Robert’s was the last house at the end of the street and he just stood there beside a pile of trash at the end of his driveway. The pile was noticeably smaller than the others were. His home was at a dead end and the lot was next to thousands of acres of county parkland. A stream went through this land to the lake from which they had just got water. The windows and doors to his home were closed. The house appeared abandoned. Kyle and Alexis were close by, standing rigid as if waiting for a command.
“Is this it?” asked Kyle, not understanding Robert’s silence and apprehension.
Robert nodded and appeared confused. His mind was racing with thoughts as he stood at the end of the driveway. He seemed apprehensive, looking almost afraid to walk back into his own home.
Kyle nudged Alexis and they walked to the top of the driveway and set all their worldly possessions down near the garage doors. Robert slowly emerged from the mental haze clouding his thoughts, pushed the bike and its trailer next to the suitcases, and let it drop over on its side.
Robert began to walk around his house. In the backyard, he saw the garden that he had planted before he left for Montana. Worn in the tall grass was a path from his garden to his next-door neighbor Jim’s house. He noticed that the garden had been taken care of, and also that his wheelbarrow was missing. Tomatoes and green peppers were ripe on the vine, and he saw incredibly long vines of watermelon, cantaloupe, and pumpkin. He peered into each window, looking for his family, but saw nothing to indicate that his family was home. After making a full circle of the house, he went to the rock garden by the front door and fumbled through a pile of decorative river rocks near the foundation. From underneath several rocks, he grabbed what appeared to be a gray rock of uniform color, about the size of his fist. He shook it quickly, heard the rattle of a key inside, and turned it over, revealing a false bottom. He slid the metal bottom off the fake rock and removed a shiny brass-colored key.
Kyle and Alexis watched from the foot of the steps as Robert put the key into the lock of the front door and turned it. He pushed the door open with his boot. The door creaked, opening into an empty, silent house.
“Hello.” Robert said, sounding almost unsure of himself. “Hello!” he repeated, with tones of fear and frustration in his voice. No one answered. In his dreams, his wife and children had come running to him. Grabbing him, hugging him, and telling him how much they had missed him.
Robert turned away from the open front door. His shoulders were slumped and he did not look up. He took the rifle off his back and leaned it against the house. At the bottom step, he sat down hard, putting his face in the palms of his filthy hands. His knife sheath rattled on the concrete step as he leaned forward. He did not know what to do. His muddled thoughts were pulling him back into the fog and haze of confusion. When he sat down, he felt his pants pull tight around his thigh and he felt something poke him from deep in his front pocket. He removed the object. It was the lucky rabbit’s foot that Kyle had given him.
He tossed it back to Kyle. “Keep it. I don’t want it.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll find them,” said Kyle.
“How?” asked Robert. He made an exaggerated motion with his hands, gesturing his frustration.
“The car is still here, so they can’t be far,” replied Kyle.
“Where did you think the car would be?” said Robert angrily.
Kyle did not respond. He ignored Robert’s remark and sat down on the concrete driveway.
Robert glanced at Kyle. “I’m sorry for saying that. I didn’t mean it.”
Alexis sat down on the other side of Robert and put her arm around him. He did not move, and they all sat in an awkward silence. That silence was broken when, from their left and past the dead end, they saw someone emerge from the tree line of the little creek that ran through the park property. It looked, from a distance, like a man pushing something.
A man with a wheelbarrow soon emerged from the tall prairie grass of the park and onto the asphalt of the dead end street. The man did not see the three of them sitting in the shade of Robert’s front yard as he pushed his load of buckets toward Robert’s house. Just as he passed the front of the house, he turned the wheelbarrow onto the sidewalk, and in doing so, looked up and saw the trio staring at him. The man was startled and almost tipped over the buckets in the wheelbarrow as the wooden handles slipped from his hands. His clothes were baggy and he tripped on the cuff of the pants that sagged from around his waist.
He quickly grabbed the handles again, and began to walk forward on the sidewalk, staring at the man on the steps. He stopped again, squinting his eyes and peering directly at Robert.
“Robert? Is that you?” inquired the man, as he set the wheelbarrow down again.
Chapter Twenty One
Robert thought that he recognized the voice, but was still not quite sure who the man was. He did realize that the man had his wheelbarrow, since he remembered that it was missing from behind the house. Robert stood up, approached the stranger, and stared intently into his face. Neither man said anything for what seemed like an eternity. They just stared at each other. Finally, Robert looked over at his next-door neighbor’s house and his expression changed from frustration to resolve.
“Jim?” asked Robert. “I’ve lived right by you for years and I didn’t recognize you.”
Jim held up his ragged, baggy shirt to reveal a svelte waistline and a belt with many additional holes added, still not cinched tight enough to hold the baggy pants around his shrinking waist. “I’ve lost a lot of weight.” He rubbed his beard. “And I need a shave, too.” Jim pointed to the wheelbarrow. “Sorry about taking your wheelbarrow. Everyone thought you were… dead.”
“I don’t care about all that. Where’s my family?”
“Your wife is gone, Robert. I’m sorry.”
“She’s dead?”
“No, I mean she’s gone. She disappeared. No one saw her leave, but she must have left because your children were alone for quite some time.” Jim moved out of the light of the setting sun and into the shade cast over the driveway by Robert’s garage. He lifted his baggy shirt to his face and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“Where are my children?”
“Michael, the president of the home owner’s association, and his wife Becky have them.”
Robert’s jaw clenched tight at the thought of this couple taking care of his children. He remembered the couple as egomaniacs with fake personalities. Michael sold cars and had honed his talent for lying to get that job done. He boasted that he was the owner of a car dealership, when in reality; his father had built the business and then turned it over to him. Michael’s single accomplishment was conning innocent people into buying less-than-reliable used cars. Michael had used his extrovert personality to campaign for the position of president of the homeowner’s association, a position that no one else wanted, but one he bragged about unanimously winning.