Nowhere to Go by evergreenwriter83
Chapter 1 by evergreenwriter83
Chapter One – Kevin – November 5, 2010

Sadieville, Kentucky – Population 268

I left home with Mason at 2:00 in the morning. I figured it was the best time to leave; Mason was fast asleep and it wasn’t as if I was sleeping nights anyhow. As we pulled out of the driveway, I looked in the rearview mirror. The house which had always been so full of good memories now loomed behind me like a haunted house.

Ever since Kristin had left the night of AJ’s rehearsal dinner, my mind had been in a fog. I felt a deep well of depression blanketing me. My cousin, Brian had tried to convince me to stay with him and his wife Leighanne for a little while. I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to be around anyone.

Anyone except Mason.

I glanced back at him asleep in his car seat. His mouth was open, his full bottom lip stuck out in almost a pout. He had his arms tightly wrapped around his soft brown bear.

For the past few days he had followed me around asking me where his mama was. Each time I held back tears as I gently explained that she was working.

“Back soon?” he had asked. My heart ached; I wanted to tell him so badly that she’d be back with both of us soon. My gut instinct told me different.

I will admit that I’m not the easiest man to live with. I keep a lot of things bottled up inside and lately I had begun to desire to enjoy a slower pace of life. Kristin’s views were exactly the opposite. She was chomping at the bit for television and movie work;
her desires took her to LA one week, New York the next. Mason hated airplanes and after awhile I convinced her that we would be fine at home – just Mason and me.

Now it truly was just Mason and me.

After a few days of being surrounded by personal demons, I decided that I couldn’t stay in Lexington. Our house was making it ten times worse. Everywhere I turned I saw Kristin. She was in the bright yellow roses in the kitchen vase, the chair in the corner of our room…hell, she was in the air I breathed.

So, two days ago, I found myself on the phone calling one of my buddies to see if he was using his summer home.

“Dude, you don’t want to go there. It’s November in the middle of nowhere.”

It sounded perfect.

He told me where the hide-a-key was and so I began to pack, albeit frugally. I didn’t want to upset Mason so I packed his toys a little at a time.

The trunk was packed; the backseat around Mason’s car seat was full. Sadieville was only 30 miles from the heart of Lexington, but to me it felt like a million miles away.

One hour and three wrong turns later, I pulled into the town of Sadieville. It consisted off one main road. Fields stretched for miles around.

I pulled onto an old dirt path; heavy clouds hung in the sky, but no snow had started to fall. In fact, it was still in the low 50’s in the middle of the night.

With the gravel crunching underneath the tires, I pulled up to a small log cabin. A small lake that would be perfect for fishing sat close by; the backyard was never ending fields. I shut off the car, listening to the engine spit as the car began to cool off. I moved with deliberate slowness, determined not to wake Mason. I shut off my lights and opened the car door. Taking the flashlight from underneath my seat, I crept up to the house.

I ran my hand up along the top of the door. Right before I reached the edge, my fingers closed around metal. I plucked the key up and with the flashlight as a guide, I unlocked the door.

A thin layer of dust on the floor caught the wind and swirled around me like a shape desperately trying to form. My eyes squinted into the darkness; I could make out a fireplace, a couch, a small kitchen. I knew a bedroom and bath were off to the left. That made up the entire layout of the house.

I walked inside, flicking on a light on a small end table. Everything looked so… abandoned.

I felt right at home.

As I walked to the car I silently cursed myself. I was a 39 years old and I felt like I was more clueless than I had been at 18. The thing that made it worse this time around was that another person was depending on me to make good decisions. As I lifted Mason out of his car seat, I couldn’t help but think of the disappointed look on my mom’s face when I told her that I had failed at the most important union in life: marriage.

I placed Mason on the bed; I had his pack-and-play somewhere in the car. For the next two hours I made trips back and forth from the car to the cabin. Boxes left square imprints in the dust; I didn’t stop until the car was completely emptied. As I armed the car and walked in, I looked around.

When I had last talked to Brian, I could tell he thought I was insane. He asked if I needed someone to watch Mason; I had declined. I had already lost Kristin, the last thing I wanted was to be separated from my son.

I set to work unpacking the things that would be most important, namely Mason’s toys and his pack and play. I put eggs and milk in the refrigerator; bread on the counter. I could tell that it was a man’s summer fishing paradise; even with yearly use I could tell the place had never actually been cleaned. I couldn’t help but think that Nick would have been in heaven in the filth. Old Man Richardson thought differently.

For the first time since October 30, the clock actually moved. I took a moment to sit outside and watch the sun rise. I heard a rooster crow in the distance; a squirrel ran past with one more acorn to tuck away before the first snow. I had brought my cell phone, but I was stubbornly keeping it off. I had let few people know my whereabouts. I felt secluded.

I liked it.

My moment of peace was interrupted by startled cries inside. Getting out of one of the two wooden Adirondack chairs that graced the small porch, I headed towards the bedroom.

Mason sat in the middle of the mattress, his blonde hair askew. Tears were streaming down his face. When he saw me his bottom lip sucked in and out as if he thought he would never see me again. He held out his arms.

“Hey buddy,” I said softly, scooping him up. “It’s okay.”

“Daaaaaaah---ddddy,” he wailed. He smashed his face into my shoulder; I could feel the wetness seep through to my shoulder.

“It’s okay. We’re on a little trip,” I explained as I made my way out to the kitchen. As the sun streamed through the curtains, the condition of the place was even worse than I had initially thought. I took a pair of my socks and wiped off the kitchen counter before setting Mason down on it. He stared up at me, a perfect tear trail running down each cheek. He looked around as I opened the refrigerator and took out the milk.

“Mama?” he asked hopefully. I was in the process of unscrewing the cap; I paused.

“No buddy,” I said, a lump forming in my throat. “Mama’s still working.”

I set to work providing the perfect distraction for him. With a whisk in his chubby hand, I let him help me make his favorite breakfast; French toast. He slapped at the watery batter with the beater as I began to sing The Bear Went Over the Mountain.

I set a pan on the stove, and praying the pilot still worked, breathed a sigh of relief as the flames shot up. Mason watched as I dipped the bread into the mixture and set it sizzling into the hot pan.

A half hour later we sat at the table, a tub of butter and a big bottle of syrup between us. Mason stuck a huge piece in his mouth, grinning. He looked like a chipmunk; I couldn’t love him more.

“You better chew that into itty bitty bites,” I warned, leaning over and wiping syrup off his chin. His eyes danced as he made a show of chomping steadily.

After the stack of French toast dwindled away to nothing, I washed Mason’s hands and face and let him sit on the couch with his toys. I unpacked bleach, paper towels, and other household supplies and began to tackle cleaning.

The work was good for my mind and soul. I glanced over often to see Mason putting together a puzzle or amassing a pile of trucks. His nonsense babblings mixed with actual words was more entertaining than any television program. By the time lunch rolled around, most of the living room and kitchen was inhabitable. I made a peanut butter sandwich and left Mason at the table as I tackled the bathroom.

If I had thought the kitchen was bad, it couldn’t even compare to the bathroom. The stains around the toilet were colors I didn’t even know existed. I would have rather sprayed Mason off with a hose than put him in the tub the way it was. Six scrub pads and four rolls of paper towels later, I deemed it safe enough for two guys to use. I was going to have to have a serious talk with my buddy before he came back here to fish in the summer. He must have literally gutted fish in the bathtub. Disgusting.

I headed back out to the living room. I saw the empty paper plate and Mason’s blonde hair back on the couch. I walked around to see him playing with his wrecking crane.

“Whatcha doing buddy?” I asked.

Mason looked up; I frowned. I quickly glanced back at the crane.

The wrecking ball was no longer attached.

It was up his nose.


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