1.

     I woke up to the sound of cymbals and drums. A rhythm lost on me, because it was familiar and strange at the same time. The rhythm drifted in and out as I shifted in my bed trying to make sense of it all. The sound was grating against my nerves, like the feeling of hitting your funny bone. My eyes were blinded against the light filtering in through the space between the curtains. I groaned as I climbed out of bed scratching my bearded chin and grabbed the baseball bat from underneath the bed.

     I muttered at my stupidity. There weren’t cymbals and drums, it was the banging of pots and pans, the closing of cupboards. I was hungover and confused and the sounds from the front of the house weren’t helping.

     I stumbled from the bedroom prepared to scare off whatever had found its way into my home. A thief was unlikely, more often than not it was raccoon or a feral something or another. Coming home drunk in the middle of the night wasn’t exactly my best moment for remembering to close the door much less lock it.

     I held the bat grunting obscenities at the situation and at myself for being totally hungover when I stopped mid stride in the hallway. Either this was a smart animal or a stupid burglar because I could smell breakfast on the stove. I continued to walk down the hall the old floorboards creaking from my heavy steps and stopped where the hallway opened up to the living room on the left and the moderately sized kitchen on the right.

     I was wrong. I was dead wrong. I was dreaming or hallucinating, maybe someone at the bar had spiked my beer when I wasn’t looking. The curtains in the kitchen were wide open, the morning sun blinding causing me to squint. That felt real. My feet against the cold wood floors. That felt real. My heart pounding in my chest so hard it might explode. That felt real.

     I brought my eyes to the person in the kitchen. A woman, dark skinned like the coffee she was pouring into two chipped mugs. She was turned away from me busy preparing breakfast and didn’t notice I was there. Her hair was short, shorter than I remembered it, a mass of curls like a soft black cotton hallo. She was the feral animal? She was the burglar? I shook my head and pinched the bridge of my nose.

     “Hey, Truck.”

     She turned around holding the two cups of coffee a small lifting smile easing onto her face. Yes, I was dreaming. There was no way that she would be here, in my house fixing coffee as if this was a normal occurrence. I blinked against the light, the sun blinding me and sparking a headache at the same time. I was still holding the bat in my hand, that was real,  so I set it against the wall.

     “I made breakfast.”

     I ran a hand through my hair scratched my beard and crossed my arms looking at her. She was bigger than I remembered. That was different. She was wearing a T-shirt that was too big, but I could still make out her figure, that she was trying to hide. She was wearing those black yoga pants that clung to her thighs, a size too small. Her feet were bare decorated with gold toe rings, that was new. I brought my eyes back up to her face, it was wider more full now. She had a gold stud nose ring that glittered in the light, that was new too. Her hair  was held back by a colorful headband that looked made out of some rough material.

     “I made breakfast.” She repeated again her eyes flittering over my face and then down my body as I had done to her. The only difference was I was stark naked and her eyes quickly flittered back up to my face.

     I wasn’t embarrassed, I always slept naked. It was my house and where else could a man sleep naked except for in his own home? I stood there unmoving still as a statue, still trying to figure out if this was a hallucination. Maybe, I was only hallucinating her, but if I had why didn’t she look the same?

     I grunted something unintelligible even to myself and turned around and stalked off to my bedroom. I wasn’t crazy. I was a lot of things, but I wasn’t crazy. I pulled on underwear and faded jeans and found a deserted flannel on the floor. I went into the bathroom and quickly brushed my teeth, washed my face, and thought about shaving. My beard was full and thick, but it suited me now so I didn’t bother. I combed my hair back pulling it into a bun and left the bathroom.      

     I walked back down the hallway and saw her sitting at the kitchen table, her elbows on either side of her plate, her head bowed. She was praying, well that’s what I thought she was doing. I approached the table slowly and finally settled down in front of the plate of scrambled eggs and toast.

     I started to eat without preamble, and she smiled following my lead. The sounds of silverware and chewing filled the kitchen. One thing though I had to determine, I had to know. If this was all real, then she had to be real too, right? I wasn’t crazy, I affirmed myself, but didn’t crazy people think that too?

     I dropped my fork suddenly and with a quickness reached out and grabbed her left arm that was resting on the table. She yelped in surprise as I took it my rough calloused fingers touching her smooth dark skin. This was real. This felt real.

     “Is this real?” I asked not letting go of her arm feeling the ridge of the vein that ran from her wrist up towards the crook of her elbow. It felt real, it felt real, but the problem with phantoms and dreams was they always did.

     She didn’t snatch her arm way like I thought she would. She smiled slowly, unsure of the question. She tilted her head to the side and dropped the fork that she was holding in her other hand and stopped my fingers from tracing the vein up and down her arm. Her hand was warm and soft covering mine.

     “Truck?” She said my name a question. “Look at me.”

     “Why are you here?”

     “I came back to see you.” She said her voice filling my ears.

     Her voice was warm, and full and everything about her was warm. She could deceive me with that voice. It was a rich golden honey, it was a sweet sap dripping from the heavy branches of trees. It was where delicate insects would get too close and get trapped. I closed my eyes and felt her pulse beneath my fingertips. In a different life I would know the name of this vein, I would know each and every bone contained in this precious arm.

     “Look at me, Truck.” Her voice was wavering now.

     My eyes flew open and I pulled away from her. I stood up suddenly my body reacting. My mind was working overtime and too slow at the same time. I grabbed my boots and shoved them on trying to shove away her voice that was invading my brain.

     “Look at me.” She said her voice calling me.

     This was all wrong. I was getting too close, which would be fine for her, but death for me. I tied my shoes blindly wishing I had another set of hands to cover my ears as she protested, her voice calling my name. I needed to get out of my house. I needed to breathe.

     I stormed out of the house slamming the door behind me causing the house to shudder with the force of it and bounded down the creaking steps. I stomped across the gravel to my pick up truck and slid in the driver’s seat. I started the engine and floored the gas driving on the gravel road away from her.

————

     It was Sunday. It was a Sunday morning which meant any respectable person in this town, was getting ready for church. This included Jensen and Flora Macabee. As I drove up their gravel driveway and put my truck into park I knew this might be a difficult situation. I pounded on the screen door and waited wishing I had a cigarette somewhere. I pounded on the screen door again and shifted on my feet.

     “Trevor, what in the glory?” Flora asked a frown gracing her face. “Do you know-“

     “Yes,” I muttered as she begrudgingly let me in. I stomped my feet on the weathered and faded Welcome mat that just read, “Come” and followed her into the kitchen.

     She was washing up dishes preparing to leave to be on time for church. Jensen was sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper his nose buried so close into the paper he’d probably have black ink stains there. Flora wiped her hands on her apron and cleared her throat.

     “Jensen, dear.” She said getting her husband’s attention.

     “Yes, honey.” He replied his eyes never leaving the paper.

     “Jensen!” She shrieked causing the man to jump dropping his paper. “We have a guest.”

     “Honey, you shouldn’t do that, you know my heart.” The man said sitting back in his chair his eyes finally looking over at me. “Oh, Truck hello, finally coming to join us for Sunday service?”

     He looked me over in my faded jeans and rumpled flannel and then looked to Flora who was removing her apron and forced a smile. His white teeth shone against the ebony of his skin, Flora raised her eyebrows and shook her head.

     “Well, in due time.” He surrendered. “What can we help you with?”

     “You see we can’t be late for service.” Flora said moving about in the kitchen erratically before setting in a corner furthest away from me.

     “Wynne is-“

     “Bless her soul.” Flora said cutting me off, her eyes blinking in rapid succession.

     “Yes, of course.” Jensen said with a soft smile. “We got a letter from her saying she was doing allright, didn’t we Flora?”

     “Oh, yes doing just fine!” Flora said brightly.

     I inhaled a breath pushing down my need to curse, with Jensen’s heart and all.

     “Flora was telling me she’s in Mexico helping with an orphanage right now.” Jensen said leaning back in his chair placing his hands on his large expanding abdomen. “Isn’t that right, Flora?”

     “Oh yes!” Flora said grabbing a fan off of the formica counter.

     It was a church fan the kind with the wooden stick and the large paper oval. There was a picture of a black Jesus ascending with his apostle’s looking mystified. She waved the fan faster and faster and I imagined Jesus rising higher and higher.

     “That’s funny.” I said tightly.

     “Funny?” Flora asked her voice chirped. “Funny, how?”

     “That’s funny because you said Wynne-

     “Bless her soul.” Jensen added.

     I cracked my knuckles, “You said Wynne was in Mexico.”

     “How is that funny?” Flora asked, if she waved the fan any faster Jesus was going to hit the roof.

     “Because she’s in my house right now.”

     Flora frowned slamming her fan on the counter, cracking the handle. Jensen jumped again and leaned forward on the kitchen table. It was quiet for a moment as Flora placed her hands on her full hips. She turned to face me coming closer and pointing a finger in my face.

     “What?” She screeched and I took a step back. “Why would you come over here and say something like that.”

     “Flora, honey.” Jensen said quickly cleaning his glasses on the edge of his suit jacket. “My heart.”

     She calmed herself smoothing the edge of her dress suit. Flora took in a deep breath and rolled back her shoulders. Jensen put on his glasses and blinked carefully before speaking.

     “What about the letters from Mexico?” Jensen asked reasonably perplexed.

     I shrugged. I hadn’t heard anything about letters from Mexico. I leaned on the countertop suddenly feeling the weight of my hangover. My head was throbbing and I was hot and cold at the same time. I wiped my hands on my jeans before crossing my arms.

     “Flora, what about the letters from Mexico?” Jensen asked.

     Flora looked visibly upset. Her perfectly coiffed black hair that was streaked with gray had been arranged just so, her lips were painted with a deep red lipstick that complimented her deep sepia skin. She was blotting the sweat from her temple with a paper napkin.

     “Well,” She said with a shrug of her shoulders that was so much unlike her I did a double take, “I made them up.”

     “What?” Jensen said shocked jumping up from the table. “You told people at church!” Now his voice was loud.

     All of the yelling was like sandpaper on my brain. I took a seat at the table.

     “Now, Jensen remember your heart.” Flora crooned easily.

     “You said our daughter was in Mexico!”

     “Well, something had to be said!”

     “Mexico?” Jensen exclaimed.

     “Well she’s here now.” I muttered rubbing my temples. “Can I get a glass of water?”

     “You know where the cups are.” Flora said with an eyebrow raised.

     So much, for being a guest. I thought wryly as I moved into the kitchen to get some water. I listened to their back and forth for awhile as I sipped my water and helped myself to their medicine drawer for a couple of aspirin for my headache. Jensen was still upset for the lie and Flora was trying to console him.

     “Okay, okay.” Jensen finally said extending his hands in a make peace sort of move. “So she’s at your house?”

     “ Yes.” I said finishing my glass of water. “I woke up this morning and there she was.”

     “Well, at least we know where she is.” Jensen muttered darkly.  

     “Praise God!” Flora said with raised hands.

     “So, I’ll drop her off at your house then.” I said with a smile. “Praise the Lord!” I said with mock enthusiasm.

     Flora shot me a dark look and frowned. “Well, wait a minute-“

     “Now, Truck…” Jensen started and then stopped.

     “She’s your daughter.” I explained. “Shouldn’t you throw her a feast and give her rings, you know the Prodigal and all that?”

     “Now, Truck…” Jensen said again.

     “Trevor, I think we should-“

     Great. I thought. Their lack of enthusiasm for having her home only translated to one thing. They didn’t want her home. I sucked in a deep breath.

     “She’s your daughter!” I exclaimed not quite keeping the frustration out of my tone.

     “Well, yeah, but she came to you didn’t she?” Flora asked.

     “She’s your daughter.” I said again this time firmer.

     “She’s your wife.” Jensen argued back pointedly.

     “Technically…” I started.

     “She’s your wife.” Jensen finished.

     I rubbed my forehead again and seriously thought about driving off a cliff. I’m sure I needed a therapist or at least a psychiatrist someone to help me with my mind. This morning I woke up hearing things, now I’m suicidal. Lord, help me.

     After a lecture on the God given structure of leadership, basically they wouldn’t take Wynne because she was considered to be under my authority, whatever that meant, and another glass of water. I was politely asked to leave by Flora. She didn’t want to miss any part of the five hour long church service. I left the house feeling worse than when I came and sat in their driveway with my head against the steering wheel. I heard two quick knocks against the window. It was Jensen.

     “Look, I’m sorry.” He said looking quickly at the house as if Flora would come out wielding a knife. “Truck, you have to understand.”

     He was standing close to the window and I could see the sadness in his eyes. A dark hand scrubbed over his face as he sighed. He leaned against the door frame and looked back at the house.

     “Flora won’t have her back in the house…” He said again. “She won’t have it and with everything that’s happened…”

     “That was over two years ago.” I argued. “What about forgiveness, reconciliation?”

     He shook his head, “I know, I know, but it’s easier said than done.”

     I nodded my head and stopped myself from ramming my forehead repeatedly against the steering wheel. We were saying everything and nothing at the same time.

     “She came to you first out of everyone.” He amended. “That has to mean something.”

     I put the key into the ignition as he stepped back with a wave. I pulled out of the driveway and made the drive back home. I kept the windows down letting the cool air flow through the cab of the truck. The country scenery opening out all around me. The roads were pretty empty since most people were going to church services. I turned up the  radio and a country song blasted through the speakers. The deep voiced singer wailed about losing the woman he loved, and I shut off the radio. It was better to listen to the sound of wind buffering my ears than a liar.