Hometown Read Online Free

stranger.
    When they left he knew that the barbershop men would feel they’d had a good afternoon, and would tell others about this dang man who came in, a nurse wouldja believe?
    Border, in the car, listened as his father shouted goodbye to the men, and, funny, just then it felt okay to be his kid.

II
    Arrival
    Hometown —
    “It’s an ugly town, Dad.”
    “Nothing’s changed,” his father whispered.
    “Then it’s always been ugly?”
    No answer.
    “I realize most towns are ugly from the highway, but this seems especially bad. It’s so flat.”
    “Welcome to Minnesota, Border.”
    “Aren’t there supposed to be lakes? Isn’t there anything to look at? Oops, there’s a mall.”
    His father turned to look. “That’s new.”
    Five more minutes to the exit, a few more while they drove down streets lined with small houses, and his father must have said “Nothing’s changed” twenty times. Border was tempted to scream at him to quit, but he let him have his time of wonder.
    The chant changed. “That’s it. That’s it. That’s it,” the old man said, pointing to a blue house.
    “Welcome home, Dad.”
    Border carried bags into the house. He kicked off his shoes and wandered through the rooms. The neatness tickled him. Of course, no one had been living here since his grandfather’s death. And his uncle had taken some things, he knew, and the clothing had gone to Goodwill, and there’d been a cleaning lady. All these details had been discussed in long conversations between his father and uncle, who lived in Chicago.
    “You want the big bedroom?” Border asked.
    “Of course.”
    Border chose a room for himself. He supposed it had been his father’s. Twin beds, two dressers. Spruce green covers on the bed, matching curtains.
    No posters or pictures. He didn’t know why he expected some. It had been twenty years since a child had lived there, and the last one, his father, had been wiped from the family’s record as if he’d never been alive.
    Border had never lived in a house before. Always it had been apartments, some so large that there were hidden rooms, some so small he couldn’t step out of bed without being in the kitchen or the bathroom or—the worst—his parents’ bedroom. This house wasn’t big, but there were lots of rooms. He found a workshop and a sewing room. Two bathrooms. Three televisions. He opened a door and discovered a washer and dryer. He smiled. No more trips to the laundromat.
    “We’ll need food,” he said to his father when they met in the kitchen. His father nodded, then sat down and looked around the room.
    “Seems pretty weird, I suppose,” Border said. “To be here and all.”
    His father nodded again, then closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.
    Border shrugged. He put on his jacket and went to the garage. The walks and driveway were loaded with snow. He foraged in the garage, found a shovel, and started clearing the driveway.
    He had never shoveled snow before. As apartment dwellers, they’d always left it to the landlord. It was strangely satisfying work. Every few feet he paused and admired what he’d accomplished. He was leaning against the long-handled shovel, surveying the length of black driveway he’d exposed, when a garage door immediately across the street started rising slowly. Before it had risen to its full height a car backed out, just slipping through the opening.
    It was a copper-colored Cadillac convertible, with a raised black top. The driver honked twice, then accelerated and backed straight across the street onto Border’s driveway. The car stopped a few inches from the garage door.
    The driver stepped out. It was a lady, and Border saw right away she had copper-colored hair. She matched her Cadillac.
    Staredown. Border refused to speak, and he saw that the lady couldn’t. His dad came out of the house then, and she ran forward, hugged him, then waved hands in front of her tear-streaked face.
    “Too much,” she said finally. “It’s