by Rod Martinez
The ride on the train wasn’t what bothered her even though it took almost a whole day. The man seated next to her, who couldn’t stop talking on his phone to his granddaughter like no one else was on the train, wasn’t so much the annoyance either.
She stepped off the train at the small station that was just two blocks from her childhood home. With backpack strapped on, she pulled the small suitcase behind her, in seconds she was there.
The old house didn’t change. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but when the front screen door opened and the woman walked out, that’s when all her anxieties surfaced.
The woman stepped on the porch and their eyes locked.
“Emily?”
Pulling the suitcase in front of her, she stared at the address number over the door, 916—then her viewpoint changed downward to the frail woman standing there.
“Hi Mom.”
“Emily? It can’t be you, Emily had blonde hair down her back. And – she wore glasses.”
“Mom, it’s really me. I’m back home, I uh… well life just kinda got overwhelming and uh…” she paused staring at her mom, “I didn’t want to bother you, but… I have no place else to go. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Emily? But honey what happened to your hair?”
“It’s a long story, Mom. Come, let’s go inside.” She lugged her suitcase and heavy backpack inside.
“Are you sure you’re my Emily? It’s been so long.”
“Mom, after my shower, we will catch up. Uh, why do you have a bandage on your arm?”
“The darn table jumped out at me, bruised it up something awful.”
“Oh, let me look at that, Mom.” She reached out and touched her arm and softly grasped it in her hands.
“Your father told me; he told me yesterday to watch out for that table. Land sakes, Honey, I just bumped into it.”
“Dad?”
“Yes, whenever he decides to come up from his workshop in the basement, all he does is nag, nag, nag.”
“Uh, Mom – Dad is downstairs?”
“Don’t worry, he’s going to be so excited to see you. Just wait. He’ll come up for supper. I’m going to make your favorite, Shepard’s pie. Now go to your room, go shower. I need to get the ingredients ready.”
She stared at her mother with worrying concern.
Her mother hummed a tune only she knew and walked away to the kitchen.
Twelve years away from home to make it on her own, a marriage that was doomed from the start, no children. It was too much for the thirty-five-year-old – who once felt she had the world in her hand. She was almost forced to return after she lost everything, including her home, car, friends – everything. After that mass shooting at her job, where half the staff were killed, everyone else who survived was laid off. Her finances dried off, she had no choice.
She moved away to prove that she could do it. But now here she was with her tail between her legs.
She hadn’t kept in touch with her family for years, now she felt guilty. And the way her mother looked at her, with those glassy eyes – could senility be setting in? Her car wasn’t in the driveway, did she sell it?
A quick shower would help clear her thoughts; they always did.
In no time she had stripped herself of clothing and stepped into the full glass shower stall, but who was she fooling? Her concern only grew about her mom. Wrapped in a towel, she reached for the spigot when suddenly the strong crash she heard on the other side of the wall forced her to shut off the water. Emily dashed toward the kitchen.
“Mom?”
Turning the corner to find her aged mother on the floor and the stove on, was just a little too much to take. Did she burn herself? Her hand covered her forearm, and she squeezed it as if it were in pain.
“Mom?” She bent to her, moved her hand. Her arm was burned.
“Oh Emily, that fire just jumped out at me. Go – go get your father. He used to be a doctor; he’ll know what to do.”
“Mom, I can’t get Dad.”
“Honey just go, call him from the stairs. He will come up, hurry.”
“Mom, I can’t…”
“Will you hurry?” she screamed.
“Mom, Dad’s dead!”
Her mother froze after the jabbing statement. She opened her mouth to say something but as she stared up at her daughter, her eyes slowly began to well. Emily decided to make this the moment to get her up and sit her at the table. She dropped heavily down on the cushioned wooden chair. Emily searched the shelves for the first aid kit.
“Mom, I’m sorry – you know that Dad… Covid, remember?”
The confused glare on her mother’s face was disturbing and caused Emily to hold her tightly. After a hefty sigh, her mother burst into tears. The longer she held her the harder she cried.
“Mother? Why are you…? You do remember that Daddy passed away, right?”
“Um, well…”
Her stare into her daughter almost scared her, like she was trying to remember but would not allow herself to admit it.
“Mom, how have you been taking care of yourself? Has Miss Rodriguez or her son David next door been coming over to spend time with you?”
She shook her head.
“Then how…?”
Emily didn’t get to finish her question, the noise from the basement stopped her. It sounded like someone had dropped a book. Her father loved reading; he’d do it for hours. She shook the smile off her face.
Dad can’t be down there.
Her face turned to the direction of the basement door, which was just across the kitchen.
“Mom, who else is in here?”
It took her forever to even make a nudge of the shoulder. Emily rested her back on the seat and turned for the door.
The light was on, she could see it at the bottom of the door.
“Who’s there?”
She heard light footsteps ascending toward the other side of the closed door.
“Mom, who is down there?”
“I told you…”
Emily backed up, searching on the counter for something to hold in her hand, a knife, anything. The kitchen was bare.
The door creaked open and the shock on Emily’s face only mirrored the same look on the person walking in.
“Dad?”
“Emily?”
“Oh my God.” Emily fell back against the counter, then to the floor.
He reached for her, and she slid back until she’d forced herself against the cabinet.
“Honey, let me help you up.”
“Dad? You can’t be here… you… you’re…”
“I told you he was down there, Emily honey.” Her mom’s soft voice called from the chair.
The gray-haired stocky man in dockers leaned down and helped her up.
“But…?”
They both stood and approached her mother on the chair.
“It didn’t have to be this way, Honey. You know – the outbursts we had back then – we, we…” he paused, “we should have just discussed everything without screaming. I knew that you leaving would only end up badly. You didn’t have to leave.”
“Dad, you wouldn’t let me have a say – it was always whatever you said – and it was law.” She slammed her fist into her hand, then paused and did quick glances at both of them. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”
His eyebrows slowly arched and he sighed, placing his hand on his wife’s shoulder.
“Emily the day you left, I thought you would never come back. We both mourned as if you had died. Then days ago, I told your mother about the mass shooting at your job. It was only a matter of time before you would come home. We waited.”
“Huh?” Emily sat next to her mom.
“I’m the only one left.” Her mother told her, “But I’m glad I have both of you here to take care of me now.”
Emily’s puzzled glare morphed into a look of shock. “Wait, are you saying I died in that mass shooting at work?”
Her father pointed at the newspaper clipping tacked to the wall that her mom placed the day it happened.
“We’re back together again Honey – the three of us. For the rest of our lives.” He smiled, “your room is ready for you.”
Rod Martinez credits Marvel and Twilight Zone as his inspiration for writing. His passion for words and language would inevitably turn into writing novels.