Free Underbelly by G. Johanson

familiar Grey began to feel trepidation which increased as the police car pulled up into Keokuk, and Grey directed them to the centre of town, to his childhood home. Grey asked the driver to drop them off round the corner so that his parents wouldn’t see his method of transport and get the wrong idea. He thanked the driver and his partner and as they walked the final few steps home Germaine said, “That’s another reason for your parents to be proud of you.”
    “ I’m not going to tell them about that. Are you ready?” Grey asked her, having warned her about his parents.
    She nodded, believing the best of them and determined to befriend them and teach him their value – she had no kin to speak of and she wanted to repair the fractured Grey family.
    Grey knocked loudly and the door was quickly answered by his father, Abner, a slightly robust, greying figure. His initial expression was one of displeasure, his reading glasses that plummeted to the tip of his nose revealing that he had been disturbed, before he saw that his son was home, which flummoxed him.
    “ Good to see you again, Dad,” Grey said, shaking his hand as his father stood dumbstruck. “This is my wife, Germaine.” At Grey’s introduction Germaine made a move as though to embrace him and saw his body recoiling at the gesture and she modified her welcome to a handshake, taking no offence – he was clearly very surprised and taken aback.
    “ And you, James. Come in, come in,” he said, finding his tongue and ushering them inside. Grey nodded for Germaine to enter first as he followed her with their suitcase. “Shirley. Shirley,” he shouted at the bottom of the stairs. “Come down, there’s someone to see you.”
    Shirley Grey saw her son as she looked from the top step and she ran down the stairs to hug him. Grey felt her shaking as he embraced her and felt a little guilty for being gone so long as she said his name repeatedly and formed half sentences and said random words as her brain struggled to process his prodigal return before she was able to fully find her tongue. “You don’t know how good it is to see you, James. They wrote to us and told us that you were badly hurt and unlikely to recover.”
    “ I got that bleak diagnosis too and I refused to play ball. Even good doctors sometimes make mistakes. The docs did a good job with me and proved themselves wrong. I reckon the power of prayer did me no harm either,” Grey said, crediting his mother with aiding his recovery, well aware of how many hours she’d have spent on her knees praying for a miracle.
    “ This is my wife, Germaine. Germaine, this is my mom,” Grey said, having waited long enough for introductions due to his mother’s highly emotional state, and Shirley hugged Germaine and then moved away from her and held her cheeks in her hands to take a good look at her.
    “ Such a beautiful girl! Does she speak any English?” Shirley said, coming across as patronising without intending to, talking slowly and loudly to her.
    “ Better than me,” Grey said quickly.
    “ Hardly,” Germaine said. “I speak a little, Mrs Grey. James is teaching me well.”
    “ And Germaine’s teaching me French. She’s trying her best anyway, but she’s been saddled with a poor student – I struggle to count to twenty. The walking’s going better than the talking.”
    “ He’s too modest. He’s doing well,” Germaine said cheerily, trying to impress.
    “ It would be little use to you anyway,” Abner said to Grey. “You’re back in America now.”
    “ It’s always useful to know another language,” Grey said, beginning to feel defensive. “If we head north to see the Canucks I can impress them with my arithmetic.”
    “ Of course,” Shirley said. “Come on through to the sitting room – have you eaten? Do you want me to cook you something?” she said, working herself up into a fluster.
    “ What do you think? I know I’m starving and you’ve haven’t eaten anything