Homecoming

[Gage Silver 0]

Near Buffalo Gap, South Dakota; 2255

 

 

At 0400, the landscape still wore the shroud of a dark and cold winter morning. His breath bloomed white in the setting moonlight, as he pushed his key into the lock and listened to it click on the crisp, empty air. The large, oak door slowly pivoted on its hinges, faintly creaking in protest. Hadn’t he remembered to fix that before he left?

 

He stepped into the great room and quietly closed door. Shifting the duffel from his shoulder to the hardwood floor, he sighed in the darkness. It still smelled the same. No doubt it was immaculate, as always when he wasn’t there to pick up after. He left the lights off.

 

Lifting a boot off the woven rug in front of the door, he paused a centimeter from the hardwood. How many times had he strolled off that rug without thinking? Stepping back, he leaned into the door, wearily tugged the laces loose and slipped the boots from his feet. It was the least he could do.

 

Boots in one hand and, on a second thought, duffel in the other, he walked heavily across the hardwood floor in his socks and skirted the open kitchen. Entering the niche, he lightly touched the bedroom door open with his duffel. The bed was made and undisturbed, glowing in the moonlight that filtered through the blinds. He set his duffel on the end and tossed his boots into the closet, pausing as he reached the doorway.

 

That wouldn’t do, either. Returning to the bed, he unpacked his bag, trying to remember and follow how she had always organized things. Then folding the duffel neatly, he placed it on the top shelf of the closet and straightened his boots at the bottom. Sliding the closet door closed he drug himself into the adjoining bathroom.

 

Gage blinked sharply at his reflection in the mirror as he flipped the light switch. Applying a heavy swipe to the cold water, he cupped both hands under the faucet and liberally doused his face with a gasp. His reflection stared, red uniform tunic damp, shoulders rising and falling quickly as he dripped water on to the counter. Another swipe robbed the mirror of light.

 

Just before the first knock on the door, he woke on the couch, still wearing his uniform. The world had grown considerably brighter; the shining sun had begun a new day while he dozed. He sat dazed on the couch for a minute, searching for something he couldn’t find, and then rubbed his face in dismay. The third set of knocks finally spurred him to his feet.

 

A set of brown eyes met him as he opened the door and instantly it felt like the heaviness of his shoulders had multiplied. “Hi, Brie,” he soberly greeted his sister-in-law and gestured her inside.

 

“Hi,” Brielle replied before entering, the normal pep of her voice noticeably subdued. Familiarity in her face, she studied great room as Gage closed the door. Hearing the latch click, she turned and tugged the scarf from her neck.

 

“Sorry; we called the station when you didn’t show up. We didn’t think you’d come here.”

 

Gage shrugged and pulled the silenced iCommanche from his pocket, pressing the home key to find a screen filled with missed messages. “I’ll call ‘em in a bit.”

 

Brielle nodded, diverting her eyes in the awkward silence that followed. “How are you holding up?”

 

“I’m fine, Brie,” he answered dryly.

 

“That’s good,” she said with a smile, and it looked as if she was trying to assure herself more than exchange a pleasant expression. “Um, I came over to ask if you wanted to eat breakfast with us. James’s making ‘Impossible Pie’, said you might like it.”

 

She smiled again. “Thought you’d be hungry after your early flight, and...”

 

Gage hesitated. He wanted to be alone and he hesitated too long. Amid his struggle to decide if he would decline or suffer through a breakfast for which he had no appetite, he missed her trembling chin and swelling tears. They hit Gage in the chest like a daisy cutter.

 

“I can’t believe she’s gone,” she wept and grasped Gage in a hug for comfort. Hand bracing against the kitchen counter behind him, he unconsciously held his breath, trying bury the severe aversion he felt toward her tearful outpouring. Giving a helpless glance to his surroundings, he uncertianly patted her on the back.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said, letting go and backing up to his relief. “I shouldn’t have barged in.” Tossing the scarf around her neck, she dabbed her tears with the end. Gage couldn’t help but stare blankly.

 

“Breakfast will be ready soon, if you want to come over,” she reminded, giving him a faint smile as she let herself out.

 

The door closed and Gage continued to stare, his gaze unwittingly taking in the open corner bedroom through the hallway opening. The sun drew him near, radiating from light blue walls, the shelf of story books and stuffed toys, the maple posts of a crib; the reasons his wife's love for life had infinitely grown, even as his frequent absences made it difficult. And now, suddenly, she was gone, bereft of all her desires.

 

He didn’t mean to slam the door, shattering what peace remained in the house. Resting his forehead on and gazing ruefully at the door for a moment, he then slipped to sit on the hardwood floor, his head hanging, wearied by guilt and silent grief.

Edited March 12, 2012 by Gage Silver