by Ray Gorham
I love you all.
Thursday, November 17th
Deer Creek, Montana
The green mile markers counted down to Kyle’s exit. For the past three days, he’d been walking on roads that he’d driven a hundred times before. Never had it looked so beautiful, and never had it taken so long to cover the distance. The anticipation of arriving home compelled him to push his limits, walking until well after dark, waking before sunrise to head off, and stopping for only a few minutes to eat what meager food he could scavenge. He had abandoned his cart on the east side of Butte when the mountains there rose up to greet him. Without the cart, he was making better time but was having to adjust to the absence of the security the cart had provided.
The larger backpack Rose had insisted he take had proven immensely helpful, enabling him to carry enough supplies to make the final dash home, and now he was almost there. Mile marker 120. He imagined, for the five thousandth time, bursting through the front door, Spencer and Emma running into his arms, Jennifer, standing, waiting for him to run to her, David, acting cool and unimpressed, sauntering over to give him a one-armed hug…119…How had his family done without him? What had they eaten? Were they safe?…118…The fall colors in Montana were just as beautiful as he remembered, the mountains as majestic, the sky as blue…117…The businesses on the frontage road looked rough, most of them vandalized, with windows missing, and the insides stripped of anything valuable…116…The sun was setting. It was going to be late when he got there. He hoped the kids would still be awake…115…His stomach rumbled with hunger, but he was too anxious to stop. The sign at the gas station at his exit was now in view…114…Just one more mile on the highway, the off-ramp now in full view…113.
Kyle walked slowly down the off-ramp of exit 113, his head swimming in ecstasy at all the sights that were so familiar to him: the gas station he usually filled up at, the road he drove everyday to work, the street going north to his best friend’s house, and the dark shadow of Missoula in the distance. He stopped at the bottom of the ramp and fought to hold back the tears. This was his home, where his heart belonged, where he would find his family. The last fingers of sunlight lit the scene for him, one of the most beautiful vistas he could remember. Kyle noticed the cars dead at the pumps and the doors of the gas station broken open. In the dim light he could see that the store was gutted and the diner across the street was likewise ransacked. The scene reminded him that suffering and chaos existed in his town too. He had somehow thought, or hoped, that the people in Deer Creek would be a little more civilized, a little more capable of handling the situation, but realized they too would do what they needed to, to survive.
Kyle took his pack off his back and set it on the ground beside him. He tossed out his clothes, blankets, and maps, keeping only his food, journal, guns, and water. He shouldered his load again, cinched the waist strap, and headed down the home stretch. With his pack lightened, Kyle started to run. Three miles down this road, then left for a mile and he’d be in the community of Deer Creek. A couple of turns from there, and he’d be home. There had been countless days of walking, and now he was an hour from home. He ran as fast as he could. Everything was familiar, like it had been, kept alive in his memory for the past three months. It was dark when he made it to the first turn, and by then he was losing steam and had to slow to a fast walk. In the distance he could make out the big house that marked the corner of his street.
Breathing heavily, Kyle finally stood in front of his house, the sweat running down his back, his eyes wet with tears. The grass seemed a little long, but everything was what he’d remembered and envisioned for the past weeks. He walked to the door, trying to control his emotions, paused a second, then reached for the handle to throw it open, but it was locked. He pounded on the door with his fist and stood back and listened but heard nothing from inside the house. Concerned, he slowly walked through the darkness to the back of the house and tugged on the sliding glass door. To his relief, it slid open, and he stepped inside. “Jennifer?” Kyle called out, anxiety creeping in. He waited and listened. No response. He walked down the hall to his bedroom and scanned the room. It was dark and difficult to see, but he could tell that the bed was empty and messy, missing the sheets, and appeared not to have been used for a while. As he turned to leave, Kyle noticed dark spots on the wall, spots that, upon closer inspection, looked like blood, both splattered, and smeared down the wall. Then he saw large, dark stains in the carpet, and his heart skipped a beat.
Kyle’s mind erupted in a panic. What had happened? He ran to the front door, threw it open, and ran next door to the Anderson’s. He pounded frantically on their door. “Charles! Grace!” he called out. There was no sound or movement from inside. He ran to the house across the street, trying to think of the people’s names. He pounded on the front door and waited. Hearing nothing, he pounded again before finally hearing footsteps inside the house. As the steps approached the front door, Kyle heard a man’s voice through the door. “Go away! I’ve got a gun!”
“I’m sorry, but this is Kyle Tait. I live across the street.”
“I said go away!” the man snapped.
“I’m trying to find my family!” hollered Kyle back through the door.
“Go away! I’m not opening my door!”
“Please!” yelled Kyle in desperation. As he leaned towards the door, he heard the sound of a shotgun being pumped. “Okay, I’m going,” Kyle shouted. He ran to the next house. It had been empty and for sale before he left and still had the realtor’s sign in the front yard.
At the next house down, Kyle banged on the front door, then waited until he heard someone approach the door. “Who’s there?” came a voice.
“My name is Kyle Tait. I’m looking for my family.”
“They aren’t here. It’s just me and my wife.”
“They,” he started, then caught himself. “We live across the street, in the blue house. Do you know what happened to them?’
Kyle heard the deadbolt being turned, and then the door opened slowly. A man in his mid-50’s wearing a white Budweiser t-shirt stepped out onto the porch, nervously holding a pistol in his hands. He pointed the pistol at Kyle and eyed him with suspicion. “I told you, they aren’t here.”
Kyle raised his hands and stepped back down off the porch. “I don’t want any trouble. I’m just looking for my family.”
“Who did you say you were?” the man asked again.
“I’m Kyle Tait. That’s my house,” Kyle said, pointing down the street towards his home. “I’ve been gone, but now I’m back, and my family isn’t there. I’m just trying to find out where they are.” Kyle was tired and scared and could feel himself losing control of his emotions.
The man thought a second, considering whether or not to tell Kyle anything, then shrugged his shoulders and began. “There was a shooting there a couple of weeks ago. The lady shot Doug, the sheriff guy. I don’t know if you know him. Anyway, what I heard was that the kid caught Doug in the bedroom with his mother and tried to fight him. The boy ended up getting stabbed pretty bad, then the lady shot Doug for stabbing her kid. At least that’s what some people are saying, but you know how people talk. I’m avoiding everyone right now, so who knows what the truth is. I did watch them carry a body out of the house, so I know somebody died. It’s all pretty nasty business. Everyone around here has been pretty scared now that Doug isn’t patrolling and with the break-ins and stuff.”
Kyle staggered back away from the man’s house. Everything around him started to swirl, and he collapsed to his knees.
The man gave Kyle a look. “You all right, mister?” he asked.
Kyle no longer heard the man. He dropped his head to the ground, losing awareness of everything around him. The horrible things the man had described echoed in his ears. A violent shudder seized his body, and he had a hard time catching his breath.
“Geez, buddy. You sick? You better not be contagious.” The man hurried back inside his house, locking the do
or loudly behind him.
Kyle lay in the man’s yard for several minutes, his body weak and his mind numb. Slowly he pulled himself together and staggered to his feet. Had Jennifer given up on him? Maybe she thought he’d died in a plane crash or somewhere between Houston and home. What happened to David? Why had Jennifer let that happen to their son? Where was his family now? Kyle stumbled across the road, struggling to place one foot in front of the other. He found his way back to his house, let himself in, and dropped to the floor where he lay motionless for hours, his mind tumbling from one thought to another, with nothing making sense.
Kyle started to shiver on the cold entryway floor. Slowly he got up and walked down the hall, past his room, to Emma’s, where he pushed the door open and dropped onto her bed. Physically and emotionally drained, Kyle wrapped himself in a blanket and cried.
Friday, November 18th
Deer Creek, Montana
The bedroom was awash in sunlight when Kyle opened his eyes. Outside, the sky was blue, the air crisp, and a fresh new day had started, but inside, Kyle’s world was cloudy and dark, as dark as any night he’d experienced on his journey. Kyle sat up in bed and shook his head, taking a moment to realize where he was, having slept in cars, trucks, or a tent for most of the last ten weeks. He picked up a picture of his daughter from the bedside table and held it in front of him. Emma stood at the edge of a creek holding a four-inch long fish she had caught on a camping trip back in June. In the background, Jennifer was helping Spencer cast his fishing line. Kyle studied the picture while the memories from the trip rushed painfully back, then set the picture down and walked out into the kitchen. The conversation with the neighbor from the night before replayed in his mind, breaking his heart once again.
Searching through the cupboards, Kyle found no food and assumed his family had taken everything with them, wherever they had gone. As he stood in the kitchen, trying to figure out the best way to find Jennifer and the kids, his eyes caught sight of a single envelope stuck to the middle of the fridge with two happy face magnets. On the front of the envelope, written in large, black letters, was the word KYLE, with small hearts drawn on either side of his name. Kyle snatched the envelope off of the fridge, scattering the magnets, and hurriedly untucked the flap, half tearing the envelope before pulling out the paper inside. He unfolded the note and began to read.
Dear Kyle,
I live for the day that you read this note and will hold me in your arms again. The past months have been the longest of my life, but knowing that you’ll come back, no matter how hard it might be, has given me the strength to make it through these difficult days. I’ll wait 10,000 days for your return if I need to. We‘ve moved to Carol Jeffries’ house. She’s taking care of David who was seriously injured while protecting me from an awful man who tried to hurt our family. David doesn’t even complain despite not having anything to help with the pain. You will be so proud of him. He’s become a man, and he reminds me of you. Spencer and Emma miss you terribly and will be so happy when their daddy returns. We come to our house every afternoon at 1:00 PM and wait until sunset, to see if you come home. It breaks my heart a little more every time I open the door and you’re not here. If it’s close to 1:00 when you get here, wait for us. If not, please come find us at Carol’s house. She lives at 1252 Whitetail Lane. It’s the green house across from the one that does the big Christmas display we always drove by when our house was being built.
I Love You!
Jennifer
P.S. Life seems fragile lately. Charles Anderson died 2 days ago from diabetes complications. If, heaven forbid, something should happen to me and I’m not here when you get back, please know that I’ve been madly in love with you since our first date. I’ve never regretted for a minute being Mrs. Kyle Tait. Hurry!
Kyle finished reading Jennifer’s note through tear-filled eyes, then wiped the tears on his sleeve so he could see to reread the address. The letter was dated November 17th. He saw, in the trash, crumpled notes from previous days. Kyle dropped the note on the counter and wept with relief, the pains of the last sixteen hundred miles washing away.
Kyle ran to the front door and threw it open, knowing exactly where the house with the Christmas display was. He sprinted down his driveway and into the street, his hair flying in the wind as he ran. Kyle waved joyously to the few people he saw as he dashed by. Neighbors who saw him had no idea who he was, nor that they had just seen the happiest man in America.
He rounded the corner onto Whitetail Lane. The house was about a half mile ahead on the left. He flew past door after door after door, registering the numbers as he went. 1132…1152…1172… He slowed to a walk just a few doors away and could see the green house. A little boy in a red sweater ran into the front yard from the side of the house, followed by another boy wearing a blue coat. Kyle recognized the blue coat. He had been with Jennifer when they bought it on clearance for Spencer early last spring. His son was two doors away. Kyle stopped and stared, his breathing no longer automatic. The lump in his throat that had been growing since he’d read Jennifer’s note ached intensely.
Up ahead, Spencer saw Kyle and stared back at his dad. Kyle could tell by the look on Spencer’s face that his son didn’t recognize him. Kyle glanced down at his clothes, the well-worn blue jeans and the jacket Rose had given him, which Spencer had never seen. He had four weeks of beard growth, hair that hadn’t been combed for a long time, and a face that had only been washed two or three times since Wyoming. It was no surprise that he was unrecognizable. Kyle looked back at the boys, who were playing again, but Spencer’s eyes kept returning to Kyle. Spencer again stopped and stared at Kyle, studying his face, seeming to recognize something, but unable to put the pieces together.
With tears streaming down his dirty cheeks, Kyle smiled at his son. The moment he did, Spencer’s eyes flew open wide, and his head jerked upwards. He stopped running with his friend and stared at his father, his mouth hanging open. Kyle heard a woman’s voice from around the side of the house. “Spencer, what’s wrong?” Spencer stood frozen in place, then raised his arm and pointed at Kyle. His mouth moved as if he was trying to say something, but no sound came out.
Jennifer came from the side yard where the two boys had emerged earlier. She knelt down in front of Spencer and tussled his hair, saying something that Kyle couldn’t make out. Her hair was a little darker and longer than he remembered, and she looked thinner than she had in August, but there was no mistaking his Jennifer. She was wearing blue jeans and a pale yellow sweater, and oh, how Kyle loved the way she looked in a sweater.
“Daddy,” Spencer managed to call out.
Jennifer pulled her head back and looked at Spencer, who was looking over her shoulder. She turned and followed his gaze to where a strange man stood on the sidewalk two houses away. She turned back to Spencer, who was still watching the man. “Daddy!” Spencer said again, louder.
Jennifer turned and looked at the man again. He was now walking towards them, smiling. Her heart leapt in her chest. She knew that smile. She’d seen it a million times before, but lately only in her dreams. She rose to her feet, struggling to keep her balance. Her hands covered her mouth, and her eyes welled up. She took an awkward step towards Kyle, and then another. Then she started to run. She stumbled on the grass but caught herself. He was running towards her now too. “Kyle!” she cried out.
They came together in front of the green house on Whitetail Lane. Kyle grabbed Jennifer with both arms and swept her off her feet, spinning her around and around. His throat ached too much to speak, so he just held her, held her with all the strength and love he possessed. He closed his eyes and shut out the world and just experienced the touch and feel of his wife pressed against him.
They stopped spinning, and everything he’d gone through during the past three months flashed briefly through his mind: the airplane crash, Ed, Louise, his friends in Lubbock, losing his cart, Rose. All of it was there, and then it was gone. He was home. He was with his family
. Nothing else mattered. The joy of that moment was worth every ounce of energy he had spent to get there.
“Daddy!” came a little boy’s scream. Now that his mother had confirmed what he’d already known, Spencer was charging across the yard. He slammed into his daddy’s legs, and wrapped his little arms around them.
Kyle let go of Jennifer and enveloped Spencer in his arms. He picked his son up off the ground and squeezed him tight. Spencer wrapped his arms around his dad’s neck and hugged him as tightly as he could, his face grimacing, his eyes closing to tiny slivers. Jennifer put her arms around the two of them, and they silently embraced for what seemed like hours, without saying a word.
The front door swung open, and a young girl squealed. Kyle turned to see Emma drop to her knees in excitement on the front steps of the house. He set Spencer down and ran to his daughter. Scooping her up off the steps, he kissed her cheek and carried her over to where Jennifer and Spencer stood watching.
Kyle swallowed hard. “I missed you guys,” he said, finally choking the words out between sobs. “I sure had to walk a long way to get here… but you’re worth every step.”
“We missed you too, Daddy. We missed you too,” said Emma, her grin spreading from ear to ear, nearly splitting her face in two.
Jennifer wrapped her arms around her husband, son, and daughter, rested her head on Kyle’s shoulder, and closed her eyes. “I knew you’d come home, Kyle,” she whispered. “I just knew it.”