Page 71 of The Homecoming

The front door burst open, allowing Justin and Weasel to come through carrying boxes of pizza, bottles of soda, and a case of beer. Autumn checked the time and moved to the kitchen to prepare the bottle; Danny would be hungry any minute. She popped the bottle into the warmer as Weasel looked on.

“Brought a present for him,” Weasel said, producing a plastic bag.

Inside, she found a navy blue onesie with a screen printed police badge on the upper left side. She laughed. “That’s so cute,” she cried. “Thanks.” She hugged Weasel before turning around and holding up the onesie for the others to see.

The bottle warmer went off, and on cue, Danny began to fuss. Autumn retrieved the bottle from the warmer and shook a drop onto the inside of her wrist to double check the temperature. Rebecca stood with Danny on her hip, bouncing him while waiting. Weasel watched her intently, but soon turned his attention to unwrapping the paper plates and rearranging pizza boxes on the counter, grabbing a beer and taking a long drink.

“Bad day?” Autumn asked.

He shrugged. “Had to serve a warrant, and the dude was less than thrilled.”

“Thought maybe it was a certain woman,” she said.

Before he could respond, she crossed the room and lifted a cranky Danny off Rebecca. She plopped on the couch and made him happy with the bottle.

37.

On Saturday, Weasel showed up at the cabin with the excuse of wanting to target shoot bows. The sky a cloudless, bright blue overhead made for another sunny, hot afternoon. He set the targets out behind the house facing the mountain while Autumn rocked Danny to sleep for his nap. When the baby was finally down, she clipped the receiver of the baby monitor to her pocket and joined Weasel outside.

He had made the setup so she’d be closer to the house and he took turns shooting at three different targets he’d set up at a variety of distances. There was no way she could hit the farthest target, but he struck it with ease.

“Not sure I’m any competition for you,” she said once he looked her way. “I haven’t even picked up a bow in months.” It was an exaggeration; she hadn’t been any competition for him when she practiced regularly. She removed the bow from the bag, set the arrow, and aimed at the nearest target. It missed by a mile.

He raised an eyebrow. “Did you forget how to aim?”

She rolled her eyes, loading another arrow as she hooked on the release and drew. Weasel moved her back elbow up and adjusted her stance, staring at her for a minute. “Release that one and let me drop your draw weight.”

She released the arrow, and it hit low on the right of the target. “Why would I need to lower the weight?” She handed the compound bow over to Weasel.

“No prize in a heavy draw, Ms. Mac. You haven’t shot in a while. If you can’t pull it back while the arrow is aimed straight at the target, it’s too much weight. Just gonna make it easier for you.” He adjusted and handed it back. “Nock an arrow and draw to your anchor point.” She did as he instructed holding the drawn arrow back by her chin with her hand at her earlobe. He studied her and nodded as she let another arrow go, this time hitting low and to the left. “Again,” he said. And again, the arrow hit low and left. He took the bow from her again and examined it. “Sight pin’s off,” he said. He pulled a tool from his bag. He taught her how to move the pins, and after a while, she could hit the first two targets with regularity. They took turns, and she never could make it to the farthest mark.

“How’s Jason?” he asked.

She released the arrow at the middle target. “Seems to be making progress. They finally did put him through an MRI scan and found that there was a traumatic brain injury, just like I’d thought.”

“Shit.” Weasel aimed at the farthest target, hitting it pretty clean.

“Yeah,” she said. “Good news is he’s in some study at Vanderbilt that’s researching these injuries that soldiers are coming back with.”

“Well, maybe some good can come of it. Do they know if he’ll be alright?”

Autumn shrugged. “They know very little about it and the long-term impacts. But he does sound a lot better when I get to talk to him.”

“So, he’s done with the military?”

Autumn nodded and they continued taking turns shooting arrows in silence. On occasion, he would give her a tip or adjust her technique to improve accuracy. The afternoon wore on, and she’d worked up a sweat.

“So,” she said, finally breaking the quiet, “is everything alright?”

He smiled at her.

“What? Are you the only one who can ask that question?”

Weasel shrugged. “No, Ms. Mac. You can ask.”

“But, you’re not gonna answer.”

He shrugged, then took aim at the farthest target and hit the bullseye. He was such an excellent marksman that it annoyed her. She wondered what had ended up happening between him and Rebecca, but it wasn’t her business to pry. Although, they would be perfect for each other. But Rebecca had been screwed up by Kyle, more so than Weasel knew.

---