Home at Last

The road zoomed by underneath us as the car drove down the highway. Today was a very good day.

None of us could keep the smiles off our faces. I was smiling, Mrs. Davis, Mr. Davis... and...... QUINCY!

We were finally allowed to bring Quincy home! After weeks, and weeks, and a few more weeks, Quincy was finally through with Luchemia.

After I heard the news, four weeks ago, time rushed past me in a blur. The school days went by so quickly, and Ms. Millainey wasn't terribly hard on me after that day I stormed out of her classroom. Then again, I was also paying attention, if only barely, in my classes. My grades picked up a little bit.

When Quincy was in the hospital, I had been so preoccupied with her and the cancer. But, that's all over, Thank God!

We pulled in the driveway of the Davis's house. It was just across the street and down a ways from my own home. But, like I've said before, the house I live in isn't my home. It's just a house where I keep a few small belongings and my real father.

Quincy caught me looking sourly at my house, and asked, "Mom, can we just adopt Dallas?"

We all laughed, and she added to me, "If your dad will sign the necessary paperwork, we would be glad to have you."

"You mean if he ever sobers up enough to be able to write again?" I laughed humorlessly.

Mrs. Davis, who I now referred to as "mom", and Quincy gathered me in a hug while "dad", or Mr. Davis, unlocked the front door.

Since losing her hair, Quincy had been wearing the colorful bandannas I had bought for her. Today, since it was a very special day, she was wearing a yellow one. Since she was nine, her favorite color has been yellow.

"Is my room still the way I left it?" she asked randomly.

"Yes, I believe it is," dad said.

"Good. Oh, my God; I'm starving," she exclaimed, rubbing her stomach.

When we walked into the front room, a smile lit up her face, almost brightening the room itself.

"It feels so good to be home at last."

The rest of the night consisted of laughter, games, talking, and a whole lot of eating. Mom was a great cook. Quincy and I came up with a theory for that a few years ago; we figured that her food was so good because she spit in it when no one was looking. Of course, she wouldn't admit to this, and we could never catch mom in the act. So, our theory remained unproven.

When I was finishing up the last two bites of my beef and noodles, my phone started to ring. Not bothering to look at the caller ID to see who it was, I answered.

"Dallas?" my dad's voice asked; he didn't sound totally sober, but he wasn't completely drunk, either.

"What?" I snapped.

"When are you coming home?"

"I'm not sure. Quincy just got out of the hospital, and I'm eating dinner with her and her family. Why?"

"Quincy was in the hospital?"

"Yes, dad. She's been in there for months, and she just got to come home today. Did you need me home for anything?" I asked, cutting to the point.

"I wanted to spend some quality time with you," he said quietly.

Surprised, I remained silent for a little.

"Okay. I'll be there in a few minutes," I said.

"Okay. See you," he said, and hung up.

"Your dad?" Quincy asked quietly, eying me to make sure I would be okay.

I nodded.

"And you gotta go?"

I nodded again.

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow at school," she said.

"Okay," I said, reaching over to give her a hug.

"Bye Dallas," mom and dad said.

"Bye," I called as I opened the front door, pulling my light-weight hoodie on and slipping on my flip flops.

The End

1 comment about this story Feed