Comin' Home to You (17 page)

It hit Owen like a shot of moonshine. That was the same man who kissed Dr. Sen earlier. Recalling the wedding pictures, it must have been her husband. He wanted to be shocked by what he saw. How could someone like that cheat on a gorgeous piece like Dr. Sen? Thinking about it, Owen had no room to speak. He had cheated in the past. But Dr. Sen was at least an eight out of ten. Personally, he would grade her at a nine. Her blunt attitude was the only thing that caused her to not be perfect. Still, she was way more attractive than the girl her cheating husband was fooling around with. He shook his head. If Dr. Sen was ever his woman, he’d do anything for her and never cheat on a dime piece like that.

Owen smirked after taking another drink. He couldn't deny it. He was into his doctor. She was striking, aggressive and demanding. There was something about the way she berated him. It sent a lightning bolt through his veins and made him almost forget about the reason he was there. There wasn't a chance in hell to court her, but he would like to think so. But an instant thought of Patricia ended his fantasies. He smiled, knowing that she gave him the slap in the face he needed, even from beyond the grave.

He watched the couple out of the corner of his eye while finishing his beer. The cheating husband bought her drink after drink, and she would respond with a kiss each time. Owen wondered who was using who in that fling of infidelity. The bartender got his attention from the boring show that the couple provided and asked if he wanted another beer. While the beer was great, it was also unusually filling, so he declined another round. He needed to head back home anyway and pick up Austin from his brother’s house

Since his daughter still hadn’t made contact with him about retrieving Austin, he was still in charge of the boy’s day to day affairs. Ali’s drug binges usually lasted four days or so, something he was quite used to. It did hurt to know his daughter scarcely cared, but it gave him more time to be with his grandson. He made arrangements for Ben’s wife to pick him up from school, since he acknowledged he would be busier and wouldn’t have time. Checking the clock, it was likely she should have picked him up from school already. While he needed to hurry, he didn’t mind Austin having time to play with his two cousins. He wanted them to be close, as a means for him to stay away from the Grayson kids his age.

Noticing he was nearing the city of Mesquite, Owen thought about his doctor on the drive. He had an inkling to return to Dr. Sen’s office and tell her the bad news of her husband, hoping that it would boost his poor professional standing with her, as well as reciprocating her gratitude physically. Owen tried to fantasize about it, but it wasn’t working. Any attractive allure had left after her battering ram of truthful and stingy words. If he wanted to get back into her good graces to get on the list, he needed to do it the right way. Besides, he wasn’t the type to tattle. It was just something guys didn't do to each other.

Dr. Sen’s words were still echoing within him, even as he did his best to vaporize them from his mind. But it brought to light the same clarification that Dr. Myers gave. If he didn’t do something, he would die. While he sure as hell wanted to escape that fate, it put what remained of his life in perspective. Everyone that was close to him came to mind: Austin, Ali, Ben, Taylor, Adam, and Rainey. A visualization of them hovered around his open casket did nothing but depress him. He wanted to survive, but the deck was stacked against him.

The vibrating of his phone in his right pocket derailed his self-loathing and dismal thoughts. He glared at the screen, not recognizing the number, though he knew it was from the Adrienne area.

Curious, Owen answered the call. “Hello?”

“Yes, is this Mr. Tomkins?” sounded a woman with a very thick Southern drawl.

“Yeah, this is him.”

“Hi, this is Patsy Smith, secretary for Adrienne Elementary. How are you doing today?”

The name and accent finally rang a bell. He remembered her from his days as an elementary student. She somehow seemed old back then too. There was concern in her voice. This was practically the last day of the school year, so for something to be wrong at this time worried Owen. “Oh, hi Patsy. What can I do for you?”

“I’m checking to see if you picked up Austin today after school.”

“No. I told you that my brother’s wife, Taylor, was going to pick him up from school today. I had a doctor’s appointment. Why?”

“Well, Taylor’s actually standing right here next to me. She said Austin wasn’t outside when she got here.”

Owen’s breath grew short. “So what the hell does that mean? He’s missing!?”

“Well, some of the kids said they saw Austin get into a blue truck. That’s why I called you to check and see if you were the one who ended up getting him.”

“No. Wasn’t me. But I think I know who it was.”

“Should we call your brother about this?”

“No, I’ll take care of it.”

Owen hung up the phone and tossed it into the vacant passenger seat. There was only one other person that would want to pick up Austin that had a blue truck. Scar had never attempted to pick up Austin from school, as Ali normally didn’t want him to. She resented her father, yet he was the only one Ali trusted dropping off and gathering her son from school, and all kinds of other activities that she didn’t feel like doing. She did love her son, but her priorities were in complete disarray.

It was unlikely Scar picked him up out of his own free will. Someone had to be with him, or give him permission to do the task. Either way, it reeked of suspicion. What was his end game? All he knew was Austin was with Scar, and he didn’t like it one bit. The only one who can really be blamed was the one who put aside her motherly duties to smoke meth and drink until she throws up.

Owen's foot put a little more pressure on the gas pedal as his speed increased going east on Interstate 20.

After having sped the entire way home and somehow avoiding any accidents or highway patrols, Owen arrived at the home of his daughter. He felt trickles of sweat run down his spine. That could be attributed to the late afternoon heat of Texas, along with his own frenzied nature. Balling up his fist, he pounded on the front door with a ferocity that rivaled a mother lioness protecting her cubs.

Owen yelled as loudly as his weakening body could project. “ALI! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!”

Clint and Ali's house was a couple of miles down a county road from his own abode. While his own home rested comfortably within the woods away from any widely used county roads, their home was not in such a secluded area. There were four houses within a quarter mile range, close enough to where neighbors could hear every loud noise and see what was going on. Chances were that the neighbors heard his recent shout. In fact, that was his plan. If he were to be shot or stabbed or whatever by an abrasive and malicious Clint, he would want witnesses there to view his bloody demise. He would more than likely be arrested and spend the rest of his life in prison, giving Austin a decent chance without his meth dealing father around. Owen could rest peacefully knowing that his sacrifice was fruitful. Though, that still depended on his mother, and if witnesses would actually tell the police about Clint’s crime. The couple had people over almost every night and were incredibly loud, be it the usual partying noises or fighting between Ali and Clint. Yet, they never had one noise complaint in the two years they had lived there. Even though it had been well over a decade ago, the folks of Adrienne and the surrounding areas still remembered what Max Grayson did, and they knew the rumors of what Scar did to his enemies. No one wanted to be on the wrong side of the Grayson family.

The badly painted blue door suddenly opened. He took a small step back, with his fists lightly clenched. He was prepared for a gun to the face, a knife to his throat, or some sort of painful object thrust at him. On retrospect, he wished he had brought some sort of a weapon, but time was of the essence.

His tense body relaxed when he saw a noticeably addled Ali at the entrance. Darkened bags sat under her glossy and water-filled eyes. Her hair was disheveled, some strands sticking outward. Though she looked like hell, her appearance was almost strikingly like her late mother’s. However, her appearance and carelessness also closely resembled Patricia’s last moments before her demise.

Ali cleared her throat, hacking up a large wad of phlegm and spitting off of her small front stoop. “What do you want, Owen?”

“What do I want? Why the hell did you let Scar pick up Austin?”

Sheer confusion could be seen in her face. Her eyes blinked quickly and repeatedly, still not used to the outdoor sunlight. “What the hell are you talking about? You were supposed to get him.”

“I had a doctor’s appointment. If you answered your phone, you’d know I asked Taylor to do it.”

“It’s been dead.”

“Then charge it.”

“I’ve been asleep. I just woke up.”

“Just woke up?” Owen’s face signaled his amazement vividly. “It’s five in the freaking afternoon! How long have you been asleep?”

Ali’s stare back was cold and vacant. “What’s today?”

“Tuesday.”

Her eyebrows raised while her hand went up to scratch at her scalp. “Whoa. Then, since Sunday night, I think. Shit.”

Despite being unbelievably surprised by how long Ali had been sleeping after her meth crash, Owen geared himself back into the main subject. “Where’s Austin?”

“I don’t know.”

Owen’s teeth gritted. His hands loosened and trembled as he visualized grabbing her small shoulders and shaking some sense into her. “How the fuck do you not know!?”

“I said I don’t know because I’ve been asleep, asshole!”

Ugh, they are so much alike,
thought Owen. It was like he was staring at the avatar of his deceased fiancé. They were so similar, there were even parallels between Ali and Clint's relationship and his and Patricia's. Both grew up playing together as kids. Their respective parents didn’t like or had something against the opposite child. Patricia’s parents didn’t like Owen because he accidentally broke an old ceramic jug that belonged to Patricia’s Mexican great-great-grandfather. The two couples also had a child in their teens. One big difference in the two relationships was love. Owen and Patricia loved each other. Ali lusted after Clint as he was a forbidden fruit that her father wanted no part of. Clint just wanted something to fuck.

The similarities didn’t end there. There was one comparison that made his mind grimace. The mother and daughter acted so much alike, that he wondered if his daughter would meet a similar fate to her mother. Ali never had any close calls with overdosing, but neither did Patricia. It only took one time, and with Ali’s temperament and her toxic relationship with her fiancé, he worried a great deal that the day where Ali fucks up approached. If such a somber scenario took place, Clint would be the remaining parent to Austin. He had to stop himself before thinking of such a tainted future for the young boy. This just gave him more fuel to add the already burning hatred that he had for all the Graysons.

Owen, growing irritated, pressed his fingertips into his hair and scratched at his skull. “I swear, when you get on that binge of yours, that’s all you fucking care about. Do you even care about Austin, at all? Do you care about his future? The shit he’s around every day? Or is meth that important to you? Do you fucking care at all?

“Yeah, I fucking care! Fuck you!”

“You haven’t even seen him since last Saturday! You don’t even know where the fuck he is! You’re fucking careless, irresponsible as shit, and you actually call yourself a mother to that boy? You’re starting to act just like your mother!”

Ali breathed heavily as her eyes filled with rage. “What did you just say?”

Owen didn’t reply. He instead listened to the incoherent noises from his daughter’s mouth and nostrils that he could only interpret as the sound of seething. Salty water in her eyes slowly descended down her cheeks. Nothing infuriated her more than when she thought about her deceased mother. Being compared to her probably amplified the effect. He remembered the aftermath of the discovery of his dear Patricia. Ali was mute and comatose for a month, with the only noises coming from her were grieving whimpers that were guttural in nature. Those same sounds reverberated in his ears at this moment. He expected the usual three words to escape her lips.

“I hate you!”

The way she screamed those words were childish in nature. When reminded of her mother, Ali tended to retreat back into an emotional state similar to that of a pre-teen. Her anger made her regress even further to the mindset of a five year old. To this day, nothing haunted her more than the image of her dead mother. She had admitted more than a couple of times to him, back when they were on somewhat better terms, that she dreamed about her a lot. So much so that she admitted that being on her meth binges helped because she didn’t have to sleep. If only his daughter knew that he also dreamed of her, though he wondered if Ali’s dreams pictured her in a more positive light and not like the zombie full of hatred that he endured each and every sleep.

Ali's fists clenched tightly and her nose sniveled like a breathing pig. She had struck him once before, while in the same drug-induced state, though he couldn't recall what she was on. Right now, she looked fresh off the meth binge, but she was likely extremely irritable from it already. One mention of Patricia, and his daughter became a raging psychopath. Yet, he was having second thoughts about how he said it. He definitely didn't want Ali to meet the same exact fate as his fiancé, but he was sure there was a more polite and respectful way to mention it.

He needed to think of something quickly. Ali took a couple of steps toward him, while he composedly took a step back. If he took a shot from her, so be it. But, he would rather his face stay unblemished, as he had been bruising extremely easily lately. He bumped his shin the other day and the bruise took up half of his leg. While rubbing his tongue over his teeth repeatedly, Owen knew what needed to be said. The words were always there on the tip of his tongue, ready to finally escape the confines of his mouth. His pride, however, always kept those words imprisoned. When he looked into his daughter's eyes full of rage and sorrow, his own knees grew weak in his own failure. He would not take another step in retreat. It was time to explain something that she needed to hear.

He gestured for her to hold on. “Wait, Ali...wait.”

Ali stopped, but her fists remained prime to strike. It was now or never for him,

“I know you hate me. You have every right to. I wasn't the greatest father...shit, I was lousy. I know this. I’ve known it forever. But...this doesn't change how I feel about you and your mother. Do you honestly think I wasn't as shocked as you when I saw her like that?”

Ali said nothing.

“I was. I was...I couldn’t believe it. I was terrified for the future without her. It was too much. It destroyed me.”

“Horseshit.”

“I swear. I’m still hurting.”

“I don’t believe you. I was there! I came home when I heard you pull up. You said some mean fucking things to Mommy. Really mean fucking things! And then she dies, and then you brought home another woman a month later,” somberly spoke Ali. “I remember that shit. That's how I remembered how to talk again, just to tell you that I hated you. So don’t tell me that you cared. You were a piece of shit then and you’re still a piece of shit.”

Oh God, how he wanted to erase that moment from his memory. He was desperate for the warm feeling of a woman’s embrace. No one could take the place of Patricia, but he needed something. But all he was doing was masking his feelings. He just needed someone to fuck to help him ease the pain of losing her. The woman he brought home that night was probably a five out of ten. Nothing special to look at whatsoever. But she was easy and willing, so he took her back to his place. Ali caught the two of them on the couch on her way to a trip to the restroom. He had his hand down her pants and was kissing her exposed nipples. Although she wasn’t knowledgeable about sex, Ali could see enough that her father had moved on to another woman. In a lot of ways, Ali was a brilliant child. She understood love and sadness, as well as hate and betrayal. When she screamed loudly that she hated him and ran back into her room, he laughed it off. He giggled to his one night stand that she was a bit jealous. In his mind, however, he knew he had made a massive mistake. It still didn’t stop him from a night of loud intercourse. After that moment, Ali always despised him. It was probably why she rebelled early in her life. She knew how much her father hated the Graysons, so Ali went after Clint. To make matters worse, she became pregnant by him at the tender age of 13, with her giving birth at 14. She dropped out of school a couple of years later with a world of potential in front of her. He knew that was his fault, and he could never forgive himself for it. Yet, a chance lay before him to truly apologize. It was time to grow the testicular fortitude to do so.

Owen tried his best to speak, but his lips sealed themselves shut. He gulped loudly, and not wanting to show weakness, brushed away what was amassing in his eyes with his index finger. His father taught him at a young age that crying was unacceptable for a man. Andy Tomkins had went from sizable wealth in the oil fields to losing almost all of it from his business ventures, so he was always looking to spread his frustrations and life lessons to his disobedient son. If Owen was whipped by his father’s belt for a wrongdoing, he was expected not to cry. Each time he whimpered, his father took another swing at him, screaming that life wasn’t fair and that only a stern face will help you get through it. Soon, he became a man who was emotionally distant. Even in the roughest times of his life, a tear could never escape the confines of its duct. He could count on one hand how many times he has cried in his entire life. Yet, this was no longer the time for a false sense of manliness. He hoped his father was watching this, from whatever vantage point in Heaven or Hell he was looking from.

“I wish I could go back in time and change everything, Ali. I wish I could have helped your mother…the love of my life, through her problems, but I couldn’t even help myself. I know what I am. I am a fuck-up. I allowed Patricia to do horrible things just so she could get her fix. I could have said no, told her no, but I didn’t, because I liked getting high too. Everything that happened to her was my fault. I'll even take responsibility for her death. But know this Ali, every day I think of her. Every fucking day I think of her, and I think of you too. To this day, I remember the day you were born. I remember the first time we gave you a bath in the sink. God dammit, I remember the smell of that baby shampoo, and how you cried so loudly because we accidentally got it in your eyes. Those days, I...I just can't forget them. I want them back. And...every time you say you hate me, it just...”

There was no controlling it now. It wasn't a stray tear trickling from an eyelash. This was now an uncontrollable sob. Owen placed both hands over his face so that his daughter could not see this sad and depressing occurrence. He was embarrassed, not because he was crying in front of Ali, but because he had never told her how he felt since Patricia's overdose. He knew there was way too many emotions pent up inside his body, and with him possibly facing his death at any given moment, he realized there was no need to keep them there.