Even though that time had been tough, Walter still would have given anything to have someone there for him when he returned home, regardless of the time.
He pulled up into the driveway and got out.
He expected cold, but he didn’t seem to feel any of the cold air around him. His body instead seemed to radiate heat, causing a small mirage-like effect in the air around him. He and Rebecca walked up to the front door and opened it.
“Why aren’t we running?” Rebecca said.
“Because we don’t want him to chase us.”
“He’s still going to chase us, regardless, if we’re moving or not. If anything, we’re just making his job easier.”
“He doesn’t have much of a reason to come now.”
And Walter believed that to be true. If his characterization of Matt was worth its salt, then he believed the boy was troubled and really not in a good state of mind at the moment. He came after his sister and Walter because he wanted to save Jolie, to save his unborn and innocent child. Now, though it was pretty macabre to think in such terms, the girl was dead, meaning that Matt’s reason for acting was dead as well.
“I know my brother more than you do,” Becca said. “He’ll come up with a reason.”
“Perhaps,” Walter said. “But who knows if it’ll be enough to sustain him and his anger. The boy wanted one thing, and now he can’t have it. People who have been through trauma, especially the kind he’s been through, often don’t try to make the world worse.”
If that was true, then why was Walter still sweating? Why was he afraid that the house he built with Beth all those years ago was about to be covered in green light, and that Rebecca and himself were about to face something neither one of them was remotely prepared to deal with?
“You’re putting a lot of faith in someone whose girlfriend was just killed.”
“By accident, I’m sure, and I’m sure he will see it that way as well.”
Their voices sounded loud in the quiet house. Rebecca turned away, a clearer sign that the conversation was over than just about anything else she could have done. She walked over to the wall and looked at the photos.
She scraped a good amount of dust off of them. Walter liked to keep things at least marginally tidy in his house, but he didn’t take care of everything. It wasn’t like anyone else was going to see the inside of his house lately—just him. He didn’t have that much in regard to personal effects anyway.
She picked up a picture and looked down at it.
“How old are your kids?”
He almost didn’t answer. How could she have known? It wasn’t her fault that she had simply looked at a photo and had a question. Perhaps she was just trying to veer her and his attention away from the whole Matt scenario that was probably, more than not, racing right toward them. Walter almost wished that her brother would arrive, that he’d show up right then and there so that Walter wouldn’t have to think about his kids anymore.
But heaven and almighty God above didn’t answer his prayers, and Walter found himself having to talk about it anyway. He could just let the conversation die, but that would have been worse than never talking about it at all.
“They would be in their thirties now.”
Rebecca turned.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . ..”
“No, no, it’s alright,” he said. “I’m not going to break down in tears in front of you. Happened a long time ago to a Walter that was very different than the one that stands in front of you right now. He was weaker, stupider, and had more than just one monkey on his back, if you know what I’m saying.”
The wind howled slightly outside of the house. Though he knew they weren’t there, he was almost afraid to speak their names, lest his kids opened up the room down the hall and crawled out, finally glad to see their father again, with Beth behind them to boot.
“They died in a tubing accident,” Walter said. “I wasn’t watching. I should’ve been, but I didn’t. Their tube went off a slope and into an oncoming truck. But like I said, it was a long time ago, and there’s not much more to be said.”
Rebecca just nodded, the kind of nod that someone does when they know that they should have just kept quiet on an issue, and we're glad that everything was over and resolved.
Walter’s heart was beating. He turned and walked into the kitchen. He brought out a gallon of whole milk and poured himself a glass. He asked if Rebecca wanted any, but she just shook her head.
Growing up on a dairy farm, there really was nothing like a nice glass of cold milk to help calm someone down. Walter had been drinking milk most of his life, and despite what any fancy-pants doctor from downstate told him, milk was good for you. And the real deal, he meant, not the stupid hippy shit that was popping up. Almond milk, soy milk, rice milk. For God’s sake, if anyone just wanted milk, then why not just drink milk? What’s the whole point of drinking milk if it’s not really milk?
Here we go again, Walter thought as he drank, thinking about something else as soon as we start to lose it slightly. It always happened, but this day in particular seemed fraught with those
