Returning Home Ch. 01

"We agree that you're a dick, but I don't hate you. Pretty pissed and you're a selfish ass, but I don't hate you."

They talked about old acquaintances while eating. After they ate and talked he ordered a breakfast and lunch to go that she could bring to her father.

She looked around and spoke in a hushed tone. "Is that because he's your uncle or because you feel guilty that you were fucking his wife?"

He took off his black, horned-rim glasses. and wiped his bad eye. Putting them back on he looked at her.

"Maybe both. You ready to go?"

He dropped her off at the hospital where she spent an hour with her counselor. He sat in the heated truck, thinking and remembering while he waited for her. Ann reminded him of Liz as much in her mannerisms as in her appearance. She had the same aquiline nose and the same dark red hair, but Ann was taller and lusher than her mother was.

She was fourteen the summer her mother was diagnosed. She would often spend the days at a friend's house so her mother wouldn't see her crying and trying to keep it together. With her cousin there, she didn't feel as if she were leaving her alone. Every night her father would pass out in his chair and she would crawl into the bed with her mom. They would talk about their day or relatives or her friends. They would tell each other that they loved one another and Liz would tell her how proud she was of her daughter.

Liz didn't know if they were really talking or saying goodbye, but if this was the end, she didn't want anything left unsaid.

Jolted out of his reverie, he heard the creaking of the door as she got back in. Jim shivered in the accompanying cold.

"Fuck, it's cold out there! Damn. How can you take the bus every day?"

"It's not every day and the alternative to not coming is worse."

"Okay." Brought down a bit by her reality, he cranked up the heat and started driving.

"So, you didn't finish your story yesterday."

He sighed. "Alright. We talked a lot when she went into remission and before I had to report to boot camp. I never really thought about how she saw things until then. I was a dumb kid, always just reacting, never thinking. She told me how things were for her, you know, with me and everything."

* * * * *

ELEVEN YEARS EARLIER, SPRING

Liz could see his swelling alongside his leg as they walked back to the house. He tried to use the beekeeping suits to cover it but wasn't always successful. She took a long bath that evening and imagined him masturbating to her walking towards him from the water. Using that to stir her own passions, she tweaked her nipples with one hand while reaching between her legs with the other.

She rubbed her fingers over her folds, teasing herself before she ran her index finger over her clit. The muscles in her thighs and abs tightened as she slowed down and slowly began to insert one finger into her waiting entrance. Her own oily moisture joined the water in the tub as she moved the finger in and out.

Gradually adding a second finger, she continued her thrusting as her other hand moved from her breast to her engorged clit. She rubbed around it and on it as she became more aggressive. Her fingers curled and moved upwards as she reached her g-spot. In her sensory overload, her fingers became Jim's as his lean, muscled torso leaned over her while she lay on the grass. The thought pushed her over the edge as she experienced an orgasm in the tub.

Liz lay there trying to get her breath back. She was less concerned than she thought she should be about fantasizing about her handsome nephew while masturbating.

* * * * *

The truck was parked in her driveway, a dozen feet from the porch. Using one hand to hold the bag of food for her father, Ann held the truck door open with the other.

"Jim, if you do this when I've asked you not to, you're taking away my right to make a choice. That already happened to me once, someone taking away my right to say no. Don't make that happen to me twice. Come by for dinner tomorrow. We'll finish talking."

He watched her close the door and trudge towards the house.

"Fuck!" He slammed his palms onto the steering wheel. Knowing that she wouldn't want him to kill Liam was one thing, having her say it to him, especially in those terms, was another. Jim shook his head as he put the truck into drive and headed back into town.

Pulling into the parking lot of the beer distributor, he scanned the parked cars. Thinking of their old jalopies, he smiled, knowing that his friends would have certainly gotten new cars since he had left and scoping the place out was useless. They were among the few people Jim looked forward to seeing and whose friendship he appreciated.

He parked and made his way to the large, glass front doors. The lingering odor of dung and blood from the slaughterhouse were stronger this close to McAllister's huge abattoir. The blessed heat rolled out to greet him as the doors slid open at his approach. He stepped in, away from the cold and the stench.

As always, his limp and facial scars brought him attention he neither wanted nor appreciated. Picking up some pork-rinds, jalapeno potato chips and an IPA, he made his way through the aisles. He still had a bunch of Heady Topper in his hoard from his cross-country drive, but he was deliberately parsimonious with his treasure. The IPA would hold him over for a few days. He headed towards the rear of the store where his friends should be hard at work.

"Jim? Is that you, son?"

He turned full on towards the voice. Before his injury, he would have seen the old man pushing his cart. It still annoyed and surprised him. Jim's peripheral vision was shot. "Mr. Childress! Hey, how are you?"

Childress was still a hearty man, unbent to age, with a thick mane of gray hair. "Great! Just great. Just got back from taking the Mrs. on a cruise! Can you believe that? Seventy-one years of never leaving the state and then we up and head to the Caribbean." He lost his smile and he looked Jim in the eyes. He sounded somber, but spoke in a soft voice, laced with concern. "It looks like you had a hell of a go of it over there. I'm sorry, son. How are you doing now?"

Jim appreciated the old man's directness. It certainly beat the quiet stares.

"Could be worse. Could be a lot worse. I'm hanging in there."

"Good for you, Jim. I'm gonna tell the Mrs. that I saw you. Stop by when you can. She'd love to see you."

Feeling suddenly nostalgic, he had a rush of affection towards this man and his wife. They were the High School football team's biggest supporters when he was on the championship teams. No one outside of his family was kinder to him when his parents died than they were. He reached over and shook the older man's hand.

"I'd enjoy that. You're a good man Mr. Childress. I'm glad we ran into each other. Hey, you ever see Liam Bissle around?"

"No, not really. I know he's in that gang with Hector, but that's about it."

"They call them motorcycle clubs now," Jim said with a smile. "Okay, you have a good one. I'll try to stop by sometime this week."

"It was really good to see you, Jim." Mr. Childress patted him on the arm, offered a smile that was tinged with concern, and headed towards the front of the store. Not realizing that he was smiling in return, Jim watched the old man walk away. Standing a bit straighter, he headed towards the rear of the store.

Jim leaned against the service counter in the back of the store and loudly called out. "Can I get some damn service here? How do you people keep any customers?" His smile put the lie to his angry tone.

Jose Cortez came around a corner with a dolly loaded with German beers. "I'm right here— Jim! You son of a bitch!" Jose lowered the dolly to rest and stepped around the counter, smiling broadly. "I was ready to toss someone a beating. How are you, man?"

"Okay, Cort. Not so bad. How about you? Archie in?"

"Yeah, we're unloading a truck. You know, nobody calls me that anymore. Not since high school. Wanna give us a hand? There's a six pack in it for you."

After unloading everything and signing off on the deliveries, they split a couple of heroes in the back and talked about old times. Cort laughed as he saw his friend folding the paper the sandwiches came in before tossing it away. Who folds wrappers? It was comforting to see that in some ways, Jim hadn't changed at all. Always neat, always clean. In high school he had always ironed his tee-shirts and jeans. He wondered how Jim could have maintained that nature while serving.

Archie tossed Jim a bag of salted nuts, the same brand he used to devour when he worked there while they were in school. "So, what've you been doing since you got out?"

"Driving cross country. Southern California to Maine, hitting every craft brewery on the way."

Smiling, Archie tapped a stack of beer cases with his foot. "You couldn't get beer here? Sounds like a trip I'd love to take. You go alone?"

"No. Jeremy, a guy I served with, lives a couple a hours from here. He flew out and met me and we split the driving. Headed back as soon as I heard from you." Jim's voice pitched a little lower as he leaned forward. "So, Liam still in town?"

Cort took a packet of Skoal from his back pocket and stuffed some of the chewing tobacco between his teeth and cheek. He nodded his head slowly, as he looked at his old friend. "He's still here. We didn't know how you wanted to handle things. We sent that email and hadn't heard back and, well, it's just all fucked up. The way people are treating Ann and how Hector's cousin just dropped shit. No investigation, nothing."

"His cousin still with State Police?"

"Vic? Yeah, and still corrupt as shit."

Jim nodded. "Okay. I appreciate you reaching out. I needed to know. You did the right thing. Liam still dating Tilly?"

"That won't change until he can't get her hooked up anymore."

"She still strung out?

"Yeah, it's pretty messed up."

"She working at The Owl?"

Cort stood, grabbed an empty can and spit some treacly black juice. "Yup. You going down there? You want us to come?"

"Nah, it's all good. Let's get together Sunday for the games." Jim smiled. These people loved their football.

* * * * *

They wrapped things up and Jim headed out to his truck. After letting it warm up for a while, he threw it into drive and drove out of town towards The Owl. Finding a spot near the door, he parked and headed towards the entrance, avoiding the parking lot's mud-filled puddles. The W and L from the eponymous neon light were unlit, and the same plywood covered a broken window he had seen when he was in town a decade before. He grabbed a table and sat with his back to a wall.

Tilly held a plastic serving tray with four beers. She put them in front of the two bikers that Jim didn't recognize, spoke to them for a minute and started walking towards him. She almost stumbled when she recognized him and took a quick look back behind her at the two men in the leather vests.

One arm hung stiffly by her side, tray in hand, the other crossed her body to hold it by the elbow. She stared at the table as she spoke. "Hey, Jim. How are ya?" Thin with sallow skin, she would have been pretty if healthy. He wondered if her long sleeve shirt was to provide warmth or cover the evidence of her using.

"Good, Tilly. Can't believe you're still here. Gotta be ten years, right?"

Her reedy voice quavered lightly. "Yeah, what can I get you?"

"Whatever's on tap."

Straightening up the room as she made her way to the bar, she pushed a few chairs under some tables and mumbled something to the two bikers as she passed by. They stared at Jim for several moments before he lifted his beer in response. He looked back at them and winked with his bad eye. They whispered to each other as one of them pulled out his cell phone.

Making her way past the few patrons on bar stools, she got his beer and brought it over.

Jim kept his face and voice neutral as he spoke. "How's Liam doing? I hear you two are still dating."

She tucked her chin and stared at the table. "He's okay. He heard about what happened. We all did. We're real sorry about that, Jim."

"You talking about me or Ann?"

"Uhhhh, Ann, but you too. You okay?"

"Good enough for what needs to be done. Good to hear Liam's okay. Tell him I'll be stopping by real soon to say hi. Tell him I'll definitely be stopping by."

Tilly hesitated before replying. "Sure."

She went back to the other table and talked to the two bikers again. One was short and fat, weighing at least three-hundred pounds, his increasing girth stretching the older tattoos that covered his body. Apparently the 'no shirt, no service' policy didn't apply. His companion was tall and thin, standing at least six-five. The tall one kept reflexively flicking open and lighting his zippo.

As they openly looked over at him he again lifted his beer towards them in response. Finishing it up, he left a ten on the table and headed out to the truck. He started the engine and waited for the heat to kick in before pulling out and driving away in the drizzling rain.

He was on the road less than five minutes when he heard the bikes approaching. They stayed with him all the way back into town. He pulled to the side of the road a hundred yards before the turn that would take him towards the cemetery and his folk's house. As the bikers passed by the truck they looked up at him. He used his fingers to form a gun and pretended to shoot off two rounds. They were gone too quickly to get their reaction, but he knew that wasn't what they expected.

Spending the rest of the day cleaning, spackling some sheetrock, and tightening loose stairs leading to the basement, he felt he had gotten a lot accomplished. The last renters left it in decent shape. He had moved in a bunch of his stuff soon after he arrived.

Stepping into what had been his father's study, he sat at the large desk for a few minutes before reaching into a large drawer. He pulled out a small metal box and flag that had been presented to him at his father's funeral.

He unlocked the box and fingered the various medals, some his, some his fathers. The box contained both their discharge papers, as well as his grandfathers. Jim reached behind his back and pulled out the Colt 1911. It had been his father's. It was the first gun that he was allowed to shoot. He remembered what he thought was his father's near reverence for the weapon. He now knew it wasn't reverence, but a healthy respect for what the gun was capable of.

His father had carried it while serving, and for years after. He had used it the first day he taught Jim how to handle and respect a weapon. He made specific mention of it in his will and Jim carried it with him while serving.

It was a personal weapon and no longer standard issue. Sometimes he caught shit for it, most times he didn't. A lot of things can be overlooked if the person looking was happy not to see. Jim slid the gun in the box, locked it, put it in the draw and placed the flag over it.

It was a weapon that represented the men that carried it. A weapon that connoted respect, duty and honor. It's use was a reflection of who Jim's father was and who Jim was prior to his return. Using it for vengeance felt wrong, dirty and petty.

He grabbed his duffle bag and pulled out a similar box. Keying in the combination, he opened it, pulled out the black HK45 and slipped it into the holster. It was a tool. Nothing more, nothing less.

Jim grabbed a six-pack from the fridge, a quart of ice-cream from the freezer and headed over to his cousin's for dinner. It was a short drive, punctuated by seeing men in bright orange vests struggling with pulling what had to be an eleven point buck out of the bed of a pick-up. Shaking off the goosebumps, he felt that the deer's dead, glassy eyes were still tracking him as he pulled into Ann's driveway.

After stepping in her home, he looked in the living room and kitchen. "Where's your dad?"

"The bar. He'll be there 'till about nine."

The air was redolent with the aroma of pork chops, onions, and grilled potatoes. They ate and washed the dishes before she broached the subject again.

"So, you worked up your courage to tell me how it started yet?"

Sighing, he sat back down.

"You know what happened. I don't know why you need the details, but if you want to know, I'll tell you. I guess it was about a week after that day with the bees."

* * * * *

ELEVEN YEARS EARLIER, LATE SPRING

"Jim, this heat is getting to me. If I make us a basket for lunch, can you carry it down to the river for us?"

"Sure!" His pulse started to race remembering their last time at the river.

Working efficiently and methodically, she made some chicken salad sandwiches with yesterdays leftovers. She packed them in the insulated basket along with some water, chips, and apples and they headed out, Jim carrying the basket, Liz carrying a blanket.

Leaning back against the tree that they had spread the blanket under, she enjoyed her sandwich in the shade. Liz watched him as they ate, relishing the furtive glances he sent her way. The breeze offered an occasional respite from the overbearing heat, but it was still intense. Getting on her knees after finishing the lunch, she brushed her hands off and pulled her blouse up, and over her head.

"Well, I'm going in. Eat up. There's a second sandwich in there for you." He sat there as if struck mute as she stood and wriggled her jeans past her gorgeous ass and to the ground. Not able to pull his eyes away, he didn't blink as she made her way into the water, again clad only in panties and a bra.

Having gone in deep enough to duck her head in, she turned and rose from the water. The sandwich dropped from his useless fingers. "Shit." She was like a goddess, hair slicked back, her wet body calling to him.

"Jim, can you come in? I'm feeling a little weak." She didn't feel guilty about seducing her nephew and she didn't feel guilty about using her illness to get him in the water. Instead, she felt strangely powerful as she saw how he looked at her. She hadn't felt this powerful or alive in a long time.

"Yeah, of course." He quickly tossed the half-eaten sandwich into the basket, pulled off his sneakers and headed towards the water, tossing his shirt on the river bank.

"You're not leaving your jeans on, are you? Leave them there. You've got underwear on, right?"

"Yeah, but..."

"It's fine. We won't be skinny dipping or anything."

He hopped on one foot and then the other as he quickly pulled off his jeans.

She admired his dick as it lengthened and swelled, his briefs doing little to hide his condition. Embarrassed, he got waist deep as quickly as possible.

"Thanks. Just stay close by in case I need some help. I just want to enjoy the water and cool off for a while."

They swam around slowly and talked, Liz making sure to touch him every so often.

"This is driving me crazy. Bras aren't made to swim in. Jim, can you unhook me?" She got close and presented her back to him. His impressive cock brushed against her buttocks. Feeling his shaking hands touch her sent a shiver down her spine. He managed to unhook the bra and she pushed off, swimming away. She turned after a minute, her breasts visible but obscured by the water.

"Thank you, Jim. You don't know how much I appreciate everything you do for me."

Feeling the cliché of the blood rushing from his head to his dick, he couldn't think of an elegant response.

"Whatever I can do, Aunt Liz. You know that. You've always been... well for the past few years I've... I don't know. I like to help. I like to be with you."

She knew what he was trying to say. "You're eighteen and you're joining up soon. Maybe you should drop the Aunt and just call me Liz. While we're alone at least."