Homecoming

by

Merrilyn Williams

The old neighborhood was almost unrecognizable. Lieutenant James Thomas Mahan turned the corner onto his street, anticipation quickening his steps. The rusted sign spelling out Tigh’s Hill and Fourth Avenue hung at an angle. Fog spilled in from the bay, concealing the neglect hard times had wrought on the aging neighborhood. The homes clung to the outskirts of the industrial area that no longer provided a livelihood for the residents.

Tree roots buckled the sidewalk. His combat boots thudded over the uneven surface. He remembered his dad teaching him to ride his bicycle here, playing ball with him in the park across the street. The only sign of life, a scrawny half-grown kitten as gray as the fog, batted at a moth under a feeble streetlight. At James’ approach, it vanished into a weeded yard.

His camouflage fatigues appeared in shades of gray like his surroundings. He passed Alvin’s house, two doors down from his own. They had been best friends growing up. Before James had joined the army. The old frame house, once as familiar as his own, looked deserted in the dimness. His home was the only house on the block showing a light.

Great. Someone was still up. Probably got the TV on. He turned into the front walk, hopped over the low once-white picket fence with a grin. His mom always yelled at him to use the gate. Her prized hydrangeas still hugged either side of the front steps. He bounded up the walk and onto the porch, fist raised to pound on the front door. Inside, he heard the hoarse bark of a dog, followed by a low growl.

“Hush, Fancy. No one’s here.” His mother rebuked the dog. His grin widened at the familiar voice.

James reached for the doorknob and found himself in the small living room. The dog stood guard in the archway between the living room and the kitchen. Her muzzle, now completely white, turned in his direction. Her tail rose and waved once. He crouched and held out his hand.

“Hey, girl.”

Fancy whined a welcome. His mother looked up from the cup she was staring into as she sat at the kitchen table and called the dog.

“What is it, Mom?” His sister Susan bustled into the room. Neither seemed to notice him.

“Dunno. Something bothering the dog.” His mother looked older, worn and tired. His sister didn’t look much like the young woman he remembered either. Now both stared at Fancy who sat at his feet, her adoring gaze fixed on him.

“Where’s Dad?” His voice sounded muffled, absorbed by the shadows. Susan fussed with the coffee pot, getting herself and her mother fresh cups of coffee.

“You need to rest. Dad’s sleeping.” Susan said as she poured cream into her cup.

“You, too.”

James walked down the hallway toward his parents’ bedroom, propelled by an undeniable urgency. He entered the dimly lit room. His father lay white against the white sheets, his breathing labored. His eyes opened. His hands reached for his son.

“James!”

James took his father’s hands in his.

“Come on, Dad. Let’s go home.”

Together they walked into the light.