Lance Alone

Part 17 (Lance)

The nighttime stars glistened off the waters of the Caribbean as Lance flew above. The beach was quiet, quieter than he was used to, but it was the off-season; he hadn't realized how long he had been gone. He completely missed the summer bonfires, stories swapped with strangers, sinking your toes in the sand and listening to the crash of the waves in the darkness. But he found an open enough field for a landing and parked the pod along the grass median of the seashore.

"Where are we?" Dale asked, confused.

"Varadero Beach," Lance threw his backpack over his shoulder. No one was going to grab his stuff again, "My family lives in the green house just up the hill, with the white fence. I used to spend every summer day on this beach as a kid. I can hear the waves from my childhood bedroom. I got so used to the sound, I couldn't sleep without it when I first went to the Garrison. Whenever I felt lonely out in space, I would just think of it, and I knew everything was going to be alright."
He stood at the edge of the beach, where the grass was still rooted but flecks of sand hid among the blades. There it was, the ocean... beautiful, powerful, and never ending...
"What are you waiting for?" Annie asked, "go say hi to your family."
"Yeah, we'll just wait right here." Dale leaned up against the ship's hull, "you know, keep an eye on everything for you."

He smiled, and started walking—no, running—up the hill towards his little green house on the top of the hill. Despite the late hour, one light was on in the kitchen. The back door was locked, but they still kept the key hidden behind the sand-covered shoe rack. The door opened with a click.

Creeping through the dark living room, he came into the kitchen and stood in the shadows. His mom stood in front of the fridge, slathering mayonnaise onto a sandwich. The house was silent except for the light wind blowing outside, knocking the shutters against the side of the house.

Lance bumped into a table that wasn't there before, and his mother looked up. "Who's there? Bert, is that you?" he stayed safely in the shadows, wondering how he was supposed to come out without scaring the living daylights out of his mother. It was probably unavoidable; besides, he couldn't spend another moment without hugging her.

"Mom, it's me," he came around the corner. She jumped, dropping the butter knife on the floor. It skittered away from her and slid under the kitchen table.

"Coño... Lance? Are you a ghost?" she asked, grabbing for a utensil to arm herself. Since the knife fell under the table, she brandished a spoon at him. Tears shone at the edge of his eyes.

"No, mama. I'm not a ghost," his voice broke. Soon, his mother dropped the spoon too, and hugged him tightly as if he might slip away from her again.

It was past everyone's bedtime, but soon the McClain house was awake and loud. Lance's brothers and sisters swarmed around him, fighting over him. His mother started making food for everyone instinctively, and the kitchen was chaos. Some neighbors came over to see what the hullabaloo was about, but once they saw Lance, they couldn't help but join the party.

Everyone wanted to hear the story. Lance thought about sitting everyone down and telling them all at once, but no one would sit still for long enough. People handed him food; family members, neighbors, strangers shook his hand, told him how glad they were to see him back.

He thought about inviting Annie and Dale in to join the festivities. But just as he did, he heard a terrifying roar outside—loud enough to be heard over the family commotion. Everyone stopped. "What was that?" Lance' sister asked, looking at the roof.

Lance dropped his garlic knot and sprinted towards the door. That sound came from the beach. Someone was in trouble.