At the airport an hour later, Mark approached the security checkpoint. People were taking off their shoes, and some were pulled out of line for no reason that Mark could tell. His hands began to sweat, and he swiped them on his thighs. He didn’t want to take his shoes off. Glancing at the man behind him, he started to ask what was going on, but that man had a cell phone to his ear, and just glared at him.
Mark’s mouth went dry as his turn approached, then a security guard tapped him on the shoulder. “Step to the side please.”
He hesitated. Freedom was so close. “Is…is something wrong?”
“No, sir. I just need to ask you a few questions.”
The phrase sent a chill through him. Jim and Bill said they were just going to ask a few questions. It was stupid to be worried. He had nothing to hide and others had been questioned. “Okay.”
It took only a few moments even though it felt like much longer, but in the end, they let him pass through. He tugged his shirt away from his body, feeling like he had just run a few sprints. With no bags, check in went quickly. Mark sank onto a chair and ran a hand through his hair. He tried to relax as he waited for the flight to be called, but he couldn’t keep still. His leg bounced and when he noticed, he stopped, but then began drumming his fingers on the armrests.
A harried looking woman approached. With one hand, she dragged a small suitcase on wheels, and a huge purse hung off her shoulder. Her other hand clutched the hand of a little girl.. The child poked a finger in her mouth and stared at him with wide brown eyes. “Sit in the chair, Olivia.” The child didn’t budge, just kept her gaze on him. Mark squirmed.
“It’s okay, honey.” She lifted the girl and set her in the chair. Mark gave her an encouraging smile. He’d always been good with the children that came to have their portraits taken. The girl scooted as far from Mark as she could. The woman stood beside the chair and looked at her watch before tugging on the straps of her purse. It looked heavy.
He saw that all the other chairs were taken. The woman should sit beside her child. He stood, waving towards the chair. “Here, you can have my seat, ma’am.” Mark shoved his hands in his pockets as he stepped away. His heart raced, and he tried to shake off his nerves. It was just a mom and her kid. Nothing scary about that. Except that he had only spoken to a handful of people in the last year, and most of them had been interrogating him.
“Oh no, that’s all right. I don’t mind standing.” She plunged her hand into the depths of her purse, but one strap came off her arm, upending the bag. The contents tumbled out onto the floor. “Shoot!” Mark gaped at the pile of miscellaneous items. He was sure that MacGyver could build a whole car with the contents of that purse. Bending to pick up the items, the flustered woman knocked the handle of her suitcase, and it tipped, resulting in more angry words from the mother. The little girl began to cry. “Olivia, hon, it’s fine. Don’t cry.” Her voice shook.
Mark bent, retrieving a lipstick, a medication bottle, and some change that had rolled under the chair. He then righted the suitcase. “Here.” He handed over the items. “Please. Take my seat. It’s okay.”
“Oh, bless you.” The woman gave in and dropped onto the chair. “You have no idea what a bad day this has been.” She fanned her face and chuckled. “No, make that a bad week. Our flights have been canceled and delayed due to bad weather.”
Mark nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve had some rough days recently. It’s no fun. I hope things go better for you.” His stomach rumbled and he wished he would have thought to buy some food before checking in. There was no time now. Oh, well. He would live.
The woman grinned at him. “You hungry?”
He cleared his throat, embarrassed that she’d heard. “Uh, just a little.”
Reaching into another pocket of the purse, she pulled out a chocolate bar. “Here. I know it’s not much, but take it.”
Mark hesitated, and she leaned forward, pressing it into his hand. “I’m not supposed to eat the stuff and I have another for Olivia.”
“Thank you. I appreciate this.” He brought the bar up to his nose, even through the wrapper, he could smell the aroma. Heaven.
The woman raised an eyebrow and Mark couldn’t help letting a small smile quirk his mouth. “It’s the first one I’ve had in a really long time.”
She waved to him, then sighed when the flight was called. “Have a good day.”
The plane circled O’Hare for thirty minutes in a holding pattern due to rain and sleet. Traffic on the highways below crawled along, the headlights snaking around the airport and branching in towards the city. Looking south, he saw the Sears Tower, its lights hazy, but reaching high into the twilight sky. His throat tightened. It wasn’t the most beautiful skyscraper in the city, the Hancock was more elegant, but the Sears Tower represented Chicago. It jutted up out of the prairie, bold and broad, soaring head and shoulders above the surrounding buildings. Mark craned his head as the plane banked and he lost sight of the building. How could anyone think to destroy something like that? He sat back with a sigh. How could anyone think that he’d wanted to destroy it?
Mark stood on the moving sidewalk inside the terminal. Normally, he disdained them, preferring to walk, but he was drained. As the belt carried him through the terminal, it suddenly occurred to him that nobody knew he was coming home. In Charleston, he hadn’t had time to call his parents, and they lived four hours north of Chicago, just outside of Madison. In this weather, no way would they be able to come down to see him.
He stepped out of the airport, the blast of cold damp air cutting right through the thin shirt he wore. Nobody had thought to provide a coat for him. In the south, it was still warm, but in Chicago, winter was just beginning to flex her muscles.
The cab should be warm enough and when he got home, he could dig out his winter gear. After asking for an address, the cabbie glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. “Dude? You crazy? Where’s your coat?”
Mark shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking when I got on the plane. Forgot it.” He tried to suppress a shiver, but the chill swept his body.
The man shook his head, but he reached down and turned the heat on high.
“Thanks.” Mark hunched into the seat, and soon, the warmth of the cab soaked into him. They got caught in the same traffic that had been visible from the plane, and it wasn’t long before he began blinking, each time, his eyes staying shut longer. He hoped the cabbie was honest, because he was beat. He’d tried to doze on the flight, but was so keyed up, he couldn’t relax.
“Here you go.”
Mark started and sat forward so fast, he bumped his head on the roof of the car. “What?” He rubbed his head and looked out the window. They were in front of his building. He was home.
The cab pulled away, and Mark hurried up the steps to the front door, keys in hand. It was so familiar. Huddled against the cold, he fumbled for the key on his chain, and tried to slip it into the lock, but it wouldn’t fit. That was strange. Was it the wrong key? The one for the storage closet in the basement looked a lot like the door key. He tried the other one. Neither opened the door.
He sat on the brick ledge bordering the entryway. Once a unit had been burglarized and the front lock had been changed. Mark ran his finger down the list of names beside the buzzers. His neighbor would buzz him in if he was home. There were some new names on the list and it took him a moment to realize that one of them was in his apartment. He wiped a drop of water off the name plate. It had to be wrong. That was his apartment. He scanned the other names, found one he recognized, and buzzed it. Nothing. He tried again. And again.
Shaking from cold and rage, he slammed the heel of his hand against the panel, hitting several buttons at one time. A voice came over the speaker. “Hello?”
Mark leaned in. “Hey! I’m trying to get into my apartment, but my key’s not working.”
“What apartment?”
“303. My name’s Mark Taylor.”
The speaker hissed with static, and he pushed the button again.
“Get lost before I call the cops!”
Mark staggered backwards, the hatred in the voice hitting him like a blow. He managed the first couple of steps, but missed the next. Flailing, he tumbled onto the sidewalk into a pile of dirty slush. The sudden stop jolted up his spine, but he hardly felt it. The slush soaked into his pants, and his hands stung from the pavement and the cold. He winced as he stood and looked down at his knee. The material was torn and his shirt was dotted with black greasy stains. He tried to swipe some of the dirt off, but it just smeared so he gave up. Wrapping his arms around him, he shivered.
Right upstairs, someone was sitting his loft. His shoulders sagged, and he swore as a shudder swept him. Bitter disappointment rose in his throat. He’d come home, only it wasn’t his home anymore. Why hadn’t he thought ahead?
Who could be living in his loft? What about his furniture and clothes? Were they in storage? Craning his head, he found his window and sure enough, light shone in it. Damn it! Mark turned, hoping he’d see his Jeep where he usually parked it on the street. It was gone. What had he expected? That everything would be just as it had been when he’d left?
The rain turned to sleet as he trudged along the street, flinching as cars whizzed past, splashing slush on him. Both hands were firmly tucked under the opposite arm, and he shivered non-stop. What should he do? He could get another cab and go to a hotel for the night, but then what? His money wouldn’t last a week if he did that. Even a cheap hotel would put a serious dent in his finances. There was a diner down on the corner. He used to eat at least three meals a week there. Seeking warmth, food, and a place to gather his thoughts, he entered and took a seat at a booth. His teeth chattered so hard that when the waitress came, he couldn’t speak.
The young woman looked him up and down as she narrowed her eyes. “Hey, buddy, this isn’t a shelter. If you need one, you gotta go down to St. Paul’s around the corner.” She pointed with her pen over her shoulder.
Mark blinked. She looked vaguely familiar. “No. I, uh, I came for dinner…but, I fell.” He took the napkin and tried to blot the front of his shirt. He couldn’t look at her.
“You got money to pay for your food? I need to see it before I can take your order.”
If he hadn’t been so cold, he was sure that his face would have been burning. Pulling out his wallet, he withdrew a twenty and held it up.
Her face broke into a smile. “Oh, okay. My name’s Brittany, and I’ll be your waitress. Sorry, about, you know…” She flicked her wrist. “It’s just we get so many that come in here, especially on days like this.” Launching into the special for the evening, she stopped and cocked her head. “I’ve seen you before.”
Mark nodded, not returning the smile. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been here.” His body shuddered, and he rubbed water off his face as it ran from his hair into his eyes. “I used to live down the street.”
“Ah, so you’re back to visit the old neighborhood.” Brittany smiled. “Did you move close by?” She jabbed her pen at him and said, “I sure hope so, because you’re going to freeze your tush off on the way home.”
Like a Mack truck, it hit Mark. He was homeless. His stomach twisted and the ache swelled, filling him. For a long moment, he couldn’t answer but finally managed to mumble, “No. It’s not that close. I’m looking for a new place.”
Brittany sighed. “You don’t have anywhere to go, do you?” She slipped her order pad into her apron pocket. “Look, St. Paul’s has a soup kitchen tonight. It’s not far, and you can sleep there.”
Mark sat straight. “I have money.” He lifted his chin.
“I know, but, I hope you don’t mind me being nosy, but I bet you don’t have much, do ya?”
He tried to hold her gaze but then turned away, shrugging. “I have enough for a meal.”
“Yeah, but St. Paul’s has a good one, and you could save your money. I know they call it a soup kitchen, but it’s really more than soup. It’s a regular meal.” Her voice had become soft and encouraging. “I mean, if you want, you can eat here. God knows, my boss would shoot me if he knew I was sending a paying customer away, but I’d feel guilty taking your money. Do me a favor, and go to the shelter tonight.”
Exhausted in body and spirit, he gave in. He just didn’t have the energy to fight. Mark slid out of the booth, stood and nodded at Brittany. Without a word, he exited.
He knew where St. Paul’s was and Brittany’s ‘just around the corner’ was in reality, a good half-mile away. The few minutes of respite in the diner made it feel even colder outside, and it took him almost twenty minutes to walk to the church.
“Good lord! You’re half frozen.” The woman, stout and with tight gray curls, shook her head then motioned for Mark to follow as she headed across the lobby of the church to a door labeled ‘Basement’. “I just don’t think I’ll ever understand what you people are thinking, running around in this weather improperly dressed.” She opened the door, then looked back to see that he was still behind her.
He should have just bought his dinner at the diner. Saving a few bucks wasn’t worth this. If he hadn’t been so cold and miserable, he would have marched right back out, but his shivering had grown fierce and constant. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth.
“John, grab a blanket for this guy, would you?” the woman asked a young man sweeping the floor as they entered.
“Sure.” The kid leaned the broom against a table and jogged to the far side of the room where Mark saw stacks of sheets and blankets on a table. Between Mark’s spot and that table were approximately three dozen cots. “Here you go, Mister.”
He took it. “Thanks.” At least the kid didn’t have that tone in his voice. Mark tossed the blanket over his shoulders and pulled it tight, clutching both ends in his hands.
While he ate some kind of baked pasta casserole and bread, his shivering gradually subsided. Soon, he became so drowsy that even as he swallowed the last bite, he nodded off for a second. Blinking rapidly, he shook his head to clear it, unable to stifle a yawn. His feet felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each as he crossed to throw his paper plate and cup in the garbage. All he wanted was sleep, and at the moment, he wasn’t picky about where that sleep would take place.
Some other men had lined up for linens, so Mark joined them. Someone complained when he saw that Mark received another blanket, but the stout lady shut him down with a look. “The rules are out by sun-up, which at this time of year, is around seven. Bathrooms are that way.” She pointed down the hall, then took in Mark’s ragged appearance, her mouth pursed. “Do you need some personal items? Like a toothbrush, deodorant, that kind of thing? We have some personal care packages stashed away. Would you like one?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He hadn’t thought about those things. “I’d appreciate that.”
“Well, at least you’re polite. I’ll be back in just a minute. You can make up your cot while you’re waiting.”
Mark pulled off his shoes and socks. His feet were pale and wrinkled from being wet, and he hoped his socks and shoes would dry during the night. He stretched out on the cot, intending to only lie down until the lady returned with the care package, but the next thing he knew, it was morning. It was time to rise and shine.
He found the care package stashed behind his shoes and cleaned up in the bathroom. After a cold breakfast, Mark headed out. The shelter gave each person a bag lunch to take with them, but he munched on the apple as soon as he reached the street. He couldn’t recall the last time he had eaten one and savored the tart sweetness as it burst over his tongue.
He walked his old neighborhood, recalling names of people who lived in adjacent buildings. Did Mrs. Scott still live in the old house on the corner? The older woman walked everywhere with her cute pug, Sparky, at her side. The sleet stopped and the sun shone in a deep blue sky despite the frigid temperatures. A blast of cold air tore at him and he huddled into the old navy pea coat he had found under his cot. The stout little lady must have put it there for him while he was sleeping. The wool had a dank musty odor, but kept him warm.
First thing he needed to do was call his parents. He headed for a mini-mart that he remembered had a phone. After buying some water, gum and a bag of peanuts, Mark asked for change. Outside, he lifted the receiver, but hesitated-what if they thought he was guilty of the things he was accused of? He didn’t think they would believe it, but he had to see their faces. He had to know for sure. Reluctantly, he set the receiver back on the hook.
He rode the EL out to the Greyhound station and bought a ticket to Madison. Getting from the bus station in Madison to the little town where his parents lived ten miles outside of the Wisconsin state capital would be a challenge, but if it came down to it, he could always walk.
Mark boarded the bus and opened the bag lunch. The fast food restaurants he’d seen outside the bus terminal tempted him with the tantalizing aroma of French fries and hamburgers, but he stiffened his resolve and bypassed them. Every penny counted and he had the bag lunch. As it was, the bus ticket had set him back almost forty dollars.
The turkey sandwich was dry, but not bad, and he washed it down with a gulp of water. A granola bar rounded out the meager meal. Taking another sip of the water, he reasoned that he’d survive the three hours to Madison easily.
The bus made a few stops on the way towards the Wisconsin border. At one, a young guy took the seat beside Mark. The buzz cut and his politeness as he asked Mark if the seat was taken, had Mark guessing he was a new basic training grad even before the guy mentioned it. He told Mark he was on his way home on his first leave before starting A school at Great Lakes Naval Base.
Mark smiled and nodded, hoping the kid wouldn’t talk the whole way, but he didn’t have to worry; the second the bus began moving, the sailor fell asleep.
In a way, Mark envied the guy. Fatigue burned his eyes, but, there was too much on his mind, too many things had happened in too short a time, for him to relax. The feeling haunted him that if he closed his eyes, he’d wake up back in the cell.
Resting his head against the window, he watched the flat Illinois farmland slide by. Ragged rows of corn stretched on either side of the highway, the shriveled tan leaves flapping in the wind.
Dairy farms, dotted with cows huddled in the corner of the pastures, grass worn down to bare patches from last summer’s grazing, alternated with the jarring rawness of new housing developments. It was as if a stray wind had dumped the seeds for subdivisions, leaving them to sprout up randomly across the landscape.
Mark yawned. His childhood had been spent in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere too, but at least there had been a whole village with a town hall, a main street and even a movie theater. Summers had flown by, the memories melding together into a warm golden haze of playing baseball on an empty lot, and then heading to the Dairy Maid to get ice cream afterwards. As soon as dinner was over, they all met up again for one more game of ball before it was too dark to see. Then they would catch lightening bugs or play kick the can. Mark smiled. Sometimes they’d put the poor bugs in the can before playing, and when it was kicked, the bugs had shot out like a shower of living sparks. It had been a great place to grow up.
When was the last time he had been home? He shifted in the seat, his cheek resting on the ice cold pane of glass. It felt good in the overheated bus. His dad’s sixtieth birthday was the last time he could remember. That was the June before the terrorist attacks. Mark recalled sitting on his parents’ front porch and watching the neighborhood flicker at dusk as the bugs flashed yellow up and down the street. Childish laughter had echoed from the backyard of some house as a new crop of children carried on the summertime traditions.
He should have gone home more often. It wasn’t like his parents didn’t invite him. His mother understood though. She knew that he didn’t like to be away from Chicago. She didn’t know about the dreams or camera, but he had a feeling that she knew there was something important in Chicago. Mark wondered if a previous owner of the camera had been from a city. He had lost count of the number of times he had studied the camera, searching for a clue to its power. Was there a previous owner? The camera was old, so it likely had a series of owners.
Was it just chance that brought it into a person’s hands or did the camera decide who would get it? Where was it now? Had someone else discovered the unusual properties it possessed and did they get the premonitions? The bus hit a pothole and his head bumped against the window. If they got premonitions, would they recognize them as such and know that they could change things? Well, some things anyway. Mark grimaced. Some things weren’t meant to be changed. His stomach tightened and he took a deep breath.
The sailor stirred and stretched, narrowly missing Mark’s head with a clenched fist. He opened his eyes, his mouth rounding in surprise when he saw where his hand was. “Oh, wow. Sorry, man.”
Mark shrugged. “No harm done.” He fished in his pocket for the pack of gum and offered a piece to the sailor.
“Sure. Thanks.” He slid a piece out and popped it into his mouth.
Taking one for himself, Mark put the pack away and wondered what time it was. He noticed the watch on the other guy’s wrist. “Hey, you got the time?”
“It’s about a quarter to four.” The sailor smiled. “I can’t wait to see my girlfriend. She was going to come down for my graduation, but she had finals. She goes to UW-Madison. My parents wanted to come too, but couldn’t get off work.” He made a face and shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal though. At least I’ll be staying at Great Lakes awhile so I can come up to see them pretty often.”
He chewed the gum and pulled his wallet out, flipping it open to a picture of a smiling young woman with short red hair. She had a delicate nose and a heart-shaped face. He beamed as he showed it to Mark.
“Cute girl. You’re a lucky guy.”
“She didn’t want me to enlist, but after nine-eleven, I just had to, ya know?”
“That’s great of you. I’m sure your parents must be very proud.” Apparently the stick of gum acted as an ice breaker.
“How about you?”
The gum lodged in Mark’s throat for a second. “Ah, no, I didn’t enlist.”
The sailor laughed. “No, that’s not what I meant. I figured you’re too old to enlist. I meant are you going to see someone special?”
Mark didn’t know whether to be offended about the age comment or relieved that the conversation had shifted off nine-eleven. He chuckled and shook his head. “Nope. No girlfriend. I’m going home to see my parents.”
“No girlfriend? Are you married?” His eyes darted to Mark’s left hand. “Guess not. Divorced?” His face scrunched in sympathy, and before Mark could set him straight, he went on, “That’s gotta be rough. I’m sure you’ll find someone else soon.”
Mark began to correct him, but then thought better of it. It didn’t matter. He just nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Aw, now don’t get all down. You’re decent looking. I’m sure you’ll hook up with someone eventually. I’ve heard some people use those Internet dating sites. You could even use your own picture. Even though you’re kind of old, the chicks might go for you. They like tall guys with dark hair. This one guy in my unit looked a little like you, except, well, you have more hair.” He laughed at his joke, then continued, “He got letters all the time from different girls. One time…”
Mark tuned him out, just nodding and occasionally saying ‘uh-huh.’ Two days ago, he had thought that he would give anything to have another person to speak with, but now that he was out, he found it difficult to make small talk.
It wasn’t the kid’s fault and Mark tried to pay attention, but his mind wandered. His future was shot to hell and he faced an uphill battle to get his life back together. Just trying to figure out where to start left him drained. Then, at odd moments, he would flash back to his cell or an interrogation. It didn’t take much to trigger it. A word, a smell, and sometimes, nothing at all. It just happened. When it did, his muscles tensed up and he would break out in a cold sweat.
Mark rubbed his palms on his thighs and craned his neck to see past the sailor and on out the other window. Along the highway, a sign said that Madison was only fourteen miles away. At least they were close to their destination.
“So, they coming to pick you up from the bus station?”
“Huh?” Mark had completely lost track of the sailor’s monologue.
“Your folks. You said you were going home to see them.”
“Oh, yeah, I am, but no, they’re not expecting me.” Mark crossed his arms and turned towards his window. “I’ll probably catch a local bus in Madison, take it to the edge of town and walk from there.” He could use the time to think. Already, he second guessed his impulse to come home unannounced. His leg bounced. What if they didn’t want him there? Mark shook that off. His mom, at least, would be happy to see him. He was sure of that.
Had his detention been mentioned in the paper? Leaning an elbow on the window ledge, he rested his chin in his palm and hoped his dad hadn’t died of embarrassment. He sighed.
“Hey, man…you okay?” The sailor touched his shoulder and Mark flinched. The sailor reeled back, his hands up as though to ward off an attack. “Whoa! Take it easy.”
Heat crept up Mark’s face, and he shook his head. “Sorry, I’m just a little jumpy.” He wasn’t sure why he felt a need to explain his actions, but he added, “I haven’t seen my parents for over a year, and, well, I’m just a little nervous about seeing them again.”
The sailor nodded, his expression sober. “I understand.” He was quiet for five minutes or so. Mark felt bad for reacting the way he had.
It figured that he would scare off the very first person to talk to him normally in over a year.
“It’s going to be dark out soon. I’m sure my parents wouldn’t mind giving you a lift.”
The sailor was like young puppy, and even though Mark kept nudging him aside, the kid came back for more. Mark saw the earnestness in his eyes. “My parents live about ten miles north of the city. That’s way out of your way, I’m sure.”
His face lit up. “No, it’s not. We live in the north end, just inside the city. They won’t mind.”
The kid looked so eager, Mark didn’t have the heart to say no, so he shrugged. “Well, ask your parents when you see them. If it’s okay with them, I’d appreciate a ride.”
“Great!” The sailor grinned. “Wow, I don’t even know your name.” He stuck a hand out. “I’m Tommy Wilson.”
Mark looked at the hand, then shook it and smiled. “Mark Taylor.”
A few minutes later, the bus pulled into the station. The driver exited and began unloading the luggage from the compartment underneath the bus. Mark stood and stretched. Tommy zipped up his coat and peered out the windows. His face broke into a grin and he pointed. “There they are!” His enthusiasm made Mark smile. The kid was practically dancing down the aisle of the bus.
Mark followed and stood back as Tommy hugged his parents. They were all talking at once, smiling and laughing. The reunion went on so long that Mark began to sidle away, figuring Tommy had forgotten about him. With a last look at the happy family, he turned and shoved his hands into his pockets. There was only about an hour of light left and he quickened his step.
“Mark! Where ya going?”
He turned to see Tommy jogging towards him. “I…ah, well, I don’t want to bother anyone.”
“Naw, no bother. My parents are okay with it. Come on.” Tommy made a follow motion with his hand and turned back towards the parking lot.
Mark saw no graceful way out of the situation and as a cold wind whipped his hair around, he decided that a nice warm car was preferable to walking in the frigid dark. He just hoped there wouldn’t be too many questions.
Tommy made introductions, and his parents greeted Mark with in a friendly tone, although his dad, who wasn’t much older than Mark, did study him for a long moment before saying, “Well, I’m freezing, so let’s get going.”
Mark trailed behind the group and got in the backseat beside Tommy. He gave the father the address then settled back, listening to the parents quiz Tommy on what had gone on in basic. Had it been hard? Were the drill instructors mean? Was the food good? He was glad for all the chatter because it allowed him to remain silent.
Tommy borrowed his mother’s cell-phone and called someone, and judging from the grin on the kid’s face and the way he turned away from the rest of the car, Mark guessed it was the girlfriend.
Tommy’s dad glanced at Mark in the rear-view mirror. “So, Tommy said you’re going home to see your folks.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sir? That’s awfully formal. My name’s Jeff.” Every few seconds, he would take his eyes off the road and look at Mark. “I bet they’ll be glad to see you.” Was there a hint of a question in that statement?
Mark nodded, meeting Jeff’s gaze for an instant before averting his eyes. The other man knew something. He could tell by the tone of his voice and how he regarded Mark. Feeling a need to fill the silence and to answer an unspoken question, Mark said, “They’re not expecting me. I want to surprise them.”
“You live in Chicago?” He was digging.
“Yes, sir.” Mark didn’t offer more. He squirmed and glanced at Tommy, who was oblivious to everything except the voice on the other end of the phone.
“Are you military? You sound like it.”
“No, sir…, uh, Jeff. I’ve just been around military people a lot lately. Guess it wore off on me.” He tried to chuckle and make a joke, but it fell flat.
The car stopped at a light and Mark saw Jeff exchange a glance with his wife. The light turned green and Jeff focused his attention on driving and didn’t ask Mark any more questions. The rest of the drive continued with only Tommy’s voice breaking the silence.
“Thank you for the ride. I appreciate it.” Mark wanted to jump out of the car before it came to a complete stop in front of his parents’ house, but instead, he tried to smile at the Wilsons. “It was a pleasure meeting all of you.” Mark opened the door and shook Tommy’s hand again. “You take care, and good luck with the Navy.” With a last wave, he shut the door and began walking up the drive.
The house looked the same as he remembered. The porch, with its white spindle railing, hugged the sunny yellow home. The flower beds lay fallow, but he pictured them bursting with flowers as they usually were in the summer. The memory was so vivid, he could almost hear the lazy buzz of the bees that had been a melody from his boyhood. How many times had he sat on those steps and guzzled lemonade underneath a blazing summer sun?
The second floor was dark, but warm light shone from the front windows, and he knew that the kitchen in the back would be bright. Mark sniffed. Wood smoke. His dad always loved a good fire in the fireplace. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and mounted the steps.
Should he knock? Normally, he just walked in because his parents never locked the door. There was never a need. He didn’t want to scare them though. He compromised and knocked, then opened the door a tiny bit. “Hello?” The scent of wood burning mingled with another tantalizing aroma. Beef stew?
Mark winced as something in the kitchen hit the floor with a loud crash. Then his mom’s face peeked around the corner from the kitchen into the long hallway to the front door. “Hi, Mom.”
“Mark?” She looked like she didn’t believe her eyes, then she gave a shriek and flew towards him and into his arms. “Oh my God! It really is you.” She alternated between hugging him and pulling back to see his face. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Norma? What the hell is going on?” The basement door opened and his dad, his protective goggles pushed up on top of his head, froze as he saw Mark. “Jesus Christ!”
His mom broke away, but kept an arm around Mark’s waist. “Mark’s home, Gene. He came home!”
Not seeming to comprehend, his dad looked from Mark to his wife for a few seconds before he finally moved, his steps hesitant as he approached.
Mark swallowed hard. “How have you been, Dad?”
His father’s steps quickened. “Mark.” It was all he said, but it was enough. In a heartbeat, his dad’s arms were around him, his hand going up to the back of Mark’s neck and pulling him close. “We’ve missed you, son.” His voice was thick.
Wood shavings clung to his dad’s flannel shirt and he smelled of pine and varnish. Mark could only nod and his throat swelled. He sighed when his mom reached up and feathered his hair.
His dad broke off the hug and took a step back, eyeing him from head to toe. “Are you okay? Did they treat you well?”
Mark saw the worry on his mom’s face, and said the only thing he could, “Yes, sir. I’m fine.” He tried to smile, but then had to duck his head and bite his lip to keep his emotions in check. “I don’t really want to talk about it now, if that’s okay.”
She ran her hand up his arm, stroking it gently, and tilted her head. “Oh, hon, we don’t have to. Are you hungry? Dinner is almost ready.”
“I’m starved.” Mark did smile then, and rubbed his hands together. “I can’t wait to taste your cooking again.”
His dad clapped him on the back. “It’s good to have you home.” Nodding, his lips tight, he turned and abruptly went back to the basement.