Long Way Home: a short story

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He heard her yelling, even before he opened the door.

Aaron jabbed his key into the lock and wrenched it to the left. With a shudder, the door creaked open. Dingy work boots stomped inside, then stopped, and a grease-stained tool bag toppled to the floor.

He saw the cans first—three of them, silver-tinted—littered throughout the cramped living room. A fourth one dangled from Dinah’s manicured left hand. The aluminum pressed against the silver wedding ring he bought her four years ago. Straightened white-blonde hair shifted over her shoulder as she leaned against the sofa.

Amid lopsided stacks of magazines and unfolded laundry, their six-year-old daughter, Keilah, sat rigidly still, arms clenched at her side. A lumpy plastic backpack slumped next to her converse.

“Keilah, Keilah, look—” Dinah pointed at the door, then draped her arm around Keilah’s shoulders.

Flinching at the full force of her mom’s repugnant breath, Keilah kept her wide blue eyes planted on the TV.

Dinah leaned closer. “Dad’s back early.”

Early, sure, if you ignored the 20-minute delay traffic had caused him.

“Hey, kiddo.” Aaron walked over to Keilah. “You ready?”

Her eyes brightened. With a click of the remote, she silenced the TV. Small hands dragged the backpack into her lap.

“Wait, what—what?” Dinah’s words tripped over each other, her volume abruptly escalating. She wobbled forward a step, her leg knocking against the end of the coffee table. Liquid sloshed inside the can she held. “I don’t want to.”

“We’re all going.” Aaron slung the plastic backpack over his shoulder. “Right, Keilah?”

A smile, timid, quiet, hesitated on Keilah’s lips. Blue eyes turned to Dinah. “Yeah, an adventure, Mommy, remember?”

“Right, kid, some adventure. It’s your grandparents, not Disney World,” Dinah lifted the beer can to her lips.

Aaron sighed. He nudged Keilah’s shoulder. “Go grab Mom’s things, okay?”

“No, Keilah.” Dinah’s swift fingers jerked her back down. “You stay right here.”

“Dinah!” Unclenching his fists, Aaron forced his volume back down. “You agreed.”

Lurching forward, Dinah jabbed her painted finger into his chest. She stared at her finger, then dragged her eyes up to his face. Her lips twitched. “Guess what? I didn’t even pack.” A short laugh burst from her.

“Hysterical.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’ll have 13 hours in the car to sleep it off.” He yanked the can from her. Beer spilled over one side.

“Leave me alone!” Dinah screamed. She blinked twice, then threw herself down onto the couch. Her bare feet kicked bills and a half-empty beer can off the coffee table. The sticky brown liquid crawled across the table and dribbled onto the carpet. She clicked the TV back on.

Aaron hurled the beer can into the trash can. His eyes turned from his drunk wife to the trembling girl squished next to her. “Keilah, sweetheart, let’s go.”

“Keilah wants to stay with Mommy.” Dinah jabbed an elbow in her side. “Right?”

Aaron grit his teeth. He fingered the backpack strap on his shoulder. “Wait in the car.”

Head bent, arms folded tight across her teal shirt, Keilah slipped out the door.

Snatching the remote, turning off the TV, and pointing the remote at Dinah, Aaron shook his head. “You said you wouldn’t get drunk, this time.”

“Meanie.” She leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes.

“Whatever.” He hurled the remote across the room, then lifted up both hands. “Stay if you want.” Kicking aside his tool bag, Aaron stomped out the room and down the hall.

He slid into his truck. Socked feat balanced on the dashboard, Keilah sat in the front seat.

Shoving her backpack down by her seat, Aaron grinned and flicked the tip of her nose. “You ready for New Mexico?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Ready!”

They split a stick of cinnamon gum and set off. The battered truck rattled away from the apartment and onto the highway. Green city signs flashed by. The speedometer creeped high and higher, stretching the miles between the speeding truck and the trashed apartment.

A Sonic dinner of shakes and onion rings and three bathroom breaks later, Keilah finally slumped against the window, eyes closed in sleep. She shifted, pale blonde hair slipping down, strand by strand, to tangle across her face.

Aaron tucked her hair back, away from her closed eyes.

She looked like Dinah. Always had.

2:37 a.m. and miles to go. Aaron’s hands twitched on the steering wheel. The last of the cinnamon gum lay in crumpled wrappers on the floor. Next gas station, he’d pull over.

Twenty minutes later, he propped his shoulder against the brightly lit 7-Eleven window and watched rain leak from the dark sky and slide off the overhang. He fingered the thin white cigarette—still unlit—shoved between his teeth. He’d tried to quit—off and on, ever since a heavyset nurse placed that tiny bundle of fuzzy blonde hair and dimples in his arms.

He could see his girl now, through the rain-streaked window of his truck. Keilah lay, curled up on her side, the way black rolly pollies do when poked.

He’d bought that truck himself, a month into his senior year of high school. The day after graduation, the battered truck rattled out of his parent’s driveway. Aaron drove away from home with three one-hundred-dollar bills folded in his back pocket and his 7-month girlfriend, Dinah Muntz, leaning against the window of the passenger seat.

He hadn’t minded the silver cans then, nor she the smoke trailing from his ever-present cigarette.

But that was before Keilah.

Aaron raked his fingers through his dark hair. They needed help. Time to figure things out, without hurting Keilah even more.

With a groan, Aaron ripped the cigarette from his mouth and chucked it to the floor. The heel of his work boot ground it into the concrete.

Striding across the parking lot, Aaron jerked opened the door. Rain slashed down his white t-shirt. He tucked the pack of cigarettes under his seat. With calloused, grease-smudged hands, he tugged the fuzzy purple blanket back over Keilah.

The old pick-up truck shuddered back onto the road. Water droplets flung violently against the windows. Aaron sighed—a deep, rattling sound—and tore open a new pack of gum. Going seventy miles an hour under the rain-soaked, star-scattered sky daughter and dad drifted closer to New Mexico.

By 6:23 a.m. blue sky stretched magnificently, touching every corner of the sun-burnt desert sand. An orange-yellow “Welcome to New Mexico” sign stretching across the road. He nudged Keilah’s side.

Her eyes blinked open. She smiled, a sleepy, drowsy lift of her lips. “Daddy?”

He lazily draped one arm over the steering wheel. “Guess where we are.”

Keilah inhaled sharply. She wiggled in her seat. “We’re here!”

“In New Mexico, yes. We’ll get to Grandma’s in a few hours.”

Around lunchtime, he turned onto Montero road. He’d grown up here, in a neighborhood where Spanish and English were interchangeable, where kids scrawled on the sidewalk with neon chalk, where his dad, Michael, would trot from house to house, knocking and beaming and chattering away. Every single Saturday, with a smile, a worn leather Bible, and a fistful of tracks.

He turned the engine off. With a squeal, Keilah jumped out, socked feet and all, and ran to the old familiar yellow front door wreathed with dried red chile peppers.

Slowly, Aaron scooped up her discarded neon pink converse. Slowly, he shoved the fuzzy blanket inside the backpack. Slowly, he stepped out of the car onto New Mexico soil.

The front door swung open and out stepped Cynthia, the same ketchup-stained apron tied tight around her curved waist. Keilah flung her arms around her grandma.

Aaron trudged over to them. “Hey, Mom.” He smiled, but kept his eyes on Keilah’s disheveled blond hair.

Cynthia flung flour-dusted hands around him, sandwiching Keilah between them. She herded them into the small house, then looked at the truck. “Where’s Dinah?”

“She changed her mind last minute.” Aaron shrugged, but finally met her eyes.

“Oh, okay.” Cynthia sighed.

They crowded into the tidy living room. Bible verses calligraphed the cream-colored walls. Framed family pictures hung in the same neat row. Nothing ever changed.

Down the hall, a door slammed. “Where’s my sweet possum?” roared the 6’4’’ heavyset man who burst into the living room. His hair was a bit grayer and thinner; his waistline an inch or two thicker, but his arms were open and outstretched.

Keilah peeled away from Cynthia and ran over to him. Michael scooped her up and tickled her face with his scraggly beard. She wiggled in his arms, laughing.

“It’s official, Dad. Your beard has more hair than your head.” Aaron dropped Keilah’s backpack and shoes.

“Ah, yes, my first born. Good to see you, son.”

“I’m your only born.”

Cynthia patted his arm. “The enchiladas’ll be ready soon.” She led Keilah to the kitchen.

Slanting his shoulder against the wall, Michael asked, “Dinah decided not to come?”

“Yep.” Aaron rubbed his hands over his sleep-deprived eyes.

“Shame. We haven’t seen her in…well, how’re you doin’?”

“Great.” Yanking off his shoe, Aaron spat out the word again, “Just great.”

“You look beat, son. Get some rest.” Michael clamped a hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “I’ll go check on the girls.”

Aaron sighed, slumped onto the couch and hung his jean-clad legs off the end. Spicy enchilada smell drifted from the kitchen, along with Keilah’s high-pitch giggle and Michael’s low chuckle. Aaron shoved an embroidered throw pillow over his face. The exhaustion from the long drive after a full week of work pressed down on him.

Hours later his ringtone jolted him awake. “Hello?” He groaned, muscles sore from sleeping on the 20-year-old couch.

He heard Dinah’s voice, quiet, timid, whisper his name. She was crying.

Aaron hung up.

He knew she’d call—like she always did—once a few hours of sleep had worn off her drunken daze. But daylight apologies meant nothing after a night like last night.

At the back of the house, the screen door clanged shut. Someone tromped down the hall, then rummaged around in the kitchen. Michael poked his head into the living room.

“You were out for hours.” Hanging Aaron a vanilla coke and a plate with two over-sized enchiladas, Michael settled into his mustard yellow recliner. “Feel any better?”

“Yeah.” Aaron ate, half-listening as Michael attempted small talk. Then he set down his empty plate and asked, “Where’s Keilah?”

“Outside with your mom. We’ve been hunting up some worms for tomorrow’s fishing trip. The count so far is five earthworms.”

“Earthworms, huh?” A grin flashed across Aaron’s face, but faded just as quickly. He fingered his phone, then slid it into his pocket. “Can I ask you something?”

Michael leaned back. “About earthworms?”

“No, it’s a bit messier than that.” Aaron pushed his fingers through his dark hair. “Everything has been getting worse. With Dinah. I hate it, but nothing changes.”

Michael nodded quietly.

“Yesterday was rough. And we’re hurting Keilah, you know. That’s the problem.”

“Have you talked to the pastor I told you about? Pastor Ramon?”

“Dinah and I already barely talk. Bringing some stranger in won’t help. Dinah’d hate it.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “We just, Dinah and I, need time or something, to work things out.” Aaron clenched and unclenched his hands. His eyes fell on the plastic school backpack by the couch. Somewhere outside, hands sunk in New Mexico red dirt, Keilah played with her grandma. Not worrying. Not hurting. Not scared.

“I’ve been thinking.” Aaron closed his eyes. The words he was about to say seemed to tear from him, through him, carving a hole inside him. “Could Keilah stay here? Just for a few weeks.”

“Is that what you want?”

“It’s what’s best for her, isn’t it? We could tell her it’s a special summer vacation.” He heaved a sigh, his eyes catching on the worn Bible on the coffee table. His mouth twitched in a sad attempt to smile. “Still praying for us?”

Michael leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Every day. You know that, son.”

Standing, Aaron pulled his shoes on. “I’m driving back tonight. I’ll explain to Keilah.” “Tonight? At least until tomorrow.”

“Dinah needs me now.”

Michael struggled to his feet. “Cynthia’ll worry, but she’ll understand.”

“Tell her I’ll bring Dinah with me in a few weeks—when I come for Keilah.” Aaron looked at the familiar Bible, at the verses on the walls, at Michael’s earnest eyes. When a man prayed, when he cried, like Michael did, then wherever God was He had to have heard.

Aaron met his Dad’s blue eyes. “Don’t stop praying, Dad.”

That night, alone in his pickup, Aaron drove home. He didn’t stop. He didn’t turn on music. He stared out his smudged windows. Eyes on the Texas license plate of the silver Lincoln in front of him.

Somewhere inside, under the tightening noose of worry, away from the ache of regret, somewhere through it all, he turned his thoughts to the God of his dad, the God of wrinkled Bible pages and rough folded workman hands.

The next day, Aaron pulled in front of his apartment. He turned off the engine. His fingers reached under his seat. He chucked the package, rattling with 19 cigarettes, onto the swollen trash bag next to the curb.

He shook out his hands, inhaled deeply, and walked inside. Heart pounding, he knocked on his front door.

***I hope you enjoyed reading my short story about family. I’d appreciate hearing your thoughts on my story.***