We Came Back Read online

  Frank met Mona’s eyes. The death stare was in full display. He sighed and swallowed another mouthful of meat and potatoes. “I guess I’ve been a bit judgmental. Early graduation. That’s impressive.” It took every ounce of strength to muster up a smile.

  Alyssa rolled her eyes and quietly apologized for her father’s behavior.

  Busty shook his head, held up a hand. “No apologies necessary. Your dad’s just watching out for his daughter. She’s dating someone who looks a bit different than the average Joe and a few years older. If I were in his shoes, I probably would’ve already kicked me out by now. There are a lot of sickos out there. You can never be too sure who you’re inviting into your home these days.” He stared into Frank’s eyes as he said this last part, not looking away for what seemed like a full minute.

  Alyssa squeezed Busty’s hand and thanked him. “There. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, maybe we can talk like civil human beings.”

  “Of course we can,” Frank said, finally looking away from Busty. Not because he was intimidated or because he’d been quick to judge.

  It was more so that he felt uneasy. Maybe even a little scared.

  Mona began to clear the table. “Who wants dessert?”

  “I’d love some, Mrs. Tanner,” Busty said. “Would you like any help?”

  Mona froze for a moment, genuinely impressed. “I guess I would if it’s not any trouble.”

  “None at all.” He gathered the silverware and picked up his and Alyssa’s plates, following Mona into the kitchen.

  A few long, awkward moments passed between father and daughter before Alyssa finally broke the silence. “Real nice, Dad.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. I shouldn’t have given him such a hard time. He seems… animated. And nice. Very nice.” Good thing your wife’s not here to call bullshit.

  She sighed, started texting on her phone. “Just give him a chance, okay? That’s all I’m asking. You’ve got to loosen up a little bit. This is my senior year.”

  He nodded and was shocked at the tears he was fighting back. She reminded him so much of Mona in that moment, it was almost terrifying. She was independent, strong, and didn’t take shit from anyone. He’d raised her well, but it wasn’t easy letting go. Aside from all that, there was something else on his mind, something that was always on his mind.

  “Don’t,” she said without looking up from her phone.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t mention Jeremy. I know you were going to. It doesn’t help when you say his name. It’s not healthy.”

  Damn girl’s psychic. Or you really have become that predictable.

  Maybe it wasn’t healthy, but talking about Jeremy was a coping mechanism, a way to push aside the pain and the grief that haunted him on most days. He hadn’t seen a therapist in several years now, wasn’t sure they’d helped to begin with, but he was willing to bet they’d side with him on this. He wasn’t any closer to acceptance now than he had been when it happened. He still couldn’t admit that Jeremy was gone.

  He cleared his throat. “I was just going to ask what you guys were doing tonight.”

  The doors to the kitchen swung open halfway through his sentence. Busty carried an apple pie and set it down on the table. “We’re going to catch a movie and maybe go bowling if we have enough time,” he said.

  Mona passed him the knife and though Frank knew he was seeing things, for a moment it seemed like Busty pointed the blade in his direction. “So long as that’s okay with you, Mr. Tanner.”

  He looked at his daughter’s pleading eyes and nodded. “Of course.”

  “Great,” Busty said. “I’ll have her home by midnight.”

  He sliced into the pie.

  ●●●

  “Dude, give it a rest,” Art said. He was playing Call of Duty, his eyes plastered to the screen. On the floor lay the remnants of their supper: empty bottles of Mountain Dew, discarded Slim Jim wrappers, one straggling slice of pizza—extra cheese, extra pepperoni—and enough candy to last the rest of the year.

  Justin Wright watched through the window, tensing every time he saw headlights on the road and sulking every time they drove by instead of pulling into the Tanners’ driveway.

  “Did you even hear me?” Art said. He shot an enemy’s head with a sniper rifle, smiled as it exploded into a pulpy mess, and sipped his soda.

  “I heard you all five times. I just didn’t want to answer.”

  “You ought to do normal teenager things once in a while,” Art said. “Like playing video games or stealing your mom’s vodka or at the very least not being a stalker. Her old man’s going to catch you staring and have a shit conniption.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Justin said, remembering earlier that night, when Frank had flipped him off with his eyes. Not to mention the whole mess from earlier that summer, when he and Alyssa had broken up.

  “One of these days,” Art said, pausing the game and grabbing the last pizza slice, “that guy’s going to make good on his promise and break your jaw.”

  A car slowed, the lights illuminating the street for a nanosecond, before it sped up again. “Let him.”

  Art bit into the pizza, stood up, and sighed. “I didn’t mean anything by it. If it were up to me, I’d let you fuck my daughter all you wanted.”

  “Don’t talk about her that way.”

  “You know what I mean. Besides, I don’t get what you’re so worried about. She’ll come around eventually, once she realizes she’s dating a guy who looks like Marilyn Manson.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Justin said. He wasn’t even sure what time it was, but he could tell it was late. His eyes were growing heavy.

  “Look, I’m heading out for the night if you don’t mind. I’m kind of tired.”

  No you’re not, Justin almost said. You just want to get out of this house because it depresses you. And the worst part is that I can’t blame you one bit. “Fine by me. Getting tired myself.” He faked a yawn.

  “See you in home room on Monday?” Art said, stealing some of the candy and putting it into his backpack along with the Call of Duty disc.

  “Unfortunately. I’m trying not to think about it.”

  “You and me both,” Art said. He lingered at the door and Justin could feel the sympathy hanging in the air, though it was never spoken aloud. It was one of the reasons Justin liked his best friend so much. Art didn’t look at him like he was a freak who was about to hang himself right after he worked out. “And keep your head up, will you? This year’s going to be better. It’s gotta be, you know? The universe can only kick you in the balls so many times.”

  Justin laughed, finally looked away from his stakeout. “Get out of here before I kick you in the balls.”

  “That’s the bastard I know. Later.” Art closed the door too hard but Justin didn’t mind. It wasn’t like he was going to wake anyone, even at this hour. His mother, an EMT, was working the graveyard shift and his father had died four months earlier.

  It was the main reason he was dreading the school year so much. He’d missed a good portion of the previous semester, while his father was rotting away on the couch down the hall, the cancer turning his lungs to tar, but Justin’s teacher had allowed him to make up most of the work at home. He hadn’t mentioned his father’s illness to hardly anyone, but Lynnwood was a small town and word traveled fast. On those rare days in June when he’d made it to class, he’d gotten countless stares like he was an anomaly. You weren’t supposed to lose a parent in high school. Nothing bad was meant to happen so early in life. The only other tragedy Justin could remember was when that kid had killed himself at the old high school, blew his brains out in the middle of the cafeteria, but Justin had been just a kid then.

  He hoped this year would be different. He hoped he could blend in with the crowd and not be That Kid Whose Dad Died.

  But most of all, he hoped he could win Alyssa back.

  She had been the only thing he’d liked about this summer.
Their romance had lasted through most of their junior year. It had been the best distraction in the world for his grief, the only thing that seemed to take his mind off his father’s death. Not to mention she was quite possibly the prettiest girl he’d ever laid eyes on. And she could relate to his predicament, with what happened to her brother Jeremy.

  But their courtship was over now, all because of an argument he still didn’t quite understand.

  Now she was dating this freak show asshole that looked like a walking corpse. He was familiar somehow, too, like Justin had seen him before, but Busty was older and didn’t live in town. Still, the kid’s face irked him and not because of the eyeliner and piercings.

  Maybe he’d seen Busty in a nightmare once.

  Justin opened the last remaining Mountain Dew. It was warm and slightly flat, not the least bit refreshing, but he drank it anyway. Then he did what he always did when his mind was racing. He lifted weights.

  Aside from his time with Alyssa, lifting had been the only thing to help him stay sane these last few months. It was absurd, he knew. He wasn’t the least bit athletic and he had barely filled a size small shirt when the school year ended. Since then, he’d grown into a medium, his biceps twice as large, his flat stomach now replaced with washboard abs.

  Art teased him plenty, saying Justin would have his pick of girls this year. All he had to do was flex and smile and their panties would fall off. But he didn’t want any of that. The only thing he wanted was for headlights to appear outside.

  He grabbed his weights and sat back down in the chair, waiting for Alyssa. Something in his gut told him he ought to stand watch.

  Because he didn’t trust Busty Brown one bit.

  Chapter Three

  “Sorry about my Dad,” Alyssa said. She sat in the passenger seat of Busty’s car, an old Honda that needed a new muffler and probably an engine.

  “I told you already. It’s not a big deal. Really.”

  “It is to me. I knew exactly how he’d react when he met you. I was hoping he’d surprise me but look where that got us.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder and she shivered. Not because of the cool breeze that promised of fall, but because of the way Busty made her feel. He was so unlike any boys she’d ever dated, the polar opposite of Justin, and that was the best part. She wanted to forget about him, though being next-door neighbors didn’t help matters much. She’d just have to get through this year and head off to college. Then she’d be free of him. She wouldn’t have to blame herself for dumping the best guy she’d ever met because of her own baggage.

  Busty cleared his throat.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

  He smiled. “Tuning me out already?”

  “I’m just tired.”

  His hand had moved from her shoulder to her elbow. Part of her wanted it to continue its descent. There was something intoxicating about Busty. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. In fact, he wasn’t all that attractive on the outside. She’d never dug the whole goth thing. Just wasn’t her style. She’d almost turned him down when he asked her out but she’d been so pissed at Justin she figured why the hell not. And now, sitting in his shitty car, she wanted badly to kiss him.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Busty said, twirling her hair and looking into her eyes. He slid a bit closer so that she could feel his breath on her face.

  “Sure.” She fidgeted in her seat. The windows were starting to fog.

  “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but I overheard your dad talking about someone when I was helping your mom with dessert. Someone named Jamie or Johnny?”

  “Jeremy.” She winced. It had been ages since she’d said the name aloud to someone other than her father. He was the only one who brought her brother up anymore. Her mother had finally let go but her father—he wasn’t even close.

  “Is he an ex-boyfriend or something?”

  She paused, choosing her words carefully.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  She took his hand into hers, looked into his eyes, practically glowing against his black eyeliner. “No, it’s fine. He wasn’t a boyfriend.” She swallowed against a bone-dry throat. “He was my brother.”

  “Was as in the past tense?”

  She nodded, mentally screaming at herself not to cry. Their date had gone much too well to ruin it with her drama. Her father swore that talking about Jeremy helped with the healing process, but she begged to differ. It had been years now and the wound seemed just as fresh. She wanted to forget her brother had ever existed, as horrible as that sounded. Maybe then her parents—her father in particular—would stop being so overprotective, would her give the space she’d been begging for. To them she was Jeremy, constantly ready to die all over again. Everything beyond the walls of their home was a threat to their remaining child.

  “When did it happen?” Busty said. He was much closer now. Close enough to kiss.

  “When I was younger.”

  “Was he sick or something?”

  She grabbed his neck and brought him to her lips. There was no lead-up. Her tongue was exploring his in a matter of seconds. At first, Busty seemed into it. He was quite the kisser, obviously much more experienced than her. She could sense his hand nearing her breasts and she welcomed it so long as it would help her forget about their conversation. A few minutes in, though, he stopped suddenly.

  “What’s wrong?” she said, trying to catch her breath.

  “Nothing. I just… I didn’t mean to bring up old wounds. I have enough of those myself. And I don’t want to rush things, you know?”

  “Rush things? This isn’t the fifties.” She smiled playfully. “I’d be happy to move things along.” She grabbed his hand and brought it to her breast.

  He recoiled as if he’d touched a spider. For a moment he seemed genuinely sickened, but then he regained his composure.

  He’s hiding something, she thought without fully understanding.

  “Look,” Busty said. “I like seeing you and I definitely like kissing you, but let’s take it one step at a time. As long as that’s okay with you.”

  She tried not to seem disappointed, fixing her hair and wiping the corners of her mouth. “Of course. Fine by me.”

  Busty smiled. “Good.” He kissed her again, tamer this time. “Now you ought to get up there. It’s almost midnight and I don’t want to push my luck with your dad. He may have been civil by the end of dinner but it’s obvious the guy hates my guts.”

  “He’ll come around,” she said.

  They said their goodbyes and Busty promised to call her tomorrow. She got out of the car, walked up the drive, and waved from the door.

  From her spot, it was too dark to make out his face, his features swallowed in the dimness. She couldn’t tell if he was grinning or sneering or perhaps a mixture of both as he waved back.

  ●●●

  “Will you come to bed already?” Mona said.

  Frank barely heard her as he stared through the window, watching Busty’s idling car, hoping the darkness of the bedroom would disguise him. “In a minute. She’s almost in the house.”

  “You’re worse than Justin. How many times have you given him grief for staring at Alyssa through the window? A dozen? A hundred? When he does it, it’s creepy but when you do it—”

  “I’m just watching out for her. There’s nothing more to it than that.”

  “You’re watching out a little too much, dear. I’d say it’s time to take the safety wheels off. She’s almost eighteen. Let her go just a bit.”

  Frank rubbed his eyes and swore under his breath. Mona was right of course. No surprise there. The problem was that Frank couldn’t let go. He’d tried, pretended not to worry when his daughter was running late or wondering what she did when she was out with her friends. Was she drinking, doing drugs, having sex? Something told him she’d tried all three more than once. It shouldn’t have been a shock. He was a teacher after all, knew exactly
what went through teenagers’ heads. He should’ve been able to trust her.

  Should have being the key words.

  “She told me I’m not supposed to say his name anymore.”

  “Who?” Mona got out of bed, walked over to Frank’s chair, an antique rocker that he’d pushed against the window.

  Frank didn’t answer. Instead he watched through the window, just as the Wright kid was probably doing, and waited for Alyssa to get out of Busty’s shit box of a car.

  Mona got the message. She ran fingers through his hair and he thought he could’ve went to sleep then and there. Not that it would’ve helped matters. Jeremy was always in his nightmares, usually covered in blood and begging his dad to save him. Frank had been voted best history teacher three times during his career, was likely to win again this year, but he’d failed at the job that mattered most. He’d failed at protecting his son.

  “Do you think she’s right?” Mona said.

  Frank opened his eyes. He’d almost drifted off. “About saying his name?”

  “Yes, honey. About saying his name.”

  He shrugged. “I guess I could say it less, could bring the subject up less, but I’m not sure that would solve anything. He’s not some scab that I can pick at until there’s only skin again. He was our son I don’t think we should let him fade away, you know? That or I’m just a crazy dad who hasn’t faced this thing head on.”

  Mona lowered her head, kissed his ear. “It might be a little of both but we wouldn’t have gotten through it without you. We wouldn’t have made it without you. You kept this family together, whether you believe it or not. So if you want to say his name, you say it and you don’t apologize. You hear me, Frank Tanner?”

  Despite himself, he smiled. “Yes, I hear you, captain.”