Hometown Hero

Chapter Twenty-eight: Touch and Go

I zipped up my suitcase, Papa scanning the room carefully.

“Looks good.” He commented, walking up and grabbing my bag, “Anything left in this room of your's want to take with you?” My eyes scanned my bedroom, with it's blank walls and vacant windows, watching the rain line the windows, drunken pastels smudging my view.

I shook my head, rejecting his claim that this was ever 'mine'. This room wasn't mine; my room was in a two-story on Hemmingway Lane.

Papa nodded, “Well, Papa's got the downstairs all cleared out, and this is the last of it.” He nudged my suitcase, and I nodded. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I reached for the handle of my bag. In front of me, the entire house looked warped, like another bad dream that I couldn't wake up from.

Down the steps we went, through the garage. Dad stuck his head out of the Jeep “We good to go?” We both agreed, and I saw Dad's eyes on me, “Need directions to the highway?”

I shook my head “I can get them. I have to go...” I couldn't finish the sentence; Dads knew where I was going, and what had to be done; they both watched as I pulled out of the driveway, rain slicking over Charles' sturdy frame. My eyes were staring at the road, but I couldn't tell you what I saw, just my memory leading me down the roads I'd learned by heart.

Pulling up to the house, I could see him, sitting on a chair on the porch. Watching him there was both comforting and unnerving at the same time. He stood up as I parked the car, and I didn't bother with the umbrella I'd placed in the passanger's seat. My eyes moved to the passanger's window, body shaking and muscles tense while Indie stood motionless underneath the protective roof of the house. When I opened the door, however, he walked toward me, somber and silent.

His hair stuck to his face, water trickling down the collar of his shirt when he yanked the passanger's side door open, grabbed the umbrella and walked over to my side of the car. He opened the it, and helped me out without a word. Together, we walked to the front door of the house, and I tried my best not to fiddle with the chain that hung loose around my neck. When we stepped inside, I heard the umbrella close, and I watched Indie carefully.

His eyes stared at the handle of the umbrella, and I unbuttoned my coat slowly. The silence was worse than pulling teeth, inciting it's own conversation we weren't ready to hear.

It hurt. It hurt so much.

My coat fell across the small table by the door, and his eyes met mine for the second time. It took him a moment, but when he finally found the words, everything felt impossible.

He pointed to the chain, his mother's, the one she kept even after she gave Indie's father his ring back, and she left to Indie before she passed. It was the only thing Indie thought was worth keeping that held any memory of his dad, because it symbolized that at some point, somewhere down the line, his parents were in love.

I tried to smile. He didn't. He knew I was keeping it, and I knew what that meant.

I wanted everything to stop. I wasn't ready to go, and my heart knew it belonged here. Tears welled up without warning, and when Indie saw them, he wasn't having it. Towards me, he walked, moved my back to the wall and began to kiss me. Slowly at first, but the more I trembled, the more frantic he became.

“Don't cry.” He whispered against my skin, his hands shaking terribly “Don't cry, my love. Sh...sh...” His arms crossed my back, fingers spread over my sides. I touched his face, the heat from my hand chilling against his cheek. He swept my hair away, his lips reminding me of the first time.

“I don't want to go.” I cried, “I don't want to.”

He crushed his lips against mine, and I went on sensory overload.