Page 9 of Home for Justice
Fatigue tugged insistently at him, and the journey from the funeral home to his grandfather’s home passed in a haze. Parking in front, he didn’t immediately exit the vehicle, instead allowing himself a quiet moment to absorb the sight of the old house bathed in the gentle glow of late afternoon. Memories whispered through his mind, bittersweet reminders of days he now realized he’d taken for granted.
After losing his parents when he was in his twenties, visits to Montana had shifted to quiet times spent solely with his grandparents. Later, after Grandma Cecile passed away, it was just Tyler and Gramps enjoying those times, which, due to Tyler still serving in the Army, his visits were fewer. Tyler had always pushed away the inevitable reality that someday he’d be left here alone. But now, here was the dreaded loneliness pressing him into the quiet stillness of the evening.
He’d known his grandfather was approaching ninety when he began to untangle himself from the Army’s bureaucratic grasp, yet Tyler had stubbornly believed there would be more time to reconnect, to share, to simply be together without the shadow of loss looming over them. With a sigh that resonated deep within his chest, Tyler gripped the steering wheel tighter, wrestling briefly with regret before pushing open the car door and forcing himself into motion.
Inside the foyer, he paused, the silence an aching echo against the walls. No familiar hum of the television, no easy conversations winding down the evening. The dining room table loomed large and lonely, a painful reminder that meals would now be solitary affairs, mirroring the loneliness his grandfather had silently endured after losing his beloved wife.
Weariness settled deeply into his bones, but he pushed himself onward, down the hall and into the kitchen. Eventhe quiet animals seemed to have sensed that something life-changing had happened. He walked outside to take care of them, rubbing their heads as he battled the tears that threatened to fall.
Inside, he had no appetite or real intention, but quickly made toast, spread it thickly with butter, and then scrambled eggs, and fried sausages. Standing by the counter, he ate mechanically, each bite tasteless and perfunctory, his mind turning over Marshall’s words from earlier.
Someone wanted the land, eager to level this old home and erect sterile condominiums in its place. The financial implications briefly tempted him… promises of freedom, security, and a fresh start wherever he chose. Yet as Tyler stepped onto the back deck and inhaled deeply, the sweet, crisp evening air filled his lungs and slowly chased away the pragmatic whispers.
The sun dipped below the mountains, igniting the sky in shades of fiery gold and rich purple, colors Charlie had loved deeply. Tyler leaned against the railing, heart aching softly. Truthfully, when he’d first contemplated retirement, his only clear intention had been returning here to spend precious time with Gramps, helping him and caring for him. Beyond that, Tyler had allowed himself no plan, no vision.
Now, standing beneath the glowing sky, the emptiness of uncertainty stretched wide before him, tempered only by a lingering sense of duty and love. His last phone conversation with his grandfather came vividly to mind. Charlie’s voice was warm and welcoming as he asked Tyler if he intended to stay a while when he got out of the Army.
At the time, Tyler had said that he’d stay until he could figure out his next life plan.
As Tyler stood on the deck, a rueful chuckle rolled up from deep within his chest, mixing with the sorrow that still clungheavily around him. He could still hear his grandfather’s voice, clear and steady, seasoned with humor and a gentleness he’d come to associate so strongly with home.
“If you come, I won’t kick you out, boy. I don’t want you spending your life looking after an old man, but I sure would like to see you.”
The memory tightened something in Tyler’s chest, a pang both tender and raw. He knew some people wandered through life never forming attachments deeper than mere nostalgia to any one place, always drifting from one temporary home to another. He’d lived that way in the military.
But standing here now, breathing in the evening air and taking in the house and land sprawled out before him in soft twilight hues, he realized for the first time that he couldn’t imaginenothaving this place. It was the anchor to his past.
Turning slowly, Tyler gazed toward the neighbor to his right, across the meadow. He couldn’t help but imagine their shock, the stark discomfort they’d feel seeing the open spaces suddenly invaded, hemmed in by buildings that had no place in this quiet haven. A pickup truck sat faithfully parked outside, and Tyler’s throat tightened as a new wave of memory washed over him.
He recalled the man who lived there—Jack McClay. He’d grown up alongside Tyler’s father. A man who’d shared beers and swapped stories with Charlie for decades, and who’d quietly built a life, running the garage on the outskirts of town. He now remembered Charlie telling him that Jack’s wife had passed, not too long after his grandmother had died, but he had a daughter who helped out.
The thought of disrupting such lives, of allowing something irreplaceable to be broken apart, stirred an unease that settled heavily in his chest. He tilted his head back, the sky above slowly deepening into richer shades of violet and indigo, stars faintly peeking out.
Exhaustion tugged relentlessly at him now, pulling at his weary body and mind. Tyler knew the heavy fog of grief and fatigue would make any decision unreliable and distorted. With a final glance over the land, he turned and made his way back inside, flicking off lights as he moved through the rooms.
Climbing the stairs, Tyler moved slowly, his body sluggish. It was early still, but he welcomed the quiet comfort of a shower, hot water cascading over tired muscles, washing away at least some measure of the day’s heartache. With sleep tugging insistently at him, he crawled into bed, the cool sheets wrapping around him as he surrendered to the relentless exhaustion of grief.
“I have time,” he whispered softly into the darkness, willing himself to believe the quiet reassurance. “Time to decide what to do and where to go.”
But as his eyes fluttered shut, and he felt the gentle tug of sleep, Tyler knew with profound certainty that tonight, he was exactly where he was meant to be.
6
Justice McClay stepped into her house, the phone pressed tightly to her ear, exhaustion etching deep lines around her eyes. “Tommy, listen, just handle the quick repairs and the routine maintenance that come through today. If something more complicated comes in, let them know it’ll either have to wait a couple of days or suggest they visit Bartley’s Garage across town. We’ve always cooperated with them, and they’ll understand we’re in a tight spot right now.”
She paused, listening intently to her lead mechanic’s calm reassurances and nodding along even though he couldn’t see her. Tommy and his brother, Willie, had always been a steady presence at McClay’s Mechanics, and Justice knew she could rely on them. “Thanks, Tommy. And remind everyone to double-check their schedules and orders. Let’s make sure we’re not missing anything important.”
Ending the call, Justice dropped onto the sofa, her bones aching with weariness. She and her father co-owned McClay’s Mechanics, a thriving vehicle repair shop at the edge of town. They had a specialist for motorcycles and two mechanics skilled with farm equipment. Usually, her father, Jackson McClay, handled the day-to-day management of the shop floor, whileJustice efficiently tackled office management tasks, including orders, scheduling, and payroll. She was a qualified mechanic herself but preferred to step in only when needed, keeping the business humming smoothly from behind the scenes. She had even become a certified helicopter inspector, keeping her busy with the mountain rescue aircraft and the tourist helicopters in the area.
But the past week had turned everything upside down. Her father’s unexpected heart attack had rocked her world. Although he survived the open-heart surgery and the doctors were optimistic for a full recovery, he still faced several more days of hospital care. Justice had been stretched thin, running from home to hospital to the shop, her sleep fitful and her nerves frayed.
“It’ll get better once he’s home,” she whispered to herself, trying to gather strength from the quiet reassurance. “At least then it’ll just be the shop and here.”
Leaving home after high school, Justice had pursued a business degree and took evening classes to become a certified mechanic. Yet her true education had always been the hours spent side by side with her dad, grease-stained fingers and shared laughter shaping her passion for cars and family legacy.
Justice dragged herself to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. Staring blankly into its depths, she willed food to magically prepare itself and save her from the effort. Finally admitting that no such miracle would occur, she sighed heavily and made a quick bowl of oatmeal, mixing in raisins, crunchy pecans, and a sprinkle of cinnamon. She sat down at the kitchen table, gazing out the sliding glass doors toward the softly illuminated patio, noticing lights glowing in the Marconi home.
Misfortune seemed to hover over their quiet street lately, she thought sadly. Elderly Mr. Marconi had also suffered a heart attack only a few days after her dad. At ninety, hisrecovery had been precarious, and the town grapevine had not been optimistic. When visiting her father, she’d peeked into Mr. Marconi’s room, saddened by the frail sight of him lying quietly, breathing shallow, eyes gently closed.
