Seana Kelly - Welcome Home, Katie Gallagher

They’d called the house about Gran, but it was after I’d already moved into my friend Christine’s apartment. Justin had apparently taken the message that Gran was really sick, and that I needed to come now. However, he’d never bothered to pass it along to me.

When the lawyer finally tracked me down through my mom, I’d learned of Gran’s passing and of her bequest. Rage and guilt warred. I should have been there, should have told her how much I loved her before she died. That fuckknob had kept her from me. I’d been ready to tear his balls off when I’d tracked him down at his country club. He was in his car on the phone, turning away from my knock. He thought smugly ignoring me would work when my grandmother was buried without me? I put an end to that shit.

His golf bag and clubs were standing by his open trunk. I grabbed one of his clubs, put all my weight and fury behind it and swung for the bleachers. I’d intended to break his clubs, but instead broke his back window. I stopped and stared at what I had done. Never in my life had I engaged in vandalism. I was a vandal. It felt good. I was terrified of myself, but swung again to check my response. Yep, still felt good.

Years of pent-up frustration and betrayal fueled my frenzy. At some point he jumped out of the car. I heard him yelling, but he was like a yapping dog in a neighbor’s yard. Annoying but easily ignored.

The cops showed up. I never knew if it was the country club who called or Justin. It didn’t matter. One of the officers drew a gun on me. That sobered me up real fast. His partner stepped in front of the gun, telling the other guy to put it away. Good cop asked me questions, looking in my eyes, trying to determine if I was hopped up on PCP. That’s what I assumed, anyway. His expression was a combination of concern and wariness. I would have answered his questions, but I couldn’t hear anything over the buzzing in my head.

Bad cop grabbed at my arms. I slapped his hands away, so resisting arrest was added, and I was handcuffed. I don’t remember anything about the drive to the police station. One of them apparently snagged my handbag from my car, so at least I had my ID and phone.

Once we got to the station, bad cop took off to do bad-cop stuff. Good cop told me his name was Officer Kinney. He had dark skin, kind eyes and a soft, deep voice. He let me call my mom for help, but warned me that Justin could still press charges, and that the country club was deciding if they were going to, as well. He said he’d talk to his partner and try to get the resisting charge dropped.

I broke down and told the poor guy everything. I sobbed on his desk. He patted my back reluctantly, but I appreciated it all the same. Mom showed up and drove me back to the country club to pick up my car. It was gone, although Justin’s was still there. I stared at it, shocked. I had broken and dented a gem of Bavarian automotive engineering. Holy crap! I was kind of scary.

I brushed the glass off the seats and drove to the house, wanting to confront the asswipe. I sat steaming in the driveway for an hour, and then rethought my plan. Talking to Justin never helped. I reluctantly went into the house that had never truly felt like mine to pack and leave for good. Justin didn’t come home that night, which made the process easier. I traveled from room to room, picking up a photo here, a book there. Everywhere I looked, I saw Justin’s stamp.

I was done there. I didn’t want to ever see him, or this house, again. I found boxes in the garage and started packing what was mine. The fact that it all fit in the trunk demonstrated how little of my life was actually my own.

Good or bad, my life was my own now. I stopped the car when the drive leveled out. I took in Gran’s house. “Look at it, Chaucer. Isn’t it beautiful?” I closed my eyes and let out the breath I’d been holding. Home.

I parked to the side of the front steps, near a pear tree, and let Chaucer out. I stretched, slamming the car door before sitting on the whitewashed front steps. I inhaled the sharp scents of hemlock and salt water.

Home. “Thank you, Gran. You knew even when I didn’t how much I needed to be here.” Chaucer walked up the steps and lay down on the porch, his front paws and head hanging over the edge.

A moment later, his head popped back up. He found his feet, standing alert and still. I heard it, too. It sounded like it was coming from the backyard. I walked up the last step and followed the porch around the side of the house. White wicker furniture still sat out, facing Gran’s magnificent garden.

Whack. I scanned the tree line, trying to locate the sound. Chaucer stood beside me and gave a quiet woof while looking toward the rear of the house. I saw him, too—a man with his back to us, holding an ax and splitting wood.

Normally, a strange man swinging an ax would be enough to send me scrambling in the opposite direction, but there was something familiar about him. He had a shock of white hair and was wearing a red plaid work shirt. He had strong, broad shoulders, although time had worn away at his posture.

I walked down the side steps, Chaucer at my side. “Mr. Cavanaugh, is that you?”

He spun around, startled and staring, his eyes getting wider. “Nellie?” he asked breathlessly. His hand rose to his chest and rubbed.

“No, Mr. Cavanaugh. Nellie was my grandmother. I’m Kate.” I’d heard before that I favored my grandmother, but the only pictures I had of her were as an old woman.

The poor man dropped down heavily onto the stump he was using to split wood.

I rushed forward, kneeling in the soft, dark soil before him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to give you a start,” I faltered. He appeared pale and drawn, shaky. I feared I’d given him a heart attack. “Can I get you a drink of water, call someone? Anything?”

He reached out and touched the side of my face. “Remarkable...you look like my Nellie...except the hair. She had curly hair, same color, though. Same green eyes.” He shook his head and dropped his hand. “I’m sorry, Katie. Of course, I know who you are. For a minute there, I thought that Nellie had come back for me. Thought maybe I’d died chopping wood and Nellie had come to take me with her.”

“Sir, why don’t we go sit on the porch for a few minutes? I can grab you a glass of water, and we can get reacquainted.” I helped him to his feet and took his arm, surreptitiously lending support. My throat tightened when I felt his trembling hand.

After helping him up the stairs and into one of the chairs that overlooked the flower garden, I excused myself. The front door was locked. I searched my pockets. The lawyer had given me the key. I’d been holding it like a talisman for days.

Once open, I ran through the door, registering dust and leaves. Something took flight, flapping loudly, but I was moving too fast to see what it was. Please, don’t be a bat. Please, don’t be a bat. The kitchen counters and floor were grimy, but the dishes inside the cabinets appeared clean and untouched. I pulled a cup down, filled it quickly, but then my eyes fell on the phone at the end of the counter. I picked it up, got a staticy dial tone and speed-dialed the police station.

“Bar Harbor Police, can I help you?”

“Yes, please. Is Aiden Cavanaugh in? I need to speak with him right away.” My heart raced. Please, don’t let his grandfather die on my side porch.

I heard a click. “This is Chief Cavanaugh.”

“Aiden, it’s Kate. Your grandfather is here. I think I scared him pretty badly. He’s pale and shaky. I’m worried it might be serious. Does he have a weak heart?” Shit, I was rambling. Did I mention the heart thing?

“Kate? Are you at your grandmother’s house?”

“Yeah, I just got here.”