Here Lies a Father. Mckenzie Cassidy

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СКАЧАТЬ the screen door, and knocked. Marie answered, smiling, and ushered us inside, which was surprisingly warm and pleasant despite its rough exterior. The living room had a deep red shag carpet and she asked us to sit down on her blue sectional couch. She even pulled a wooden lever on the side so I could recline and raise my feet.

      “Take a load off, everyone,” she said, busying herself in the kitchen. “I’m going to fix some coffee.”

      Oak-colored cabinets lined one side of her kitchen while the adjacent wall was plastered in blue-and-white wallpaper with floral designs. She didn’t have as many pictures in her house as Mom did—in fact, no one did—but I saw one of a young man, his wife, and a baby. I didn’t want to ask her because it was none of my business, but I assumed they were her family. Photographs are often unreliable, though. They only capture a moment in time, seldom the truth. Mom toiled over every picture hanging on our walls. They told a story and were displayed in a very specific way. Her personal favorites were from her own happy childhood in Fairfall Valley, a tiny hamlet in upstate New York, even smaller than Wellbourne.

      There was no better place in the entire world to grow up, she said. I stewed with jealousy when she described her youth to me and I never stopped to wonder if that was the reaction she had intended. We’d never have it as good as she had—end of story. Her family was poor, yes, but happy. She left town at nineteen for a job waiting tables in Wellbourne, in her own words, “to get away from your grandmother.” That’s when she met my father, Thomas Daly, a well-respected manager of the community’s only hotel. He served on numerous civic and nonprofit boards. Some people said he could’ve run for mayor and won.

      Catherine and I spent most of our summers in Fairfall Valley. Mom dropped us off with my Aunt Cynthia, who lived next door to my grandmother. Our stays with Aunt Cynthia felt like days or weeks, but I couldn’t recall precisely. We caught rainbow trout from creeks nearby; they glistened and writhed in our hands. We had to cut our fishing lines with curved shears when snapping turtles attached to the lure. The snapping turtles were also the reason we didn’t go swimming. On breezy afternoons we ran through rows of cornstalks, hot streaks of sunshine boring through the gaps in the leaves, until giant bumblebees stung our legs and cool mud was the only remedy to soothe the pain.

      As I stood looking around Marie’s home, I remembered how Mom, Catherine, and I celebrated our birthdays and attended summer picnics in Fairfall Valley, but Dad never came. He didn’t have time, with his heavy work schedule. He worked such long, erratic hours. Those days were tough for Mom, but she never asked for help from anybody. She was too proud. She did what she needed to do to survive. I remembered, once, she told me she’d scrubbed toilets when Dad had to find jobs elsewhere and wasn’t sending any money. That was when he had started taking jobs all over the state, living in staff dormitories for months at a time, rather than commuting back and forth, to save on gas. It was hard for us, but he always came back. Always. I respected him for being such a hard worker and provider, but it had been strange how his growing absence from the family was never questioned.

      Marie finally stepped out of the kitchen holding three mismatched coffee mugs. On the coffee table she set down a dented tin of sugar, a couple of soap-spotted spoons, and a white porcelain dairy cow full of fresh cream. She also set out some leftovers, trail mix, and bags of potato chips, but no one was hungry. The mug I lifted was white and brown, its handle the thick head of a Great Dane. I only added a few drops of creamer into my coffee and a quarter-spoon of sugar. Catherine sat beside me on the couch, her purse occupying the space between us. Neil kept his coffee black and leaned against the wall jutting into the living room. I realized that the only person missing was Carla. I wondered if she was avoiding us.

      Marie sat in a vacant recliner, took a big sip of her steaming black coffee, her hands wrapped around the mug, and rocked herself with a smile. “This is simply wonderful,” she said, looking around the dim room. “For the longest time I asked Thomas to let us all meet, but it just never seemed to work out. And look at us now!”

      “Yes, look at us now,” repeated Catherine vacantly.

      “How has your mother been doing through all of this?”

      “It’s been rough on her,” I said. “I think that’s why she chose not to come with us.”

      For any wife, losing a man with whom she’d spent a quarter of her life would be crushing. Such a reaction made perfect sense. While speaking to Marie, I had simply communicated how I felt my mother was most likely feeling, how any wife would feel in this situation. I didn’t know if that was the true reason Mom stayed home, and besides, she didn’t share her thoughts with me. I had been with her the day Dad died, or at least the day when the news was delivered to us, and she hadn’t seemed very upset. She may have been in complete shock.

      “When you see her, please give her my condolences,” Marie said. “Thomas’s former relationships were shaky to say the least, but people change and it sounds as if, with your mother, he found the person who was meant for him.”

      “That’s not entirely accurate,” interrupted Catherine. “Before he passed, my father was alone in Albany. My mother got the ridiculous idea in her head to move us all down to Florida, but she got bored again after two years. She came back with Ian first, about six months ago, and my father never rejoined them. They were separated.”

      I laughed nervously.

      Catherine obviously hadn’t understood the situation. Mom and I had returned to Wellbourne first so she could arrange for a new job and place to live. The next step of the plan was for Dad to join us when he was ready, after he had resigned and settled any debts in Florida. Catherine knew, as well as Mom and I, that he was in Albany making the important connections needed to secure a job. His absence was no different than the summers he spent working at the resorts on the other side of the state. Sooner or later he always came back.

      “Really? Separated?” Marie asked, stunned from the revelation.

      “Is it that surprising, Marie?” said Neil, taking a sip from the coffee he’d been balancing on his potbelly throughout the conversation. “The man was married twice before.”

      “Tragic nonetheless, I’m sorry to hear that.”

      “Honestly, though,” I chimed in, “I wouldn’t say separated. They weren’t living in the same house, but it wasn’t like they were getting a divorce. A lot of families live apart, especially if their jobs are in different places. It’s not like it used to be, you know. It’s not the 1950s anymore.”

      The room fell silent, as if someone had just made an offensive remark, and everyone avoided eye contact with me. They took sips of their steaming coffees instead.

      “So, Ian, tell us about your life,” Marie finally said. “What do you like to do for fun?”

      “Nothing, really.”

      “Oh, that’s not true. A boy your age, you must have a million interests and hobbies. Video games, sports, girls?” She chuckled. “Do you play any sports at school?”

      I hated when people asked if I played sports. Blood pumped like a bass drum through my jaw. This tingling warmth crept up the surface of my face and I felt like shaking. Old men were the worst when they asked me about sports. They stared at me in disbelief when I said I didn’t have a favorite team and never watched any games, like I was a freak or a leper, like there was nothing more that could be done for me. I was a lost cause; better to be left alone. They were members of an exclusive club and I’d never be invited. I could only watch from a distance, through the chain-link fence.

      Dad and I never watched sports together or discussed teams. СКАЧАТЬ