Comin' Home to You (32 page)

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 9
th
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 were 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.”

“You ain’t gotta tell me twice.”

The two brothers walked to the ice chests and grabbed themselves cans of Natural Light. Ali followed, but made herself a plate. The beverage wasn’t Owen’s first option. Probably wouldn’t even rank in his top 50 beers.
Alas, a beer is a beer,
spoke Owen’s mind. He cracked open the tab to help puncture the top of the can. Placing it against his lips, he took a drink. It was cold, but tasteless. Ben didn’t seem to be enjoying the taste either. The two stood there, silent as a stone, sipping away on their beverages. They were ready to get this thing over with. While the peace talks didn’t have any rules or decorum, there was only one regulation. The one who calls the meeting must also be the one who ends it.

And Scar was nowhere in sight.

15 of the longest minutes past. The brothers had finished two beers already, and were growing impatient.

“When is this shit gonna get started?” Ali questioned, throwing her paper plate into the plastic trash can by the tables. “This is fuckin’ boring.”

Ben frustratingly crushed an empty beer can in between his strong hands. “We’re waiting on Scar. Wherever the hell he is.”

Ali grabbed a beer out of the chest. “Natty Light. Nice.”

Owen chuckled at his daughter’s poor taste in beer. “Girl, you need to broaden your horizons.”

His daughter opened her brew. “Beer’s beer.”

Ben almost spat out his beer. “No, it ain’t.”

Using his peripheral vision, Owen kept a close eye on Clint and his crew. “I’m surprised Clint hasn’t come over here to start shit.”

Ben crushed his now empty can with his two strong hands. “I’m sure Scar told him to be good. Have you left him yet, Ali?”

“Yep. I’m done with that waste of space.”

“It’s about damn time.”

Ali nodded, leaving the conversation at that. She looked down and kicked a small stick out of boredom. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something that caught her attention. “Oh, finally. Here he comes.”

Owen turned around to see Scar walking around from behind the house. He was pushing an elderly woman in a wheelchair. He seemed content, making inaudible words to the old lady. Owen recognized her immediately. “Here he comes.”

Ben rubbed the back of his neck. “Scar brought his mommy.”

When it came to the most approachable, friendliest and most accommodating Grayson, Luella was the one who fit the bill. She moved to the Adrienne area almost in her teens. Owen’s father said his older brother tried to court her, but she had her eyes set on the bad boy in town, which of course, was Scar and Clint’s father, Buddy.

While everyone knew that the Tomkins and the Graysons hated each other, not many knew that Luella and Owen’s mother were close friends, ever since high school. They were always kind and courteous to the adversarial families. When Roy Grayson’s disappearance became known and suspicion started to set in, the two mothers both agreed to set up dinner talks to get everything squared away. That was 15 years ago. Owen had difficulty believing it had been that long.

Scar wheeled his mother in front of Owen, Ben and Ali with a business-like mug. Up close, Luella had aged fairly badly. Her skin was a wrinkled mess. She could still walk, but her arthritis in her knees made it a tedious and painful experience. Her hair was a light gray, on its way to becoming a snow white. Her entire appearance was surprising, since she was the same age as Owen’s mother, which would have been 60 at this time. She voluntarily moved to an assisted living apartment complex, so that Mary could have the place to herself. She also wanted to be around others. She was a social butterfly, and living with her deadbeat daughter didn’t exactly give many opportunities to converse.

Luella extended her hand to Ali, who grasped it in turn. “Ali, my dear, you are looking so much like your mother. How are you doing?”

“I’m…well, I’m alright, I guess. Gettin’ better.”

“That’s good to hear. And how’s my grandson? I haven’t seen him in quite a while. Scar usually takes him to visit me, but I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Sorry, ma,” answered Scar. “Been busy.”

“Oh hush, your father would say the same crap when he didn’t feel like coming home from his philandering. Ali, how’s Austin?”

“He’s doin’ good, ma’am. Full of energy.”

“I’m sure he is. With who his mommy and daddy are, I’m sure he’s jumping off the walls.”

Luella turned her attention to the man standing next to Ali. “Ben, Ben, Ben, you have grown way more than I remember back when you boys were in high school. You were a scrawny little thing. Back during football games, I was afraid a gust of wind would blow you away.”

“I hit a pretty good growth spurt after high school. Plus, the Army bulked me up a little bit,” responded Ben, half-smiling.