2018 Writing Contest
First Place Winner: Flash Fiction
Homecoming
by Linda Klym
She should have never let him go. At the very
least, she should have gone with him. Ever since
their last little trip to Nashville, he had been
depressed, the TV his constant companion, hardly
ever getting off of the couch.
Depression was not a new visitor to their little
home. He had never really recovered from the
death of their daughter just a few years before.
They had moved halfway across the country,
a new start, they said. But you can’t run away
from your sorrow; it always comes with you,
unwanted baggage.
It was Easter and he wanted to visit his ageing
mother. It would be good to get away by himself,
time to think and reunite with some of his siblings
at the old homestead where he had been born.
With suitcase in hand, the last thing he asked
for was a hug, which she gave willingly. Tears
were running down his cheeks. It was almost a
relief to see him leave, the black cloud hanging
over his head going with him.
The weekend went quickly. She had her own
Easter plans, but he was never far from her
thoughts. After being married for so many years,
he was a part of her. High school sweethearts, it
had been love at first sight!
They had had it all! Successful careers,
children — a boy and a girl, a nice little house in
the suburbs. The white picket fence, the whole
nine yards!
The last few years had been hard. She handled
her grief by keeping busy, as if activity could
numb the aching parts of her soul. He had his
own ways of coping with the loss of his beloved
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daughter. Alcohol, for one. He was careful to hide
his drinking, thought he was fooling everyone,
while fooling only himself. Always active in his
youth, sports was now taking a toll on his hips
and knees, making any physical activity painful.
But there was always hope. Time, they said,
could heal the pain. Surgery was already booked
and body parts could be mended. Despite
the sorrow and anger, love was still hovering
somewhere under the surface.
She expected him home around mid-afternoon.
She had a nice supper waiting — Easter leftovers,
which he loved. Ham and scalloped potatoes, his
favourite. They would have a bite to eat, maybe a
game of cards, something they did often to pass
the time away.
By late afternoon, worry niggled at the back of
her mind. She tried calling the cell phone, but
he rarely kept it on. By early evening, real panic
was setting in, as the mountain roads he travelled
were known to be treacherous and icy at this time
of year.
Supper was sitting on the counter, cold and
unappetizing. TV was no longer keeping her
anxiety at bay. Finally, lights shone through the
front window and a car could be heard coming up
the short driveway.
As she rushed to the door, her heart breathing
a silent prayer of relief, the doorbell rang. She
opened the door slowly, reluctantly, already
knowing what was coming. There stood a sombre
policewoman with a look of abject sympathy on
her face.
There would be no homecoming. ●