R. Allinson: The Long Road Home

“Can you stop that?” Mike asked with forced joviality. Tom froze, not sure what Mike wanted.

“You keep drilling the door with your fingers. It’s driving me nuts,” Mike said with a quick glance at Tom.

“Oh…” Tom sat on his hands. His foot started jiggling. “Sorry, I’m just.” He shook his head. “We’re so close. I’m impatient.”

“It’s okay. Shit, look at that,” Mike exclaimed.

The windows and doors of the Shopper’s Drug Mart, a Canadian Tire store, and a half-dozen smaller variety stores had all been smashed in. Debris littered the parking lot.

“What’s been going on here?” Tom breathed.

“People must be getting desperate,” Mike said, glancing in the rear view mirror at the carnage.

“Can you go faster?”

Tom hadn’t heard from Claire. He’d just been assuming that she was okay, that she and the boys were safe at home. What if home wasn’t safe anymore?

His feelings of worry and apprehension only grew when they drove past a burnt-out house. It looked recent. Smoke was drifting from another fire a kilometre or more away.

“How can everything have gone to shit so quickly?” Tom demanded. “What’s wrong with people?”

Mike had nothing to say.

They turned a corner and a man tried to wave them down.

“Don’t stop. Just keep driving,” Tom urged, the memory of Sampson still fresh in his mind.

Tom was slightly reassured by the veneer of normalcy in his neighbourhood. They drove through the streets, and everything still looked the same. The same, apart from the lack of people. Normally there’d be kids running around, parents ferrying them between clubs and classes, people going for jogs, the postman doing his rounds. There was none of that. He saw only a handful of people, darting furtively back to their houses, or to their vehicles.

“Turn right up here,” Tom said at long last. Home. He was home. Mike carefully pulled the truck up in front of the familiar house. Tom glimpsed both his and Claire’s cars in the garage. Good, she’d waited for him.

He wanted to rush out of the truck, but he paused, hand on seatbelt, and turned to Mike.

“Well, we’ve been through a lot the past couple of days,” Tom started.

“Oh go on, get out. I know you want to,” Mike cut him off with a punch to the arm.

Tom looked at his friend. “Thank you. I couldn’t have got back here without you.”

“Yeah, same. Don’t go getting all sappy on me now, Buchanan.”

“Never, Fitzgerald.”

“You take care now,” Mike nodded.

“Yeah. You too.”

“Fingers crossed, I’ll see you back at work in two weeks like Fred thinks.”

“Yeah. Fingers crossed…” Tom echoed.

“Go and put that wife of yours out of her misery.” Mike pushed at Tom.

“You don’t want to come in?”

Mike shook his head. “Nah, I wouldn’t want to spoil the reunion for you. Besides, Mom and Trisha will be waiting for me.”

Tom nodded and leaned over to give his friend a quick hug before he could protest.

“See you later.”

“CLAIRE!”

She knew that voice. The bottle smashed onto the floor. The cat streaked out of the room. Claire cursed under her breath, and then quickly stepped over the mess. Tristan started crying.

“Tom? Tom! I’m in here!”

Heart racing, Claire rushed out of the kitchen. Her husband was striding up the hallway, staring at her intently. Before she could even begin to process his appearance, he enveloped her in his arms. She buried her face in his chest, and then he lifted her up so that they were face to face. He kissed her, hard at first, and then with a lingering softness.

“Oh god, Claire. I missed you so much.”

“Thank goodness you’re finally home.”

“You wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through the past few days…”

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy home!” Noah came hurtling out of the kitchen and charged down the hallway. Tristan was still crying in the kitchen. Tom untangled himself from Claire, and knelt down to meet Noah.

“Hey, buddy.” Claire felt like her heart would burst as she watched Tom gather Noah up in his arms and stand up. He smiled at her over Noah’s head. He was back, finally. Back where he belonged.

“Come into the kitchen, the boys were just having their dinner.” Tom and Noah followed Claire back into the kitchen. Tristan stopped crying as soon as he saw Tom.

“Dada!” He held his arms out expectantly. “Dada! Up!”

Tom was soon seated at the table with Noah on one knee, and Tristan on the other. Claire wished there was room on there for her too. She finished serving up the boys’ dinner. Tristan managed to drop half of his mashed potato on the floor, and somehow smear the rest of it over Tom’s face and chest. Noah actually ate all of his food without having to be prodded, but Claire noticed that he never took his eyes off his father. She could barely keep her eyes off him either. Claire studied her husband. He looked more rugged than usual. His dark hair was unkempt, and his face was scruffy as if he hadn’t shaved for a week, which Claire supposed he hadn’t. She kind of liked it.

“Thanks for that, Tristan. How did you know I was hungry?” Tom said after Tristan pushed a handful of mash into Tom’s open mouth. Noah giggled and Claire laughed.

After the boys finished eating (she supposed Tristan had gotten at least some of his food in his mouth), they took the boys upstairs.

Tom kept touching her, and made sure at least some part of his body was in contact with Claire’s while they bathed the boys.

“This is much easier with you here, I gotta admit.” Claire smiled at her husband and reached out to squeeze his leg. She washed some stray mashed potato from behind Tristan’s ears, while Tom shampooed Noah’s hair.

“Close your eyes, buddy.” Tom poured a jug of water over Noah who giggled and then spluttered when some of the soap got in his mouth. “And close your mouth! You’re not meant to eat it,” Tom laughed.

Tom finished helping her bathe them, and then showered himself. Claire was tempted to get in the shower with him, but she stayed with Noah and Tristan and read them a bedtime story, all three of them cuddled into the armchair. Tom soon came into the room, towelling his hair dry and in clean clothes. He paused at the doorway, smiling down at Claire. She wished there was room for all four of them on the comfortable old chair.

Noah insisted that Tom read him a story as well. Tom lay on Noah’s bed with him, and Claire stayed in the armchair with Tristan. She listened to his deep voice and felt safer than she had since finding out about the asteroid. Claire rested her cheek on Tristan’s dark curls and he soon fell asleep. After Tom finished reading the story, Claire carefully stood up and tucked Tristan into his cot. Tom came over and placed his hand on her back. They stood there together, looking down at their youngest son.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” Claire said after a few minutes. She reached out to caress Tom’s cheek. It was prickly.

“Me too.”

“What happened out there?” Claire asked. Tom pulled her in close and kissed the top of her head. He didn’t say anything, but bent over gently running his fingers through Tristan’s soft curls, before leaning in to kiss the sleeping baby on his forehead.

“I missed you all so much,” Tom said. “I didn’t know if I was going to make it back a few times.”

“What happened?” Claire repeated.

Tom took a deep breath and reached out for her hand.

“Let’s talk downstairs.”

Claire watched Tom tuck Noah in, and then followed him downstairs.