I’m Home Now
I’m Home Now
Feeling weirdly shy, Liko smiled at this good Samaritan. “I’ll, uh…take that drink of water?” The dog put paws on Liko’s hip and stretched up high, first looking for attention, then jumping for it. “Hey, you,” Liko said, rubbing her head.
The man took hold of the dog’s collar. “Salma, no. Down. Sorry, she’s not usually a jumper. Woman, what’s wrong with you? Get.” He shooed the dog behind him and beckoned to Liko. “Come in, come in.”
Liko wiped his feet and followed the man through a darkened living room into a kitchen you could play touch football in.
Oh, a little voice piped up in his mind. We’re home.
If Heaven had a kitchen, this would be it. Or maybe it was better described as a kitchen with an attached sitting room, for at one end, a couch and a pair of mismatched easy chairs were grouped around a fireplace.
A fireplace in the kitchen. Brilliant, Liko thought, an immediate and extremely cozy vista unfolding before him.
A long winter’s day with nothing to do but lounge on the couch and read.
Look up to watch the snow falling, look down to doze off mid-chapter.
Sip coffee until noon, then nurse a good whiskey while something cooked on the stove.
Watch as the snow piled deeper outside but alas, nothing for it, nothing to do but go on sitting in front of the kitchen fire.
Maybe it would start snowing right now. Maybe a freak ice storm would bring a tree down across power lines, closing off Oak Hill Road, and Liko would be stuck here tonight.
“Water?” the man asked. “Or something else?”
Whiskey neat, by the fire, Liko thought, and aloud said, “Water’s fine.”
He turned to take in the rest of the immense space.
This was no staged, showroom kitchen but the busy heart of the house trying to keep two steps ahead of the chaos.
The dishwasher was open, towels hung askew, pots stacked in the sink.
A basket of paper recycling on the verge of avalanche.
A laptop open at one end of the long table, surrounded by papers and envelopes, a cluster of bright orange Post-its stuck across the screen’s edge.
Liko drew fingers along the tabletop, impressed.
Five chairs on either side, two at each end, and surely it could squeeze in more on Thanksgiving.
He took in a sturdy hutch laden with china and serving pieces.
A credenza with a good assortment of booze and glassware.
Over it hung a replica of the Green Man plaque from the driveway pillar.
Artwork was displayed on all the walls, and a lot of it depicted hares and rabbits.
Little rabbit figurines were tucked in the hutch, too, peeking between stacks of plates and cups.
Liko was definitely in the right place but unsure what to do. Kyle always said to click on everything in sight, but that was fine for video games, not when you were in a stranger’s house.
Liko studied the man as he poured from a Brita. He looked in his late thirties, maybe. On the short side, but lean and fit in jeans and a fleece. He’d turned his cap forward and pulled it low, but what Liko could see of his face was…
A long-atrophied part of Liko’s brain stirred to life and remarked, Huh. He’s a bit of all right.
The dog bumped at Liko’s legs and he bent to pet her. Her face was bisected cleanly in half from crown to muzzle, with one side pure white, the other side brown.
“Is this a border collie?” Liko asked.
“Australian Shepherd. Here you go.”
“Thanks.” Liko chugged the water in a few thirsty gulps. He looked up, running a hand on his mouth. “That’s better.”
The man said nothing. He’d backed up to the sink and was staring hard at Liko. His eyes were deep brown and they looked confused. Maybe even a little scared.
“Something wrong?” Liko said.
The man shook his head. “No. Sorry. I was just remembering something. Anyway. You need a ride into town?”
“Nah, I’m good.” Liko motioned toward the kitchen door. “Go out that way or the front?”
“Either is fine but you don’t have to go.”
Liko set the glass on the table. “Thanks for the kindness. I’m Liko.”
“Dane.”
“Dane Schoenfeld?”
“What? Oh. No. That’s just the name of the farm.”
“Thanks again.” Liko turned the knob, then stopped. “I need to ask you a question.”
“All right.”
“Will you be home tomorrow?”
“Is that the question?”
“No. I mean will you be home tomorrow so I can ask you something.”
“I’m home now. Why not ask me now?”
“I’m not sure what the question is.” An awkward beat, then he added, “My last name is Greenman.”
Dane’s gaze flicked to the foliate face on the wall and back to Liko. Then he crossed his arms but only breathed, “Huh.”
“I also have a personal rule of putting twenty-four hours between my impulses and my actions.”
Now Dane’s eyes crinkled. “Good rule.”
Goosebumps waterfalled down Liko’s skin. The twenty-four-hour rule was one of many fatherly adages he hammered into Kyle’s head, but the déjà vu shiver in his bones wasn’t about Kyle. It was from something else.
Slowly, Liko felt his face morph into the same expression of confusion that had wreathed Dane’s gaze a few minutes ago. When he’d been remembering something.
Liko was remembering, too. Remembering something he forgot. Or forgetting what he remembered.
This has happened before, he thought.
Dane put up a palm. “I’ll be home tomorrow, Liko Greenman.”
“All right.”
They held gazes one more beat.
Then Liko left. He walked down the driveway and toward the road. Right by the Green Man pillar, the thought came to him, simple and tantalizing: I know that guy.