~ Blowback ~

by

S. E. Schenkel

It was an awesome evening—the kind that could make you believe winter had been given the boot for good. Except it was April, and snow in April was a Michigan tradition that I dreaded.

I collected the mail and headed up the driveway.

An envelope slipped from the bundle, caught a breeze and took a detour under Webb’s car. I dumped the rest of the mail on the trunk and got down on my knees. The thing had landed on the far side of the front wheel. Legal-sized white envelope with an official looking return address. But what really got my attention was my name. My full name: Acey Albert Tapp. Few people even knew my middle name, let alone used it.

Leaning against the car, I studied the sender’s information: Veeder and Volks, a law firm out of Clovis, Vermont.

I ripped open the envelope, pulled out the typed letter and started reading. Seconds ticked off. Countdown to a growing disbelief. A ballooning sense of panic.

The squeak of the side door cut into my shock.

Megan approached. “Is something wrong, Acey?”

I handed her the letter, moved to the front bumper and stared at a pair of robins romping about in the neighbor’s oak. After a long moment, I turned toward Megan. “You’re a pretty slow reader.”

“I’m working on something to say.” She approached, took the envelope from my hand and slipped the letter back in. “It’s not like you didn’t know this day would come.”

Her hand warmed my arm.

“Not like I wanted it to, either.”

The robins flew off in tandem, the bigger one giving chase.

“What are you going to do?” asked Megan.

“Give back in kind.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her hold tightened.

“An eye for an eye. Absence for absence.”

There was a long silence. Fingers meshed with mine, took a firm hold. “You can’t,” she whispered.

“Like hell.” I kicked at the concrete. Wanted to go butt my head against the house. The home I’d inherited from Ma, the place she and Karl had purchased for their life together. Karl. My father. The man I wanted, most of all, to forget. Only how do you erase a marriage or the seed planted by the sorry-sick-son-of-a-bitch... when I was the offspring?

My eyes started to go soft, welling up with rain in the forecast. I steeled myself, did a string of blinks. Eyelids like little squeegees clearing away unwanted tears.

I glanced at the envelope and the hand holding it. Those slender fingers I loved to feel on my skin. Tease me with their little touches.

Another side-door squeak. The boss this time. He stepped down to the stoop and blocked the door from closing. “Any reason why the mail can’t make it into the house before you start ripping it open?”

Despite the letter, despite its message, I smiled. There was nothing like Webb’s loveable grumpy voice to bring me out of a sulk.

I said, “While we’re on the subject of reasons ‘why’, maybe you can explain the purpose of allowing flies into the house. Woops, and there goes a bee. Hope he makes it to your bed and not mine.”

Webb let the door close and moved toward Megan and me. He stood there, hand on a hip, crooked as a quarter moon, those all-knowing eyes trying to make sense of the scene.

I plucked the envelope from Megan and handed it to him.

“What’s this?” said Webb.

“Read it and find out.”

He removed the letter, read it, stayed silent for a long moment and then asked, “When are you leaving?”

“Never.”

Without saying another word, Webb handed the envelope back, took the rest of the mail off the car’s trunk and went into the house.

Sounds came from the kitchen window. Annie starting supper.

I put the letter in my pocket. “I’m going for a drive.”

Megan studied me. “Okay...”

“I might not be here for supper.”

She nodded.

I headed for the Mustang parked at the curb.

Megan was still standing there watching, when I pulled away.

~ * ~

It was late when I got back. Except for the outside light above the side door, the house was dark. I let myself in and crept up the stairs. A sliver of light came from the room I shared with Megan.

I went in.

She was sitting up in bed, a book on her lap. I could feel her eyes on me as I moved to the adjoining bathroom. Probably checking to see if I was walking a straight line.

When I emerged a few minutes later, the bedside lamp was off and moonlight was peeking through the window.

I got in and pulled up the covers.

She sidled over and snuggled against me—silent and warm.

“Do you want to sniff my breath?” I asked.

“No, thank you.”

“Did Annie make her mean Wednesday meatloaf?”

“You mean you didn’t case the fridge?”

“I think the term is ‘raid’ the fridge.”

“That, too,” she said.

A sound reached us from the hall. Nothing worrisome. Just Webb firing off a head-to-toe sneeze as he made one of his multiple trips to appease his bladder.

Just hoped the spasmodic blast wasn’t a sign of a cold. The old man did colds about as well as I did troublesome news.

My thoughts settled on the letter. Again. Guess I swore, because Megan lifted her head enough to meet my eyes. She stayed there, attentive, silent, head cocked.

I sighed, gave the silence another few seconds and then said, “I suppose we should talk.”

“If you want to.” She tugged gently at some of the hair that covered my chest like brush on bleak land.

“You start,” I said.

“I don’t think so...”

“What do you want me to say?” I asked.

“Tell me how you feel about your father.”

“Look up hate in the thesaurus.”

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

More silence.

Time to regroup.

“Want me to tell you why I hate him?” I asked.

“I think I know that, Acey.”

“So… What’s left to say?”

“I do have one more question,” said Megan.

“Ask it.”

“Only if you promise not to be mad. Or pinch me.”

“Don’t know about the pinching part.” I gave her thigh a slight squeeze.

Megan moved off me, slowly, deliberately. And then she said, “What would your mom want you to do?”