“We’re here, Mr. Jakes.” Keegan’s voice floats through intercom system.

Lucy’s body, still curled into mine, stiffens a little as she turns her head to peer out the side window. Waves of curious energy roll off her.

My stomach does a little twist as I lean closer to the mic. “We’re not going in. Just pull over to the side of the road for a minute or two.”

“Sure,” Keegan responds.

I open the door with shaking hands and get out of the SUV. Lucy gets out of the same door and stands beside me. Together we look at the house.

It’s not large, just a single floor, three-bedroom, block style home that was an economy special back when it was built in the late ‘50s. A small front yard stands between us and the building. A dense Wisconsin forest is behind.

“What is this place? Who lives here?” She glances at the mailbox that has the name Bristol on it.

“It’s where I grew up.”

The place has changed a lot since the last night I saw it, on the night I graduated high school. Someone added a new coat of bright yellow paint to the exterior. It looks like they were preparing to plant a small garden in the narrow side yard, and a hanging basket full of cheerful mums hangs beside the front door.

It looks like a nice house. A pleasant, safe pace to grow up. A good, solid place that’d provide shelter from any storms with lots of space for kids to run wild. Just like looking at Nathan’s family one would think they’re a perfectly normal, happy household, looking at this place doesn’t tell the full story.

Lucy continues to stare at the name on the mailbox. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Everyone says you grew up here, but I don’t recall seeing the last name Jakes anywhere, and running the medical center, I’m familiar with most of the families who live here, though I guess I could have overlooked it.”

“I legally changed my last name to Jakes about six months after I left town. I would have done it sooner, except I didn’t have enough money to handle the fees connected to name changes.”

I’ll never forget how free I felt after completing that particular task. To this day, it still feels like my greatest accomplishment.

Lucy crosses her arms over her stomach and studies my face, but she doesn’t say a word, merely waits for me to continue.

“My dad. He was never a great guy. And he never liked me. He was a big man, a construction worker. When I was little, he owned his own, small construction company that built houses in the summertime and had some private snow plowing in the winter. Typical lower middle class Midwestern family. Just enough money to scrape by, but not enough for anything else.”

I dig my toe into the road’s soft shoulder and lean against the back of the SUV as memories flood back. “He was so proud of the business he’d created and went on and on about how his boys were going to take it over. And my older brother Trent seemed like the type. But I wasn’t. I was shy and a little on the scrawny side back then, and preferred reading to getting dirty. It drove my father nuts.”

Lucy edges closer and threads her fingers through mine. I clutch her hand.

“My dad. He’d always had a temper and would occasionally knock me around, usually after he’d been drinking – which he did a lot – I guess in an attempt to toughen me up.”

Lucy sucks in a sharp breath. Her shoulders stiffen.

“It wasn’t good, but it wasn’t unbearable either. Then my mom got sick. Cancer. That’s when we discovered that the medical insurance we had was next to useless. They basically refused to pay for just about anything. Dad lost his business and five months later Mom died. That’s when things got really bad. My dad got a job on a construction crew, fixing pot holes. He’d stay sober enough to make it through his shift, but as soon as he came home, he’d climb straight into a bottle and his temper would implode.”

“He beat you.” Lucy’s voice is full of sadness, but not pity, for which I’m thankful. I don’t think I could stand for her to feel sorry for me.

“Beat us. Swore at us. Took our paychecks so he could buy even more booze. Trent moved out a few weeks after he finished high school and moved in with his girlfriend. A year later, she got pregnant and they left town.”

“Meaning all of your dad’s attention was on you.”

I nod and continue to stare at the house. “Yeah. That’s when I got real good at going home as little as possible.

“The one good thing I had in my life was this old dog, some sort of Malamute cross. I found him, rail thin and exhausted, a couple years before and took care of him. He was my whole world. The only good thing in my life. The night I graduated from high school, I got home and found him in our front yard, dead, a bullet through his head. My dad did it because he said he got tired of all the barking. I took my dog and buried him in the woods behind the house, near this beautiful waterfall that I used to hang out at all the time. Then I got in my beat-up old car and drove west. I swore I’d never come back to this damn place again.”

“Jake was your dog’s name,” Lucy says softly.

“Yeah.”

Slow, fat tears roll down Lucy’s cheeks as she leans into my side, offering her body as comfort. “What happened to your dad?”

“Christian told me that he lost the house about six months later. He did some more digging and learned that about a year ago, a hospice took over the care of my dad. His liver was pickled by that point. He died a few weeks later.”

“Good riddance,” Lucy spits out, sounding harsher than I’ve ever heard her sound before.

“Agreed.” I glance back at the house. “I don’t know why I felt like I had to come here tonight. Something was driving me. I needed to see it. And now that I’m here, I don’t feel a damn thing.”

“You needed closure.” Lucy rises up on her toes and places a butterfly kiss on my cheek. “Now come on.” She tugs at my hand, pulling me toward the SUV, where Keegan still has the engine running. “Let’s get out of here.”