Page 6 of Thunder

I press my foot to the gas and go way too fast down the remaining bumpy, pothole-filled stretch of driveway.

When I park in front of Eileen's house, there are two other cars in the driveway and three shadows in the living room window, all clustered by the window, watching me.

No sooner am I out of the car than the front door opens and two of those shadows are yelling at me from the doorway.

"If you're with them, I warned you: I'm armed and you are trespassing," comes a man's voice. That warning is followed by the shadowy figure clearly drawing a pistol and aiming it in my general direction.

"Owen, we are not killing someone in grandma's driveway," I hear the second shadow, a woman, hiss at the first. Then she shouts at me. "Sir, you need to leave now. We're tired of all of you coming by, harassing our grandmother, and trying to force her out of her home. We won't let you."

Raising my hands, I step away from the vehicle.

"I'm not here to force your grandma out of her home. Actually, I know her. I robbed her not that long ago."

The shadow holding the gun, Owen, takes another step forward, more deliberately aiming the weapon right at my head. "You are not helping your case here, man."

"Shit, yeah, I realize now how that sounds," I admit. "It sounded better in my head."

"How can you think that would sound good? Have you had a head injury or something?" Owen replies.

"Owen, don't be an ass," the female shadow says.

"Quiet, Natalie, this guy robbed our grandmother. He doesn't deserve shit."

"Several head injuries, yeah," I say. "More than I'd like, and some recent, too. Listen, I did your grandmother wrong, but it was for the right reasons. I needed her car to help someone close to me who was in a real bad spot and there was just no other option, but I'm here to make amends. I fixed up her car better than when I borrowed it, washed it, detailed it, waxed it. As far as this car is concerned, it's like it’s 1997 all over again."

"You stole our grandmother’s car, fixed it up, and then, what, came here to gloat about it?" Natalie says.

I shake my head and take a few frustrated steps forward before a gesture from Owen and his gun halts my progress. These people just don’t understand that a stranger could do something nice for them, or at least try to make up for something terrible they recently did; this is not at all the welcome I was hoping for.

"I'm here to return it. To give it back and apologize. Is your grandmother home?" I say. It’s clear she is. I can see a wizened shape in the window that has to be her, but it feels more polite to ask; Natalie and Owen seem determined to shelter their grandmother from any outsiders.

"Really? Why do you want to see her? Just leave the keys on the hood and get the hell out of here."

"Owen, stop being an ass. He's trying to be nice," Natalie hisses.

Sensing an opening, a chance to actually get what I want, I hold my hands out wider and take a few more steps forward.

"I got in trouble a lot as a kid. Rode around, stayed out late, only came home when the cops brought me home. Course, they didn't know that by bringing me home, they were just making the next time I got into trouble worse. Only family member I had who wasn't a monster who liked to scream at me, spit on me, or hit me, was my grandmother, and she died before I turned five. Look, Owen, I needed your grandmother’s car, and I didn't have any other choice, so I took it, but now I need to make up for that. Will you at least let me see her so I can do that?"

Natalie steps aside, and after a moment, Owen does, too. Neither of them says anything as I enter the house, though I feel their eyes on me every step of the way.

Eileen O'Connell is sitting on the edge of an old, tatty brown sofa in the living room, her hands folded, her back straight, her blue eyes boring into me. There's no smile on her face, no sense of gratitude or even welcome radiates from her; this isn’t what I expected,but I step into that room and take a seat on the leather La-Z-Boy closest to her anyway.

She makes no move to speak, just looks at me like she can't decide whether to forgive me or have her grandson shoot me in the head. This older woman is night and day different from the old woman I remember robbing at the convenience store.

Then again, I remind myself, I robbed her in broad daylight. That could sour anyone’s mood.

"I suppose you heard why I'm here," I say. "I took your car, I regret it, and I'm here to bring it back."

She's quiet for a second. Cocks her head and regards me with her sharp blue eyes.

"What's your name?"

"Marcus Thompson. Friends call me ‘Thunder,’ but you can call me whatever suits you best."

"Marcus, I bet you came here expecting a far different welcome than the one you received, didn't you?"

"Something like that, yeah."

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