Comin' Home to You (31 page)

“Usual shit. He got a little too high and cocky last night and I had to knock him down a peg. Just things like that.” Scar opened the refrigerator door, looking for something to drink. “Seriously, you guys don’t have any beer in here?”

“Nope. Haven’t been to the store in a while.”

Somewhat disappointed, Scar closed the door empty with food save a bottle of ketchup. “So, you need a ride back to your dad’s, or you just gonna walk back?”

She wanted to reply with an astounding no, but she held her tongue. “I can walk, thanks.”

“You do realize it is raining, right?”

She hadn’t noticed. Only now did she hear the patter of rain on the roof and windows and thunder in the distance. Ali hoped that her father and Austin had returned to the house or found shelter. Austin had a good immune system, but her sudden resurgence in her maternal instincts made her worry about him getting sick.

Scar decided to answer for her. “Alright, I’m gonna take you back. You got everything you need outta here?”

Ali shot a cynical glance. “Like hell am I going to let you around Ow-, I mean fath…ugh, dad.”

“Relax, I ain’t got any intentions of doing him any harm. He just needs to hear what I have to say.”

“Why don’t you tell me, and I’ll tell him?”

“We need to speak man to man, Grayson to Tomkins.”

Ali tossed her ice pack, which had already begun melting, into the sink filled with dirty dishes. “I don’t believe you.”

“If I wanted to kill him, and trust me, I can, then I would have already done it. However, I need to speak with him. It’ll be good. Ya know, if he listens.”

Ali shook her head. “You two are gonna fuckin’ kill each other.”

Scar could only shrug with a dumb look on his face.

Shrugging herself, Ali just went with it. “Well alright then, take me there.”

After running through the rain and throwing the suitcases into the back seats, Ali hopped into the passenger seat as Scar pulled out of the gravel driveway. After turning off the paved street to a dirt county road, Scar’s dull eyes lit up when he noticed all the mud that had accumulated on the road. It gave Scar little bits of glee as mud splashed from his tires specifically made for such terrain. She kept to herself for most of the drive, only responding to Scar’s out of place small talk with a grunt. He was a brash, cocky and strong man, but for some reason he would always come off as awkward whenever the two of them were alone. It made her wonder a few notions, but she kept such things inside.

After a few minutes of wishing that she had walked through the rain instead of an uncomfortable drive, Scar and Ali arrived at her father’s home. She kept her fingers crossed that Owen wouldn’t start shooting up the truck before even seeing who was in it. However, he never came outside.

Ali grabbed her suitcases from the back seat. “Wait here. Unless you want my dad to put a bullet in your head.”

Scar had drew his gun without her even realizing it. He sarcastically grunted and nodded. Still, he understood the risks of coming here. As soon as she opened the truck door, she felt the cold rain on her skin. It startled her and sent shivers down her spine. Gusts of wind made the trees sway and blew her hair into her face.
Texas weather,
she thought to herself. She was not a well-travelled person, but she doubted any other state had such odd extremes of weather like this one.

After sprinting as fast as she could through the rain and the soggy lawn with her suitcases in tow, Ali approached the front door. Feeling as she was a welcome guest again to her own father’s home, she opened it without knocking. The first thing she noticed once entering was Austin bending over on the floor. As soon as he heard the door opeb, he turned around, then sprinted to his mother with wide and fearful eyes.

“Mom! It’s Grandpa!”

While gently placing her open palm on Austin’s sweaty head, she observed what Austin was looking at. Her body instantly tensed up. She could feel the blood flowing through her fingertips and head. A sudden dryness in her throat made her unable to swallow.

On the floor, face down, was her father. His unconscious face was somewhat visible, though streaks of blood and vomit had escaped his unmoving lips, leaving streaks of red and yellow on its way to the carpet.

Ali fell to her knees and did her best to not scream.

There was no way this was happening again.

Owen awoke to being shaken like a rag doll. Two sets of hands were on him. One pair was small, the other just a little bigger and squeezed a little harder. His eyes slowly and tiredly lifted, though they still felt weighed down. He found himself on his living room floor. The air was muggy and made him instantly uncomfortable. The front door was open, but the dark thunderous clouds let little light in. Half of his face itched from lying flat on the carpet. Out of the lower right corner of his eye, he noticed arms, torso and legs of a person. He tilted his head just enough to see his daughter with concern in her eyes.

“Dad!? Dad, holy shit! What the fuck happened?”

Owen cleared his phlegm and vomit encrusted throat before making an attempt to speak. “Hey.”

“What the fuck happened, Dad?”

Finding some pride and resolve to raise up, Owen managed to get to his knees. “Language, Ali.”

“Sorry. Just…what happened?”

Below him, on the carpet that desperately needed vacuuming, he saw a moist concoction of blood and vomit that would more than likely leave a stain. He rubbed the back of his hand frantically on his mouth, wanting the remains of the bloody bile off of his skin. Not knowing what happened himself, Owen shook his head despondently. A set of small arms suddenly wrapped around his neck from behind. Owen was alarmed for a tick, but immediately recognized those arms. His grandson, who had been the other set of arms shaking him back to life, hugged his grandfather dearly.

Ali looked toward Austin. “Austin, baby. What happened?”

“He came in from down the pasture and he walked in and just fell. Right on his face.”

Right on my face. God, it hurts,
thought Owen. He hadn’t realized the pain until just now.

“He just fell?” inquired Ali. “That’s it?”

“Well, he grabbed his stomach, I think. Oh yeah, he threw up. Blood. Gross. Then he fell. It almost made me throw up too.”

Ali took a long, perplexed look at her father. There was no way she could tell her little boy that Owen, the grandfather that acted more like a father and loved Austin to no end was dying from a disease. It was better that the boy kept his innocence.

“Probably coughing up some of the blood from yesterday,” lied Owen, thinking quickly. “Your uncle hit me pretty hard.”

Austin’s eyes got big, but skeptical. “But throwing up blood means you are bleeding inside, right?”

Owen chuckled. His grandson was too smart for his own good. “I wouldn’t worry. Cuts heal.”

Austin made an overly dramatic relieved sound. It was enough to put a smile on Owen’s face, although he knew the real reason he vomited blood. Living with this pain every day was becoming more tolerable. Either that, or he had just learned to block the pain out so no one on the outside would ever know. That had to be it, because he was willing himself not to double over in pain.

“Are you sure you are okay, Dad?” asked Ali.

“Well, it’s the first time I fainted like this. But I’ll be alright. Just another issue that I have to press forward on. Gotta face it head on.”

Ali rolled her eyes. “I don’t think the famous Tomkins words really apply with your situation, Dad.”

“It does. It’s still a problem, and one I have to deal with.”

Rising to her feet, Ali offered her hand to her father. Before Owen accepted it, the front screen door opened. At first, Owen thought it was the wind from the still happening storm. But as a large body loomed in the doorway, blocking out the gray clouded light from outside, Owen immediately felt a second surge of bile rise. Apprehension, fear, anger, rage, and a multitude of other emotions swarmed inside of him.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Scar!?” Owen demanded, rising to his feet without Ali’s aid.

“I got tired of waiting.”

Owen glared at his daughter, who timidly stared back. “He brought me home, Dad. I went and packed up some stuff at my house while you guys were gone and he offered to take me home because it was raining and that’s it. I swear.”

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, the 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.”