Returning Children

As Steven remembers, it was a quiet winter drive to Pearland return- ing his stepfather Richard’s natural children, Ricky, Kathleen and Susan, to their natural mother. The experiment to merge the children of two families had failed. It was cold outside and too cold in the new 1971 Plymouth Fury. Flashes of China-berry trees, barbed wire and fence posts passed by the fogged-up windows.
When they arrived and got out, bulldogs barked from pens and trash burned in the mud behind the house trailer. Stink of dog, burning cardboard and melting plastic. Steven could see the bulldogs’ ribs. They looked sad. Richard hugged his kids one by one, then they disappeared into the trailer, heads down, suitcases held up out of the mud.
Richard stood with one hand on the roof of the car and spoke with his ex-wife. She wore blue jeans and boots and a Carhart jacket. She didn’t smile when she looked Steven up and down. She didn’t smile as she spoke with Richard. No one smiled.
As they started back, Steven noticed his stepfather repeatedly glancing in the rear-view mirror, his eyes shiny, watery. Steven tried to think of something to say. Then, “That smoke from the fire, it sure made my eyes burn.” Richard was silent, driving.
“Yep, that smoke sure made my eyes burn,” Steven said, then waited for an answer. None came. Then, “Did it make your eyes burn?”
“Yeah,” Richard said, eyes on the road. Steven watched him for a few seconds, hoping for something more from his stepfather. Then turned away to the empty pastures going by and watched his breath bloom and fade, again and again, on the cold car window glass.