#waylisa

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Under normal circumstances, the drive home took 45 minutes. 35 minutes on a good day, and a full hour during rush hour traffic. This drive only took me 25 minutes.

I sped. I ran red lights. I even cursed at the few drivers who couldn’t manage the speed limit, but even then, those 25 minutes might as well have been 25 years.

When I pulled into my driveway, I stumbled out of the jeep and ran to the door. I didn’t know what day of the week, or even month it was. For all I knew, there could be nobody home, but I pounded on the door and begged for them.

“Lisa! Boys! Open up! Please let me in! It’s Waylon! I’m home! Lisa, I’m home!”

If Lisa answered a moment later, I’d have broken down right there on the porch, but there she was: rumple, frightened, and looking at me with tired eyes, but still my Lisa, my everything.

“Lisa...I…”

I wanted to tell her everything. Every horror. Every time I wished for death. Every time I thought of her and how she gave me the strength to survive. More than ever, I wanted to tell her that everything would be okay, that nothing bad would happen again.

Then I remembered how powerless I was when it all started.

“Oh, Lisa!” I pulled her close to me, and didn’t even try to fight back the tears. “I’m home. I’m really home…”

At first, Lisa just stood there, tense in my grasp, but when she uttered my name, I felt her relax.

“Waylon…”

The moment she spoke, I knew she felt as I had when the door opened, but the thoughts and worries escaped her as they had me. When she hugged me back, I knew she had given up on finding them.

For those first few moments, I was glad to have her in my arms again, but then I felt her form tremble.

“Lisa? What’s wrong?”

“I-I’m fine. It’s j-j-just…”

I loosened my grip so I could look her in the eye.

In all our years of marriage, I had only seen her cry twice. The first time was when our eldest son was born. The second was when she first held our youngest in her arms. Now she cried a third time.

I didn’t know whether it was pity for my plight or relief our battle was over, but I didn’t care. I only kissed away her tears and held her so tight that I thought I could steal the pain from her. I never would have let her go if I didn’t hear my eldest son.

“Daddy?”

I peered over Lisa’s shoulder and there stood Daniel. He was covered in grass stains and he held little T.J.’s messy hand. They looked at me as if I were a stranger, but I still managed to let go of Lisa so I could kneel down to their level.

“Daniel, T.J., I’m home.”

I stretched my arms out wide, waiting for them to rush into my arms like they used to, but they only stared until Lisa promised them I was still their father underneath these blood-stained rags.

Only then did they come forward so I could take them in my arms and smother them with hugs and kisses. Usually Daniel complained when we were too affectionate with him, but this time, neither of my boys complained.

Then, I felt Lisa’s presence when she knelt beside me. She took our youngest into her arms so there was room for her in our embrace.

I held Daniel with one arm and wrapped the other around Lisa’s shoulders so we could lean into one another.

Her tears had dried, but her voice still trembled when she spoke.

“I was scared we’d never see you again,” she confessed. “How on earth did you escape?”

“Does it matter?” I tightened my hold on her. “All that matters is that we’re all together again.”

“You’re right.”

As weak as it was, Lisa managed a smile.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that, huddled on the floor together. I didn’t care of time. To hear their heartbeats, their breathing, to feel their warmth again was enough. To be with them dried my tears at last. I felt I was in a dream that would never end, until Lisa’s voice broke through.

“We should probably get you to a hospital.”