thank you, he left. There was no point in taking his frustrations out on some kid fresh out of college.
Travis shuffled outside and searched for his father; he wasn’t hard to spot. Russ McCoy was what one would refer to as an old-school cowboy. Tall and muscular, he had dark, leathery skin from spending the majority of every day working out in the fields; wispy brown hair; and similar blue eyes to Travis’s. On top of his head, he wore a black, felt cowboy hat with a leather band around the top and a silver buckle on the side. Travis chuckled under his breath and walked over to him; Russ never went anywhere without that hat.
Coming to a stop a couple feet away from him, Travis nodded toward the man. “Dad.”
“That’s all you got to say?” Russ scoffed and lifted an eyebrow. “It’s been a long time, boy.”
“Yes, sir, it has,” Travis agreed. “Kind of surprised you came to pick me up.”
Russ shrugged his shoulders. “Couldn’t very well let you stand here alone, could I? Besides, I didn’t think you’d actually show up. I guess I wanted to see it for myself.”
Travis clamped his mouth shut, swallowing back the retort that begged to be uttered. Fighting with his father was the last thing he wanted to do right now. He’d spent too many years hashing out the same argument with him. Travis knew Russ had never understood why he had been so desperate to get the hell out of Clarendon. Sometimes, it was just easier to let Russ think he had been a selfish bastard rather than to tell his father the truth.
“Anyway, let’s get on the road,” Russ muttered, pushing off the side of his beat-up Chevy. “I’ve still got a lot of work to do today, and I’ve already lost half the day. Where’s the rest of your stuff?”
“Who the hell knows,” Travis groused. “They’re supposed to deliver it to me tomorrow.”
Russ laughed. “Yeah, well, good luck with that, boy.”
Travis climbed into the passenger seat and stowed his bag on the floorboard. Russ climbed in behind the wheel and started the truck. Shifting it into drive, he pulled away from the curb without another word. Five minutes later, they were headed down the highway toward Clarendon to a past that Travis wasn’t sure he could actually face.
~*~*~*~
By the time Russ pulled up in front of their house, Travis was hot, cranky, and frustrated. With each mile that passed, the awkward tension inside the cab of the black pickup had grown. It had taken all of his control not to throw the door open and jump. Travis loved his father, but the years apart and the decisions that Travis had made put a strain on their already-testy relationship.
“Well, your room is just how you left it,” Russ said, looking out the window. “I put some clean sheets on your bed, though. Can’t remember the last time I washed the old ones. Probably before you left, but who knows.”
“Oh, um, okay,” Travis mumbled.
“I’d better get to work. The fence on the west side of the creek is busted up.”
“Thought you just patched those up?” Travis asked.
Russ laughed, turning toward him. “I did, but we had pretty nasty storm a week back, the winds were pretty fierce. A branch from one of the trees around the creek bed broke and smashed my new fence to pieces. You remember Joe Johnson?”
“Yeah, he graduated a couple years before me,” Travis replied.
Russ nodded. “He runs a bit of a handyman business. Anyway, he came out and removed the limbs for me, but now I gotta get the fence fixed before any of the cattle find the gap. The market is bad enough without losing them out of laziness.”
“Oh.” Travis wasn’t sure what to say. Work on the ranch was one part of home that he hadn’t missed. When he was little, Russ would make him go out and feed the cattle, plow the fields, and help during branding season. Travis had hated every minute of it and hadn’t hidden his disgust from Russ, either.
“Yeah, so I’d better get going before I lose all my light.” Russ cleared his throat. “Bertha is in the barn, in case you wondered.”
Travis snapped his head up, his mouth gaping toward his father. “I figured you’d gotten rid of her already.”
Russ shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “She’s not mine.” He shrugged his shoulders, smiling at Travis. “Guess I hoped that you’d come back for her someday.”
Guilt crept over Travis, and he shifted his attention out of the window.
“Anyway, the door’s unlocked, so . . .” Russ trailed off.
Without another word, Travis pushed open the door and climbed out of his father’s truck. He heaved his carry-on back onto his shoulder and headed into the white, two-story farm house. The screen door slammed shut behind Travis, and he took a minute to look around. A snort escaped from between his lips. Not a damn thing had changed.
There was a small foyer carpeted in burgundy shag. Straight ahead were a set of stairs that led to the second floor. To the left of the foyer was the formal dining room, where an old, oak table and half a dozen matching chairs stood. Against the far wall, an oak cabinet displayed his parents’ wedding china, not that anyone outside of Travis had ever seen it. Russ was a private man and didn’t have people out to the house often.
To the right of the foyer was the living area. Dropping his bag on the floor, Travis walked into the sparse room. Two tan-and-blue plaid, tweed couches were arranged in front of the television, which sat inside the built-in entertainment center. Russ had spent the better part of two years building that shelving unit.
Years that should have been spent taking care of my mother, Travis thought bitterly.
Travis closed his eyes in an effort to push back the anger bubbling to the surface. Loralie McCoy had deserved better than a husband who’d rather spend his days holed up inside his workshop than taking care of his dying wife. Travis had been nine-years-old when his mother had been diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. He’d watched as she had fought every day to climb out of bed until, eventually, she couldn’t. Travis had listened when she’d begged God to spare her — he hadn’t. After two years and numerous rounds of chemotherapy, Loralie’s body had grown too weak, and she’d passed away. Travis had been eleven when suddenly, his mother was gone.
Running an aggravated hand along his jaw, Travis turned and stomped out of the room. He snatched his bag off the floor and headed upstairs. He’d never been able to forgive his father for abandoning his mother when she’d needed him the most. Travis had done what he could for Loralie, but he had been just a kid. He hadn’t understood that his momma was sick and that she was dying. Travis never expected for his mother to fall sleep one night and not wake up the next morning.
Just like his father told him it would, Travis’ bedroom looked just like it had when he’d left a decade ago, with the exception of the layer of dust covering the shelves. His baby-blue walls were still covered in posters of various professional football teams. They’d motivated him to keep working harder and to never give up on his dream.
Scoffing, he tossed his bag on the bed and sighed. “That didn’t work out the way I expected,” he muttered.
After only a few minutes inside the house, Travis started to feel anxious. Rather than stay there waiting for his father to come back and lay into him, Travis headed back downstairs and into the kitchen, where he found the keys for Bertha. They were hanging on the same nail where he’d put them a decade ago. Twirling them ar
ound his index finger, Travis pushed open the back door and ran out to the barn, pulling open the double doors. A smile tugged against the corner of his lips. The black 1966 Pontiac GTO had been his pride and joy, the only connection he had left with his mother. It’d belonged to her, and when he’d turned fifteen, Russ had tossed him the keys and told him to be careful.
“Hey, baby, did you miss me?” Travis murmured, dragging the cover off of Bertha. Once he’d walked around the classic car, he climbed in behind the wheel. The black interior molded around him, almost welcoming him back into its comfort. “Well, let’s hope you run as good as you look.”
The engine roared to life, eliciting a moan from Travis. He shifted the car into drive and, being very careful as he pulled out of the barn, headed down the long, dirt driveway toward the highway. Travis rolled down the window; the cool breeze that flittered in let him begin to relax. There was nothing quite like a nice drive in the country. Travis’ eyes shifted to the passenger seat. He could almost picture Penelope sitting there with a huge smile on her face. She’d made everything better. Of course, then he’d ruined it all by leaving.
Travis shook any thought of her out of his head as he drove past the city limits. The town hadn’t changed much over the years. A new convenience store had taken the place of a couple of out-of-business gas stations. Clayton’s Groceries was still there, though it looked like the exterior had been revamped with a fresh coat of red paint and a new sign. Travis drove by the bank, a couple of insurance offices, and the local pharmacy; each establishment displayed their support for the local school’s football team. Travis laughed as he turned left on Main Street — not a damn thing had changed.
A few minutes later, Travis parked his car in the lot outside of the high school’s gymnasium. From his seat in his car, he could hear the band playing the fight song, the roar of the students, fans, and parents who’d come to the pep rally to cheer on the football team. He could remember every Friday afternoon that he’d spent sitting in front of their watchful gazes. He had both hated and loved every minute of it.
Travis took a deep breath and climbed out of his car, pushing the door shut with his hip. He shoved his keys into his back pocket before walking across the parking lot and into the building. He stopped in the doorway to the gym, and a smile sprang up on his face. The bleachers were packed, and there were at least another three dozen people standing against the walls. The cheerleaders were chanting, “Go, fight, win” while waving their maroon, white, and silver pompoms in the air. On the left side of the basketball court sat the members of the varsity football team; all of them wore maroon jerseys with large white numbers on their chests and backs. The walls of the gym had been covered in posters made by the student body in support of their team.
From where he was standing, Travis was able to stay hidden. The cheerleaders finished their chant and ran to the side; it was time for the homecoming queen nominees to be announced. For the next several minutes, the crowds cheered and awed as four girls from the senior class were presented. Their sashes draped over their shoulders, the girls were led over to the white, wicker arch that had been set up on the opposite side of the gym.
Finally, the band started playing the school song. Travis slipped even further into the shadows, hoping to bypass the crowd for a while longer. Right now, he needed a few minutes to come to grips with being there. He’d only been home an hour, and already he found himself second guessing his decision.
Once the band finished with the school song, they broke into another round of the fight song. Travis stayed hidden as the gym emptied, leaving only a few people piddling around. Once he felt it was clear, he stepped inside and released a heavy sigh. It’d been too long since he’d found himself here, though he could remember it like it was yesterday. The thrill when he heard everyone cheering for him, the pride he felt for being a leader — it was indescribable.
“Excuse me, Mr. McCoy. Will you sign my football?” Travis looked behind him and saw a small boy with dark, mocha eyes and shaggy, blond hair that looked like he ran his fingers through it often.
“Sure. What’s your name, little man?” Taking the brown, leather ball and black marker that the boy offered, Travis cradled it to his chest and waited for the boy to tell him what name to scribble.
“Max!” Travis spun on his heel, shocked by the voice that came from behind him.
There, standing in the doorway to the gymnasium, was the one woman he’d thought he would never see again. Ten years hadn’t changed her much. At five and half feet tall, Penelope Stone still wore her honey-blond hair long, just the way he liked it. He’d spent so many nights running his fingers through the silky locks, laughing at the way she shivered next him. Her brown eyes shifted between Travis and the boy, her face twisted in pure anguish. Before Travis could speak, she rushed over to them and wrapped her arms around the child, pulling him back a few steps.
Travis didn’t understand her reaction until the boy wiggled out of her embrace, his face flushed with embarrassment, and spoke a single word: “Mom!”
Feeling like he’d been sucker punched, Travis snapped his gaze up to hers. The boy had to be at least ten years old. The math wasn’t hard to figure out. His lips parted, and the words slipped out before he could stop them, “Penelope? What the hell is going on?”
***
Chapter Three
Unraveling the Truth
Travis stood there and stared at Penelope with his mouth gaping open and a look of pure shock on his face. He looked from her down to the boy glaring at daggers her. Ten years. Ten damn years of not hearing a word from her, and now she stood in front of him with a kid? Running his hand through his hair, Travis tried to comprehend what had just happened. However, before he could question her further, a door slammed shut and pulled his attention away. Travis looked over his shoulder to see a tall, plump man with sparse grey hair coming toward him with a huge grin spread across his face and a hand held out in front of him.
“Mr. McCoy, we’re so thrilled to have you here, sir,” the man gushed, wrapping his fingers around Travis’ hand. “When I didn’t hear back from you, I figured you’d decided not to accept our invitation. But I’m so glad you came.”
“Oh, sorry. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it, and didn’t want to give you my word, then have to back out at the last minute,” Travis muttered. “You must be Mr. Garrison.”
“Call me Jack.” He waved him off before turning to Penelope and Max. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No, we were just leaving,” Penelope blurted, grabbing Max’s arm and trying to drag him toward the exit.
“Mom! He didn’t sign my ball yet!” Max pulled his arm out of her grasp and looked up at Travis; the expectation in his eyes nearly brought the man to his knees. “My name is Max.”
“Um, yeah, okay.” Travis’ hand shook as he brought the marker down, scribbling ‘To Max, Never stop dreaming. Travis McCoy.’ Clearing his throat, he held the ball out to Max. “Here you go, little man.”
“Thanks, Mr. McCoy. You’re my favorite football player of all time,” the boy gushed. “My Mom says that when I get bigger, she’ll take me to watch you play.”
Penelope whimpered, pulling Travis’ attention back to her. “She did, huh?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Max shrugged his shoulders. “I’m gonna play for the Sharks when I get big, too. My Mom said that they are the best football team in the league.”
“Max, we should go,” Penelope said, placing her hand on his shoulder. Her eyes never left Travis’s. “I’m sure Mr. McCoy has business to handle with Mr. Garrison.”
“Okay, Mom.” Max sighed before he turned back to Travis. “Thanks again, Mr. McCoy.”
“Travis,” he mumbled. “You — you can call me Travis.”
A wide smile spread over the young boy’s face. In that moment, Travis saw a bit of his own mother in the boy. He had Loralie’s smile, that same carefree innocence that she’d had until the end.
“Okay, Tra
vis. Thanks!” Max cheered.
“You’re welcome.” Travis shifted his focus over to Penelope, who had one hand covering her mouth while the other rested against her chest. “Penelope . . .”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, before she fisted a handful of Max’s maroon and white Broncos T-shirt and dragged him out the door with her.
Travis stood still, fighting against the bile rising in his throat. It wasn’t until Jack clapped his hands together that he remembered the man was even standing there. Travis swallowed thickly and shifted his attention to him.
“How long have you been the principal here?” Travis asked, trying to forget about Penelope and Max. It wouldn’t work, of course. She’d haunted him every day for the last decade, and now, so would her son.
“I came to Clarendon the fall after you graduated,” Jack explained and gestured for Travis to follow him. “Though, I have to admit that I watched you play while you were still in school. I taught in Amarillo while I obtained my master’s degree. You had quite the career here.”
“I guess,” Travis muttered. Jack led him through the gym and into the high school. The office was located on the second floor of the three-storey building.
Sitting behind an old, metal desk was Nadine Malone. The five-foot tall woman had short, black hair and deep hazel eyes, which made even the strongest of boys tremble in fear when she turned her glare on them. Of all the teachers or staff that had worked here when Travis had been a student, Ms. Malone had had the biggest effect on him. Just the thought of disappointing her made him cringe.
She looked up, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw Travis. “Oh, my goodness,” she cooed, standing up and rushing around to him. She wrapped her tiny arms around Travis. “I haven’t seen you in so long.”
“Hello, Ms. Malone. It’s nice to see you, too.” Travis chuckled and hugged her back.
“Oh, well, I think you can call me Nadine now. After all, you’re not a student anymore.” She giggled and released her hold on him. “Now, why didn’t you tell us you were coming? We’d have made sure you were welcomed properly.”