TRYING MY BEST to shake away the exchange I just had with Mr. Murphy, I couldn’t help but think of Micah’s father. Uptight with unrealistically high expectations. After I had met him the first time, I knew why Micah was always so intent on working out anywhere but his house. The one time we tried to use his garage, his father hovered over us the entire time, goading Micah to use more weights, to push himself harder, to do more.
The kid never had space to breathe.
And that was exactly how he sounded on the phone earlier today. Like the air around him was devoid of oxygen, his lungs burning on each inhale. Even though I was focused on the camp all day, I couldn’t keep Micah and his surprise visit out of my mind. It had been ten years, and nothing more than an e-mail or a Facebook message. And even that wasn’t until recently. I couldn’t help but wonder why on earth he was calling me. And why now?
Maybe deep down I knew why, but that wasn’t something I felt like dealing with right now. Or ever. The truth was, no matter who he used to be, I had no clue who he was now.
As I drove, I wondered how long he planned on staying. And who was with him. He said I would have two visitors. Despite being more than a little peeved at him calling out of nowhere and saying he’d stop by my house with someone else—who, I had no fucking clue—I still wanted to see him. Knowing that there wasn’t anything more in my fridge than a few beers, milk that had probably gone sour days ago, and some stale bread, I figured a trip to the supermarket was in order. I couldn’t exactly host an old friend—and his friend—without anything to feed them.
Pulling up to my house an hour or so later than I’d expected, I was more than surprised at what I saw.
Nothing.
There was no car in the driveway. No lights on inside. No movement in the windows.
Scratching my head, I knew I’d told him where the spare key was. He had the address. Ignoring the possibility that he decided not to come here, I focused instead on the idea that he got lost, or had somewhere else to stop along the way.
Yeah, that had to be it,I told myself, hefting the six or seven bags of groceries in one trip. Nothing was more annoying than having to make another trip out to the car to get groceries. I swear, I would take twenty bags at a time and nearly break my arms trying to open the door rather than make another trip. That shit right there was bragging rights. Not that I had anyone to brag about it to. It didn’t exactly impress Brandon or compare to his stories. I could hear the conversation now. “You should have seen the tits on her,” he’d brag, holding his hands up to his own chest, mimicking the size of said titties.
“Yeah, well, I carried forty-five bags of groceries into the house in one trip.” Flexing my muscles, I’d boast as he’d stare at me, mouth wide, stifling his laughter at my pathetic existence.
Laughing at the stupidity of the situation, I managed to pull my keys out of my pocket and unlock the door without having to drop any of the bags. Another small victory.
It was empty inside. No Micah. And even though it was what I expected based upon the empty driveway, I couldn’t ignore the pang of disappointment knowing he wasn’t here.
Not that I was looking forward to seeing him all day or anything.
Nope, that definitely wasn’t the case.
After dropping the bags onto the kitchen island, I unpacked everything and made quick work of putting everything away. I caught the light on the phone blinking at me from the window sill. Hope that it was a missed call from Micah was quickly squashed when I remembered that he only had my cell. Choosing to ignore that smile pulling at my lips at the thought of it being Micah, I scrolled through the missed calls only to find out that they were both from my father.
Each day was a new challenge for him. His memory was failing, or his tolerance was increasing—if that was even possible—and no matter how many times I told him I had camp during the day, he would still call me, hoping I could come over and keep him company, or run an errand for him. The energy to explain myself to him just wasn’t there today. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I closed my eyes, blocking out the idea that he was getting worse and worse. On a deep sigh, I dropped the phone on the counter and walked over to the fridge.
The truth was I’d spent far too much energy thinking about Micah. And then even more energy denying what I was feeling for him.
The irony wasn’t lost on me that I reached for a beer as I tried not to think about my father.
As I closed the refrigerator, a flash of something dark moving by the sliding glass doors caught my attention. “What the?” I said to no one as I opened the door. Squinting my eyes, I could’ve sworn I saw a wolf running on the edge of my backyard.
A high-pitched whistle came from the side gate and what I thought was a wolf, turned into a dog simply responding to the call of his owner. “Poor guy must’ve gotten out,” I said to myself as I walked over to the open gate to let who I assumed to be the dog’s owner into the yard.
“Here let me help you.” As I walked toward the gate, I saw the man struggling with a backpack and another bag. “Big guy get away from you?” I asked the pointless question.
With his back to me as he latched the gate behind him, I couldn’t see more than the too-long hair hanging just above his shoulders. The metal clang of the gate rang in my ears and time stood still as the man turned around. “Micah,” I choked on his name.
Shock wasn’t even remotely close to what I felt when my eyes landed on him. His eyes were the same, vibrant green, burning holes into whatever they stared at. But the dark bags underneath were new, casting heavy shadows on his face. The heavy stubble covering his face did nothing to hide the hard line of his jaw. It was both him and not him.
At least not the Micah I remembered.
“Jude,” he spoke my name as he dropped the bags to the ground. It was Micah standing in front of me, but I couldn’t help but wonder if I imagined the whole thing. “I, uh,” he stuttered. “Sarge,” he called out, his voice booming the command.
I watched in awestruck silence, my world seemingly moving in slow motion as the dog trotted up next to Micah before sitting like a statue at his side. “He was the other guest you mentioned?” I asked stupidly since it was clear there was no one else around.
“Yeah. Is that okay? I can stay somewhere—”
“Of course it’s fine.” I cut him off because the idea of him being anywhere but here was not one I wanted to entertain.
Shaking away the nervousness I’d expected but wasn’t prepared to deal with, I stepped forward, extending a hand to Micah. He stared at it as if it was the most foreign gesture he’d ever seen. “Uh, thanks,” he muttered with a hint of anger as he pulled his right hand out from behind his back. “But I’m fresh outta hands to shake.” The lame attempt at a joke was lost on me as I tried my hardest not to stare at the prosthetic before me. It was black metal, sleek, and modern. Looking nothing like those flesh-colored plastic pieces, it was as if it was out of theTerminatormovies.
