Pete and Devin

It was 1983.  Chicago, Illinois.  It had been nearly four months since they moved from Seattle.  Abby Wilkins impatiently drove her aging and out of date, gray Toyota, which once again was about to roll the odometer to zero, through the rustic and scenic community of Naperville toward her mother’s home.  Every time she would come even near the house in which she was raised, Abby would feel dread.  Despite the fact that she had moved her family back to Chicago so her mother could help with the boys, Abby’s unresolved issues with her mother got in the way.  And now, she was just anxious to see Pete and Devin once again.  It had been two weeks since she had seen her sons.  She had dropped the boys off at her mother’s so she could drive back to Seattle.  She missed them.
    Abby turned on to Loomis Street and spotted her childhood home. The beautiful two story brick home had really held its age well.  It looked as foppish as it had when Abby was a child.  A feeling of melancholy consumed her as it had since that awful day when she was seventeen.  She could never drive up to the house without thinking of her father.  This was his dream house.  It hadn’t felt like a home to Abby since his death.
    Pulling into the driveway, Abby spotted the mailbox.  Even after almost eighteen years, the names on the mailbox stayed the same… Marvin and Rebecca Grace.  Abby, tired and weary from her long drive, got out of the car, tucked her tangled, sandy brown hair behind her ears, and slowly walked toward the house.  Though only 36 years old, Abby looked much older, personal baggage weighing her down, tempering her excitement of seeing Pete and Devin.  
    Walking inside, Abby said, “Is anyone here?”
    The sound of the television drew her attention to the living room.  Lying stretched out on the couch, one foot dangling over the edge, was her fifteen-year-old son Pete.
    “Pete, I’m back,” Abby said.
    Pete barely acknowledged his mother’s presence.  Pete’s blue eyes stared dully ahead at the TV, watching a Gilligan’s Island repeat.  Pete’s sloppy appearance surprised his mother, as did his unkempt blonde locks that dangled in his eyes.
    “You need a haircut,” she said, smiling, knowing her own hair was a fright.  Pete still did not respond to the attempt at humor.  “What’s going on?”
    “Nothing,” Pete replied, without looking at her.  
    “What’s wrong?” Abby said, worried.
    “Nothing,” Pete stolidly replied.  Abby considered pressing on, but she was suddenly interrupted.