Gone (Michael Bennett 6)

It also looked like a party. Out back, Cody had his huge, smoking barbecue going as some country-western song blasted from a radio in the window. Something about God being great and beer being good and people being crazy.

Count me in, I thought as I hit the stairs for the deck.

Cody actually handed me a beer after I shook his hand, despite the fact that it wasn’t even noon. I immediately cracked open the can of Coors and tapped it to the one Cody was working on before I took a swig.

“Sorry for all the trouble I brought down on you, Aaron. I almost got you killed.”

The old cowboy grinned.

“Many have tried, Mike. My two brothers, my drill instructor, the Vietcong. Hell, even my first wife. But luckily, none of them seemed to figure it out.”

He pointed his beer toward the field beside the horse barn.

“Now, go see your family. They been missing you, I hear.”

I walked over slowly, watching my kids play Frisbee with Cody’s dogs. In the immaculate blue sky above them, a bunch of hawks were playing, swooping and circling as if they wanted to join in.

Beside the field, Mary Catherine and Seamus were sitting at a picnic table. Seamus saw me as I stepped up, but I put a finger to my lips as I stood behind Mary Catherine. I looked down at her, her blond hair, the self-possessed way she carried herself. If this was a dream, then I simply wasn’t going to wake up.

I leaned forward and put my hands over her eyes.

“Guess who?” I said in her ear.

She stood, squealing, and hugged me, clung to me unabashedly. I clung back just as hard. At that moment, I felt it leave us. The animosity that had been between us for the last few months. All hatchets were buried, all fouls erased. Because we still had each other. We still had everything that counted.

Life and love and time.

Without hesitating, we also started kissing. When we broke it up, we were both crying. We looked over at Seamus, who was sitting there blinking up at us, flummoxed, speechless. I leaned over and loudly kissed Seamus on the top of his bald head.

“Have ye gone mad, Mike?” Seamus said, pushing me away as he rubbed his head. “You haven’t gone Hollyweird on us down there in LA?”

Before I could answer, I turned around to the sound of screaming kids. They were still sweaty and dirty from their time in the hippie bomb shelter, and now they were covered in the soda and ice cream that Cody insisted they have for lunch. They looked like ragamuffins, like chimney sweeps, like the Little Rascals. In a word, beautiful.

I started crying again a little as I embraced them one by one. I had thought they were dead, and now they were alive. It was like they’d been resurrected.

“Look at you,” I said, wiping my eyes after I hugged Fiona. “You’re filthy.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, Dad, but you don’t look so hot yourself,” Fiona said, pointing at my face bandage.

“Well, it’s been a long day, hasn’t it?” I said. “A long couple of days and nights for you.”

“Face it, Pop. It’s been a long nine months!” said Brian, fingering the Frisbee. “So what’s the story?”

“What do you mean?” I said, feigning ignorance.

“He means, did you catch that Perrine guy?” Ricky said.

“Exactly,” said Trent. “Do we have to move again?”

I pictured Perrine once more, on the stretcher with his head blown open. I’d been so pissed at the Mexicans, but that feeling was gone now. They’d done me a favor. Done the world a favor.

“Yes, Trent,” I said. “I hate to break it to you, but unfortunately, we’re going to have to move again.”

I waited for the collective groan.

“Where this time?” asked Eddie, who sounded like he was about to cry.

“I don’t know. I was thinking of this place—what’s it called again?” I said, scratching my head.