This Given Sky by James Grady

A full moon watched the white rental car Jake drove north toward his hometown of Shelby, Montana, eighty-seven miles and maybe a few killings beyond the airport where he’d landed in a jetliner from the real world.
    The empty highway hummed under the tires. He longed to be piloting a mail plane in the star-shot darkness above this pine deodorant–scented car. Instead of the hum of this road home, up there he’d hear the roar of twin propellers, smell stale sweat from the cargo crew who’d loaded the plane with mail sacks full of due bills and catalogue dreams. Up there, he’d fly from a precise beginning to a predictable end.
    On this road, in April, 2010, he had less than an hour left to drive.
    They’re waiting for me .
    The waiting started the last day of April, thirty-five years before, as helicopters lifted defeated Americans off a roof in Vietnam and ten-year-old Jake stood alone in a graveled Shelby alley alongside a scruffy white house, waiting for Steve to hurry up and finish lunch, come outside so they could do what they had to do with Thel, get back to school and not get in . . .
    Steve yelling: “Don’t you hurt her!”
    Never can remember running inside that house .
    Ghosts filled Jake’s headlights.
    He saw Steve’s mom cowering on the couch as she tried to shield Steve’s little sister Jenny. In front of them, boyhood fists clenched toward a raging bear of a man, Steve yelled: “Told you don’t hurt them no more!”
    The woman said: “Please Harley! I’ll be better! You’ll see you’ll . . .”
    She blinked at Jake standing in the doorway from the kitchen.
    Bear Man said: “Who the hell are you?”
    Words tumbled out of Jake: “I came for Steve.”
    “What the hell’re you holding?”
    Even Jake looked at the black thing clutched in his right fist.
    “You gonna cut me with an itty-bitty plastic knife?”
    Grabbed from next to the ketchup bottle, sack of white bread and pack of bologna on the kitchen table.
    Bear Man yelled: “What’ll your old man say ’bout you pullin’ this?”
    “Tell him!”
    The universe froze between tick and tock for five people hidden inside that peeling white paint house.
    Bear Man grabbed keys off a table and stormed out the front door.
    Steve peered out the window as a car roared away.
    He sent a smile to his mother and sister on the couch. “The big sample case, plus his hung-up suit bag. Probably gone a couple days.”
    Sister Jenny stared off into nowhere like a movie zombie.
    His mom sighed. Glanced at Jake and the black plastic knife.
    “He won’t say nothing,” promised her son.
    “I . . . well . . . every family . . .” Her trembling finger drew a smile on her daughter’s face. “Got to get to work, and Jenny . . . and Steve, you . . . .”
    “I got me, mom.”
    Steve faced Jake. They’d gone to the same school for five years, but Jake hung with the sons of adults his parents knew—though, until moments before, Jake had thought that everyone knew everybody in their town of 2,900 people. He and Steve only walked home for lunch together that noon because of what they had to do for Thel. Sure, they were friends, but now . . . .
    “Come on,” said Steve.
    Jake left the black plastic knife on the kitchen table.
    “Don’t tell nobody,” said Steve as they stepped into April sunlight.
    “I won’t.” Jake never broke that promise. “Who was that guy?”
    “The man my mom married.”
    They ran down the alley side by side.
    “We gotta go to Thel’s!” yelled Jake.
    Their formation banked that direction like two sparrows.
    Steve said: “So what should I get him for Father’s Day?”
    Then he laughed. So Jake did, too. On they ran.
    Necessity had already launched Thel to school. Jake and Steve got detention for being late and not helping Thel carry her science project on Rocks of Our Town to school, even though Thel told the teacher: “It was my fault. They thought I was waiting for them.”
    Jake told his parents only what he had to