happening thousands of times. Those mental images of returning to her, of keeping his promise, had sustained him through the worst of the worst.
But the door didn’t open, the curtains didn’t move. No one came running out of the house in joyous tears.
He reached the front door, unaccosted, unheralded, and unnoticed. He refused to acknowledge the heavy weight trying to press down upon him. Should he fish the key out of the mailbox and let himself in? Or would it be better to ring the doorbell? This was his home, yet he hadn’t lived here in so long. Walking in unannounced felt wrong, especially when he wasn’t expected.
He opted to ring the doorbell. He heard the muffled chimes echo inside, but nothing else. No approaching steps, no calling out of a sing-song “Coming!” to greet him.
He waited quietly for a minute or so, then pressed the glowing white button again.
Maybe they weren’t home, he reasoned. Maybe they’d gone shopping, or were visiting Kathleen’s family. He stepped back and looked again, noting that despite the dark, gray skies, no lights were on inside the house. Walking around to the back, he peered into the detached garage, spotting his father’s Ford Galaxie 500, half covered by a cloth tarp.
Should he come back later, he wondered, knocking at the back door before coming around to the front again? No, it was too cold, and despite the ride, his leg was aching. He would go inside to wait, but would leave his duffel just inside the door to announce his presence so they wouldn’t think someone had broken in.
He reached into the mailbox hung beside the door and felt around for the key his mother always left there, but found nothing. He checked under the mat and the top of the doorframe, but those, too, were keyless. He was wondering exactly what he was going to do next when he heard his name called.
“Jack?”
Jack turned around to find Mrs. Fitzsimmons staring at him as if he was a ghost.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered. She looked so much older than he remembered. Her auburn hair was now a silvery grey, her cornflower blue eyes dim, her face etched with the lines of a mother who had lost her only son. “I can’t seem to find the key. Do you know when my mother and Kathleen will be back?”
Her eyes widened; she pulled the heavy, hand-knit shawl tighter around her shoulders. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
She stared at him, and that’s when he saw the pity in her eyes. “You’d best come with me, Jack.”
She turned and started walking carefully across the snow-covered ground to her house next door. Dread pooled in his stomach, and he suddenly knew without a doubt that he didn’t want to hear whatever it was Mrs. Fitzsimmons had to say.
“I’d really just like to go inside for a while, Mrs. Fitzsimmons, but I can’t find the key.”
“I have a key,” she confirmed without turning around. “But you’d best hear what I have to tell you first.”
With no other choice, Jack pulled his coat tighter around him and trekked over the snow-covered ground toward his boyhood friend’s home.
Chapter Seven
S eptember 2015
Pine Ridge
“Well?” Shane asked, following Michael into the small office he kept at the hospital. The others had gone back to their families, but would be returning in shifts to ensure that someone was at the hospital around the clock. Michael’s office was more comfortable than the waiting room, and had the benefits of a comfortable couch, its own full bathroom, and privacy.
“Well what?”
“Is he really going to be all right?”
Michael rubbed the back of his neck, willing away the tension. It had been a hell of a long day and it wasn’t over yet.
He knew what Shane wanted him to say, but he couldn’t give his brother the guarantee that everything was going to be okay. Their father had come through the surgery all right, and was responding well to treatment, but they were far from out of the woods yet. The usual vague
But the door didn’t open, the curtains didn’t move. No one came running out of the house in joyous tears.
He reached the front door, unaccosted, unheralded, and unnoticed. He refused to acknowledge the heavy weight trying to press down upon him. Should he fish the key out of the mailbox and let himself in? Or would it be better to ring the doorbell? This was his home, yet he hadn’t lived here in so long. Walking in unannounced felt wrong, especially when he wasn’t expected.
He opted to ring the doorbell. He heard the muffled chimes echo inside, but nothing else. No approaching steps, no calling out of a sing-song “Coming!” to greet him.
He waited quietly for a minute or so, then pressed the glowing white button again.
Maybe they weren’t home, he reasoned. Maybe they’d gone shopping, or were visiting Kathleen’s family. He stepped back and looked again, noting that despite the dark, gray skies, no lights were on inside the house. Walking around to the back, he peered into the detached garage, spotting his father’s Ford Galaxie 500, half covered by a cloth tarp.
Should he come back later, he wondered, knocking at the back door before coming around to the front again? No, it was too cold, and despite the ride, his leg was aching. He would go inside to wait, but would leave his duffel just inside the door to announce his presence so they wouldn’t think someone had broken in.
He reached into the mailbox hung beside the door and felt around for the key his mother always left there, but found nothing. He checked under the mat and the top of the doorframe, but those, too, were keyless. He was wondering exactly what he was going to do next when he heard his name called.
“Jack?”
Jack turned around to find Mrs. Fitzsimmons staring at him as if he was a ghost.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered. She looked so much older than he remembered. Her auburn hair was now a silvery grey, her cornflower blue eyes dim, her face etched with the lines of a mother who had lost her only son. “I can’t seem to find the key. Do you know when my mother and Kathleen will be back?”
Her eyes widened; she pulled the heavy, hand-knit shawl tighter around her shoulders. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
She stared at him, and that’s when he saw the pity in her eyes. “You’d best come with me, Jack.”
She turned and started walking carefully across the snow-covered ground to her house next door. Dread pooled in his stomach, and he suddenly knew without a doubt that he didn’t want to hear whatever it was Mrs. Fitzsimmons had to say.
“I’d really just like to go inside for a while, Mrs. Fitzsimmons, but I can’t find the key.”
“I have a key,” she confirmed without turning around. “But you’d best hear what I have to tell you first.”
With no other choice, Jack pulled his coat tighter around him and trekked over the snow-covered ground toward his boyhood friend’s home.
Chapter Seven
S eptember 2015
Pine Ridge
“Well?” Shane asked, following Michael into the small office he kept at the hospital. The others had gone back to their families, but would be returning in shifts to ensure that someone was at the hospital around the clock. Michael’s office was more comfortable than the waiting room, and had the benefits of a comfortable couch, its own full bathroom, and privacy.
“Well what?”
“Is he really going to be all right?”
Michael rubbed the back of his neck, willing away the tension. It had been a hell of a long day and it wasn’t over yet.
He knew what Shane wanted him to say, but he couldn’t give his brother the guarantee that everything was going to be okay. Their father had come through the surgery all right, and was responding well to treatment, but they were far from out of the woods yet. The usual vague
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