Comin' Home to You

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Comin' Home to You Page 27

by Dustin Mcwilliams


  Owen only halfway paid attention to Ali, as his eyes were focused on the man who pulverized him the day before. He was unarmed, but that didn’t stop his pride from speaking to a man that likely was armed. “That doesn’t answer the question. What the fuck are you doing in my house? You enter my home, there’s only one way this ends.”

  “Relax. I ain’t here to start shit.” Scar stayed stoic and succinct.

  “Dad, hold on,” demanded Ali, stepping in front of her father with her palms placed on his chest. “Scar, you said you had somethin’ to tell him. What is it?”

  “Six o’clock. At the old Grayson house. We’re gonna have ourselves a dinner party.”

  Ali had a questioning look on her face. “What the fu-” Ali stopped herself before cursing again. “A dinner party?”

  “I’ll let him explain it. If I stay one more second in here, I’m going to punch something or someone.”

  As Scar turned around to leave, he shot a glance at Austin, who was standing almost behind his grandfather. The boy had heard what he said, and his face showed it. There was a confused look in his eyes, but it was more complex than that. It was like there was fear in seeing his uncle, especially with his threatening posture and what he did to Owen yesterday. Scar scratched the scruff of his neck forcefully, then slammed the door on his exit with a little extra strength. The loud noise made Austin jump. It even startled Owen, though his body stayed calm as to not show his alarm. Ali didn’t move a millimeter. She had heard enough slammed doors in her lifetime. Curious, Ali had to know what was going on. “Alright, why the crap is he having a dinner party? That sounds weird as hell coming from him.”

  “Well, it ain’t as simple as just some dinner. Think of it as kinda, well, peace talks, I guess.”

  “Peace? I don’t see you and Scar makin’ peace, especially after what you admitted to doing.”

  “No, probably not. I doubt it was his idea.”

  “Then who?”

  “I’m guessing Luella.”

  “His mom?”

  “Yep. She’s always been the first to try to get the families together to talk it out.”

  Ali remained incredulous. “Seems like a setup to me, Dad.”

  “If Luella put it together, then I really doubt it. Besides, no weapons are allowed.”

  “Says who?”

  Tired of standing, Owen took a seat on the brown sofa. Austin plopped right by him, turning on the television with a remote control. The light illuminated the faces of those in front of it. Ali followed suit, sitting down on the recliner that was perpendicular to her father and son.

  Owen took a moment to watch Austin search for something to view on the television. “That’s just the way it is. The way it’s been. No weapons allowed.”

  Ali shook her head, with her brown hair covering an eye. “What do you mean? You’ve done this before?”

  “Back when this town was founded back in the late 1800’s, there were only five families that lived here. Us, the Graysons, the Banks, the Rosedales and the O’Connells. I’m sure you recognize most of those names.”

  Ali nodded, while her gaze mainly stayed on the television.

  “Well, whenever there was a disagreement of some sort, representatives of all the families would meet up and calmly discuss it. The first time they met, one of the Rosedales shot the ear off an O’Connell. So, after that, guns or any weapons were not allowed. And I’m not sure how it exactly went, but in one of the early meetings, a wife of a Grayson brought a roasted lamb for the men to eat while they chit-chatted over some sort of disagreement. After that, they started eating during each meeting. Took the edge off any hostilities.”

  “That’s silly. Has it ever worked? Like, to make peace?”

  “Oh yeah, but those were minor tiffs. Those other families don’t even bother with the old traditions anymore. But for us Tomkins and the Graysons, we just live on the flow of waves. Each wave has a high point and a low point. We are at one of those high points and the shit’s rolling downhill. The last time we had one of these is when Roy went missing, and before that was when some no name Grayson shot and killed my uncle.”

  “Was that the special uncle you talked about?”

  Owen shrugged. “I wasn’t even born then. I only went by what my father said about it. He said he was slow, but definitely didn’t deserve a bullet through the back. What I am trying to get is that no, these peace talks probably won’t do shit. But it’s become sort of a formality, and eventually, this feud between us will gradually be less and less intense. We just gotta ride it out. This dinner is the first step.”

  Ali looked over to her son, who was so zoned into a baseball documentary on the television that no words from his mother or grandfather made it through his ears. Owen was glad for it. He needed to be a kid and not ask questions about both of his families’ sordid history. Owen wished he could go back in time and relive his own youth. Times were so much simpler then. He wouldn’t have to deal with all this bullshit. If he could do it over, Owen would probably lessen his drinking. He’d be a better father to Ali, though his lack of parenting is the reason Ali rebelled and went for Clint, which resulted in Austin. There were many years lost because of her anger toward him. Much of it was misplaced, but he still deserved a lot of her angst. But what was real and true right now was that his own time was fleeting. Passing out and throwing up traces of blood decidedly confirmed that the amount of life he had left was running short. He had also resolved that he would not be getting a liver transplant, even if the opportunity arose. There were many people in the world, including the man he met in the waiting room and children that were Austin’s age that had no control over their liver failures. Owen, on the other hand, destroyed his liver almost willingly with his past drug use and ever present alcoholic dependence. It was an easy and selfless choice to deny furthering his life in that aspect. Because each day might be his last, he knew what must be done to ensure the longevity of his family.

  However, his plans were in jeopardy due to the unknown purpose of these peace talk attempt. The event only had one motive, and that was to instill some sort of mediation and peace between the Tomkins and the Graysons. While the overall sound and idea of it was thoughtful, he knew that as long as Clint and Scar were still alive, his daughter and grandson would technically never be safe and secure. Hell, if he could just remove Clint out of the picture, Austin would have a fighting chance at not growing up to be a degenerate, even if that chance had significant speedbumps. But he’d rather both of them be done away with. Ali and his brother’s family could take care of the rest.

  “What do you think Scar is trying to do, Dad?” asked his daughter.

  “I really don’t know. To talk peace now just seems a little odd. But I’m guessing Luella found out and told Scar to set this up anyway.”

  “Still seems shady. I mean, she’s nice and all, but knowing that you killed her son, don’t you think this screams set up?”

  “She wouldn’t allow it. She’s a good woman.”

  “But you don’t know if it is her.”

  “No. I don’t. replied Owen, feeling the need to rub Austin’s hair and muss it up, much to his chagrin.

  As he brushed his hair forward, Austin looked up into the eyes of Owen. “So, what were you all fighting about yesterday?”

  There had been a full day to prepare for that question. Austin had probably been dying to ask it. By the looks of Ali, she wasn’t ready to answer it either. He couldn’t lie…too much. “Your father and I had a disagreement. Your uncle was just protecting your father.”

  “What was the disagreement about?”

  Owen took a deep breath to think about it. He had hoped that the answer given to Austin would be good enough for him to lose interest. However, he seemed intensely engaged on Owen’s answer. Unsure of his next step, he looked toward his daughter, who gave a doe eyed gaze in return. His abdomen itched, and while scratching it, Austin turned his head back to the television. While changing the channel, th
e boy could no longer hold his tongue. “I know you don’t like Dad or Uncle Scar. They don’t like you either.”

  Keeping his eyes toward the stained carpet at his feet, Owen nodded. “Yeah, we don’t like each other much.”

  Austin stared at Owen with keen and curious eyes. “Why not?”

  “Well bud, we’ve just never gotten along.”

  “Uncle Scar said something about how your family and his family have fought for a long time. Since the cowboy days.”

  Owen sighed and scratched his nose. “It’s been a while.”

  “Why can’t you stop fighting?”

  Ali interrupted. “Son, it’s complicated. A lot of the reasons why happened when I was even younger than you are.”

  “So? You said that Uncle Scar was going to have a lunch or something and that he wanted to talk. Why not talk and stop the fighting then?”

  “Well, I guess we will see.” Owen lauded his grandson for making an effort and speaking his mind, but the time for peace was sadly long past. But Austin didn’t have to know that. He was better off staying innocent and unaware of the sad truth that surrounded him if Scar and Clint stayed in his life.

  Ali clapped her hands together with insincere enthusiasm. “Alright! Let’s stop with this depressing crap. Austin, put it on something we all can watch.”

  Austin changed it to ESPN highlights.

  Ali placed her palm on her forehead and lightheartedly smirked. “Oh lord.”

  Owen bellowed. “That’s my boy.”

  A quick thought came to Austin’s mind. “Hey Grandpa, can we go to a game again!?”

  Owen smiled, but inside, he was full of sentiment and sadness. Austin had noticed a Texas Rangers highlight on the screen and was probably reminded of his time at the game Owen took him to last year. They played the Kansas City Royals in a night game. It was an eventful evening. Austin ate a foot long hot dog adorned with chili, cheese, sautéed onions, and of course, a copious amount of mustard slathered all over the bratwurst and bun. Owen threw back quite a few tall boy Pabst Blue Ribbons and irresponsibly drove home with a strong buzz. But he tried to look past that to recall the pure joy on his grandson’s face when the Rangers scored the winning run in the bottom of the 9th on a play at the plate. Austin was so elated that his screams of happiness could be heard clearly through the roar of the crowd.

  Those thoughts were great in retrospect, but as a future prospect, it brought upon the brutal and maudlin feelings that he would likely never experience something like that again with Austin. He didn’t know how much time he had left on this planet, but he believed that the fated day was approaching. It pained him to think of a day where Austin was at a baseball game and not with him. Each minute was a grain of sand in an hourglass, falling to the bottom. Austin’s life was infinite compared to his.

  But as usual, it was best that the boy not know any of that. “Yeah, bud. We’ll go. Let me get some tickets online and we’ll go this weekend, alright?”

  Austin hopped up from the couch and did his highest and best karate kick into the air. “Hell yeah!”

  Ali’s eyes enlarged and her nostrils flared. “Austin William! Watch your language, young man!”

  By the way Austin reacted, he wasn’t used to being scolded. Even Ali looked surprised by her sudden, motherly reaction. Yet, he still responded like a polite young man. “Yes ma’am.”

  Owen rose up from the couch, scratching his chest and stomach. He pulled his phone from his pocket. “Let me go wash out my mouth and I’ll go order us a couple tickets, alright bud?”

  Austin couldn’t hide his exhilaration. His face beamed like a noon sun.

  Owen returned a smile to his grandson, then entered his master bathroom. Placing his phone on the edge of the sink, he turned on the cold water, washing his mouth and face. He took a look at his toothbrush, succumbing to his need to be hygienic. Over the past year, he would bleed each time he brushed his teeth. Because of it, he would sometimes just use mouthwash instead. It was lazy, but he preferred that over appearing like he was just punched in the mouth.

  After finishing his brushing and spitting out the blue and white foamy remains of the toothpaste with mixed in streaks of red blood, he eased the toilet lid down and used his phone to purchase two tickets to this coming Friday’s game. They were playing the Chicago White Sox, a team on a current hot streak. He purchased the seats a little closer to the action this time, just a few rows above the home dugout. He’d saved enough to splurge a little. If they arrived early enough, it might give Austin a chance to obtain some autographs. Owen grinned when he pictured some of the top Rangers players signing a ball and handing it to the elated Austin.

  Sitting there in his bathroom and staring at a blank white wall, he wondered how his mother felt as she spent her last days on her deathbed in the hospital, probably staring up at the same white texture on the ceiling. It was an odd thought out of left field, but lately, thoughts of death from the past seemed to haunt him. He recalled the same whiteness during his recent hospital visit in Tyler, probably why he was reminded of her recently. He and his brother were there quite a bit during their mother’s last days, but there were extended moments where she would be all alone. She had to be lonely and frightened, though she had told her two grown sons that there was nothing to fear, and that God, her family and her husband were ready to embrace her with open arms. She ended up passing alone, while both of the brothers were working, likely looking up to the drab white ceiling above.

  Owen was filled with abrupt gloom. Mumbling his mother’s final words to him, he imagined there wouldn’t be anybody there to guide him into the afterlife when he passed. He wasn’t a godly man and with his past sins, he doubted the Christian heaven would even take him. It unsettled him further as he stared deeply at an ant crawling up his bathroom partition. Thinking in intellectual patterns, there was something about a white wall that made him feel unsettled. White was the lightest and most positive color, yet it was a wall, designed to support and prevent passage. It felt like no matter what the positivity in his life would be, the wall, in the form of death, would stop him.

  For a second, he chuckled at his ridiculous allegory for his wall. But as his lower face started to shake and his throat tighten, the dread of death made him cry. He did his best to silence his sobs, but the tears were there, wet and salty on his warm face. It was a cruel sentiment to feel so alone in his struggle. He didn’t want to die. There was still so much he wanted to do, with both Ali and Austin. But each second was golden and precious. But what could he do to extend that time? He was aware that ceasing drinking and taking better care of his body would help, though it couldn’t guarantee that his life would last that much longer. But he still had difficulty letting go of his need for a drink. It just wouldn’t be feasible for him to always be fighting such cravings. Slowing down was easy enough, but that would just prolong the inevitable. He sighed, thinking of another outcome that would prevent one scenario of death to come for him.

  Perhaps peace with Scar wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  By the time the peace talks arrived, the sun, while beginning its descent, was providing a great deal of heat and humidity. Not a trace of rain existed, as the sun quickly evaporated the fresh grounded water, giving off a muggy and unpleasant feeling. Owen had to peel his charcoal gray shirt away from his body when he stepped out of Ben’s truck, as it was sticking to his skin. He, along with Ali, rode with Ben to the talks. Austin stayed with Ben’s wife and kids. He hoped the boy would have fun. While Adam was a little younger than Austin, they still had fun, usually playing video games together. Rainey also loved to chase Austin around, and he enjoyed running from her. But this was a place for grown-ups. Kids did not need to hear the conversations that were sure to be brought to attention. It would likely get heated. Even though weapons or fighting were not allowed, once the talks were over, unless there was groundbreaking process, those hostilities tended to remain. Tempers were sure to flare today, and the men attending we
re already pots on a stove ready to boil over.

  While he had driven by the old Grayson house many times in his life, it had been years since he actually set foot on the lawn. Luella Grayson raised all five of her children in this gray two story home, though now only Mary, the second of the five children, lived there. She took decent care of the place, which was surprising as she barely took care of herself. She was skinny from years of drug use and her normal mental state seemed to be spacy. It was likely that she wasn’t too thrilled about the talks being set at her house. Even as a Grayson, she didn’t really keep up with the family happenings and tended to keep to herself.

  The house looked like it always had. Compared to other Grayson abodes, this one was a little more publicly accessible and pleasantly nicer. It had a large wooden front porch with a swing, while the back porch was smaller in comparison The shade cast by the wooden and leaved trees granted cool respite from the mugginess, and gave off a beautiful light and dark landscape that any artist would love to paint to a canvas. A horse trailer lay prose on the side of the house, though it was looking a little more rusted than Owen remembered. A gray barn that once housed an older John Deere tractor rested behind the house.

  In front of the house, Gail Harris, a second cousin of Scar’s and the chef at the local country kitchen, was at a gas grill, flipping meats. On a table next to the grill were fresh off the grill cuts of chicken and hamburger patties. Alongside those were the usual vegetables, condiments and buns. Next to that were a couple of large ice chests on the green grass. Clint, B.J. and Bird Dog were near the trailer, shot gunning beers like high school kids. Nicky was on the porch swing, slowly drinking a beer and looking downcast.

  Ben nudged Owen’s shoulder, snapping him out of his thought process. “Let’s go grab a beer and get this shit over with. I don’t want to be here.”

 

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