The Homecoming

Hugh Brisman, at long last, pulled into a parking space he was lucky to find open. Nearby, he could see a light on in the upstairs of his townhouse, the only upright structure on a street of slovenly bungalows. Probably, Jo, his wife, was getting ready to go out.

She liked to keep busy. Bingo. Bridge. Nervous busyness he called it. But tonight, they could stay home. Or go out to dinner to celebrate his surprise return. Whatever she wanted. It was all good.

Bunting, a neighbor walking by, met Hugh’s eye and started.

Hugh rolled down the window. “Yeah, great to see you too.”

“I didn’t know you were around.” A hideous scowl sat on Bunting's face.

Hugh tried to not let it get to him. “I’m just happy to be back home to see Jo.”

“You might not find her so happy.”

Things weren’t always so great for her, but what did this little bastard know about it. “You don’t seem too happy yourself.”

“Just warning you.”

He was pretty sure Bunting wasn’t playing with a full deck. Anxiety. The world was full of it these days. Best to ignore him and move on. It was how he got things done. “You know what? I don’t believe you. When she sees me . . .”

“All right.” Bunting interrupted, walking away.

Hugh remained in the car. It felt like small triumph. And soon, Jo emerged from the doorway, not at all dejected, but with purpose in her step. She even looked happy. Ha! This was going to be even better than he thought. He reached for the door handle, but stopped short as Bunting approached her and she opened her arms for an embrace. Hugh called out her name. Then Jo saw him, and froze, convulsed with horror.