Failings of the Fathers: 19

A few days had passed, and Timothy called Todd, with information.  "I've closed the blind trust," he said.  "The funds won't be able to be touched."

"That's good.  I'm going to need some liquidity.  The kids are going to college after next year."

"I know.  I thought of that.  I also got ya the number ya wanted.  The lawyer, Adams?  He is still in the business, believe it or not.  A little older than I am."

"All right," he said, taking a pen out of his drawer to copy the number.  After writing it down, he looked at it again.  "Do you know his first name?"

"Robert."

"Thanks for this.  I'll call him later, it's still early."

"That's a good idea."

"Hope I find out something.  Maybe Connie has information."

"She may.  And she may not.  How's everything else there?"

"Fine.  Blair's still on bedrest, will be until Jewel makes an appearance.  The kids are fine, Momma's great now that I assured her."

"How did ya do that?"

"I told her if Peter was ever alive, I'd kill him."

"I see, that ought ta do it."

"Yep."

"So much has happened.  There's no telling what will happen next, My Boy."

"I don't want to think about that."

"What, that he's alive?"

"Even the possibility."

"He can't hurt ya now.  He's an old man, he's past his prime."

"That's not why."

"Then what?"

"I'll actually have to kill him."

Timothy went silent.  Then he said, "Not necessarily."

"What else would you have me do after all the bastard's done to me and to my mother?  Problem is, I promised Blair no more of that.  No more leaving her and the kids.  When you kill someone, you go to jail.  Well, most people do, anyway."

"I don't like this talk.  First, ya don't know he's living.  Second, ya don't know what ya'd do until it happened.  Third, ya have too much to live for to be bothered with this tripe."

"Is it wrong that I hope he's dead in the ground?"

"No.  I'd say not.  But that's likely the case, and ya'll find that out soon enough."

"I know.  All this dream shit, it's probably nothing.  We're all close, we all have these fears."

"That's right," Timothy said, encouraging Todd.  "Find the woman and put it all to rest, at last."

"That's the plan, Old Man."

"Well, get on it.  Can't find the truth soon enough."

After the phone call, Todd felt lighter.  Timothy was right; Peter was dead, and to reassure everyone was Todd's task.  To reassure himself was the part of it he didn't want to think about.  Focusing on that would just bring everything back up that he'd work so hard to clear his mind from.  He fingered the phone number on the slip of paper he held.  He looked at the clock on his desk.  Nine a.m.  It was still early to call.  For a moment, he pictured telling Blair, and immediately pulled back when the thought of her becoming agitated reminded him of a certain rose-quartz statue in the Llanview Cemetary.  No.  Blair and the baby come first right now.  No need scaring her.  

Sam appeared at the door.  "Hey, Dad!"

"Hey Sam."  He did a double take.  "Sam?  Aren't you supposed to be at school?  It's after nine."

"Didn't you hear, Dad?  We're getting a big old storm.  And they closed all the schools.  Even mine."

"Even yours, huh?"  He smiled to himself.

"Yep.  It's going to start in a little while and be really bad tonight.  Like a blizzard."

"Sounds like more igloos and more forts."

"Yeah!  Except . . ."

"What's the matter, Buddy?"

"I won't jump in it."

"I think that's smart.  I don't want you to ever do something like that again."

"I won't.  Dad?"

"Yep?"

"Dad, when you were digging me out of the snow, and Mixie helped, why were your hands hurt?"

He looked at his middle son, and realized that after all the time that had passed, the trauma of that day hadn't.  "Come here," he said.

Sam walked to his desk, and Todd effortlessly lifted him to his knee and sat him there.  "Ice can be very sharp.  Sometimes, it can cut you, if it's cold enough, and then when your hands get cold, they don't melt the ice very well.  It just . . . your skin doesn't like it."

"When you were digging, did you think I was dead?"

Sam's eyes were round and his expression so innocent, Todd had to look away a moment.  Peter Manning won't ever get even a finger on him.  "Yeah, I did.  I mean, I was afraid of that."

"How did I look?"

"You looked like you do now, except still, and you were a little less pink."

"Oh."

Sam got very quiet, so Todd said, "So, why are you asking?"

"I don't know.  I think about it sometimes."

"I think about it, too.  Sometimes."

Sam looked right into his face.  "If I died, would I see Sommer?"

Todd swallowed, "Yeah, I guess you would, but that won't be for many years, Sam."

"Will she know me?"

"Yes, she'll know you.  I mean, I think.  They say she will."

"What is it like when you're dead?"

He ran his tongue over his upper teeth, and then said, "You don't need to worry about that."

"I'm not worried.  I just want to know."

"I don't know what it's like.  I guess you have to be dead to know, and then, how would you tell anyone?"

Sam thought.  "Yeah.  That's true.  Was I dead, Dad?  For any time?"

Todd was fearful of answering the question in a way that could make Sam's fears worse.  "No.  You weren't ever dead, Sam."

"Okay.  Were you?"

"Me?  I don't know, I don't think so.  I know I was close."

"In Ireland, when Mom went to get you?  Remember, you came back to us in the park?"

"Yeah, I remember.  Maybe.  But listen, we focus on who's alive and with us, okay?  The rest is nothing to worry about right now."  Yeah, Manning, take your own advice.

"Okay, Dad."  He hugged Todd around the neck.  "I am glad Grandma Bitsy is not dead."

"Me too, Sam."  He said, as the boy got down from his lap.

"I'm going to bug Jack.  He thinks he can sleep in.  Boy is he wrong," Sam said, running off.

Todd got up and looked out the window.  The sky was clouded over with large, gray tufts, and the wind was howling against the trees and the house.  "He's right, a storm is probably due."  He surveyed, once again, the home he had made for all of them.  The gazebo was blending into its surroundings in the wintry grays and whites.  The pool was covered, there were still remnants of piles of snow around, and one particularly tall one next to the house, where Sam had jumped.  One side was lopped from the digging, and it still stood, steadfast, in the cold.  When does this winter end up here on Llantano Mountain?

He walked out of The Sun home office and went to the bedroom.  When he peeked in, she was just coming out of the shower.  "Hey, beautiful."

"Hey, handsome.  What's up?"

"You all right?"

"Sure, I'm great.  Just going to get something to eat after I dry off and dress."

"Why don't we all hang up here again?  It's going to storm, it's going to be a winter wonderland.  We'll be able to see the snow from here.  All schools are closed, 'even Sam's.'"

She smiled, "He got you with that too, huh?"

"Yeah."  He walked to the fireplace and put wood into it.  "I need another cord of wood delivered.  I'll have them bring it out before it starts.  Cord.  I hate that word, for some reason."  He gave her the side eye while putting more wood into the fireplace.

She turned and smiled at him.  "Why?  He never came close to you in here where it counts," she touched her chest.

"Eh, the white hat cowboy still bugs me."

"It's so long ago!"

"Yeah, well, he was always everything I'm not."

"Right. Including my man,"  She slipped her hands into his hair, standing behind him.

"You shouldn't really do that, you know."

"What, touch you?"

"No, get me going."

"Oh, stop," she said, playfully pushing his head away from her.  "All right, we'll hang up here.  That seems like a great idea.  It's always nice to have the boys close, and us just safe in here and warm."

"Yep."  

And that's the way it's going to stay.

***

In the few days that had passed, Aiden had done well getting back on his feet.  That afternoon, he made his way to the cafeteria, and spied Malcolm, just getting up from the table with his tray, and Calvin, still sitting, hunched over a cup of coffee.  He sat down.   "Coffee in the afternoon, Mate?"

"What's it to you?"  Calvin said, sipping from his cup.

"Nothing.  I see ya have that same friendly way about ya the first day we met."

"What makes you think I'm friendly?"  He said, straight-faced, but decidedly sarcastic.

"Where's Miguel?"

"In solitary or something."

"What is that about, eh?"

"Cracked up.  The kid's gay."  Calvin said, with an air of evident disgust.

"Gay?  Ya mean overly happy, or . . ."

"Gay.  Likes men?"

"Why did he crack up, then?"

"His parents won't come to see him.  No one from his family will.  He lost it."

"Ah."  Aiden was concerned for Miguel, but it was clear that Calvin wasn't letting on whether he was or not.  His answers were straight and to the point.  "Where was Malcolm off to?"

"I don't know, why don't you ask him?"

"I just might.  Ya seem cheesed off all the time."

"I am.  It's the beauty of knowing me."

"Well, I don't think I've seen ya smile, not even once."

"Nope."

Aiden drank his orange juice.  His head was still bandaged in places around the exploratory surgery site.  "Don't ya want to know about my surgery?"

Calvin made no effort to look in his direction.

"I passed.  But there are some troubles.  Something is causing the memory lapses."

"Tough for you."

"It seems.  We'll get to the bottom of it though."

"Yep."

"So, what has ya cheesed off, then?"

"Someone's pissed me off.  Personal."

"I'm sorry," Aiden said, feeling a particular chill go down his spine.  "Care to talk about it?"

"No," the older man said, putting the cup down and looking out the window.

"Well, I see.  Just looking for some company, I was.  Nothing to bother about." 

Aiden picked up his tray, and Calvin said, "Who said you had to leave?"

"Well, no one, but I think it's best.  I'm the opposite of ya, Calvin, old man.  I'm friendly and like to talk."

Calvin looked at him, without turning his head much.  "So, talk.  Just stop asking questions."

***

"Mr. Adams?  I am not sure you'll remember me.  My name is Todd Manning."

"Todd Manning?"  There was a pause.  "Yes, in fact, I do, Mr. Manning.  The last I remember of you, however, you were a twenty-something bitter young man."

"Yeah, that sounds like me.  I called you because I have a request."

"If I can."

"I wanted to know the last known address for my father's fiance, Connie?  The woman named in his will, who got everything?  I have to speak with her.  It's urgent."

"This is all a matter of public record, but I must say, I am not certain that it's fair of me to reveal her whereabouts."

"Well, in the interest of that, I'd be willing to just have her last name.  I'm an investigative reporter now, I inherited my biological father's estate.  I own a newspaper, and I can certainly find her myself."

"Connie Bensonhurst, of course.  That was her name.  I remember all of this clearly.  I had several dealings with her after your father's death."

"She got everything," he said, realizing he sounded like the same, bitter kid.

"She did."

"Are you aware of the house being abandoned by her and boarded up?"

He seemed to fidget for a moment on the other end.  "Yes, I'm aware of that."

"I have a great deal of curiosity about why she did that."

"Likely that she did not want the home, so she just left it."

"Why not sell?  It would have been worth at least one hundred thousand then, maybe more."

"I don't think I am at liberty to say much," the lawyer responded.

"Listen, I've been through Hell about Peter Manning.  Not only when you knew, but before it, for years, and after it, now.  Everything he did, it's come back to haunt me in my adult life.  You said yourself, all those years ago, he wasn't up for The Father of the Year Award."

He became quiet.  "No, he wasn't.  I knew your father many years."

"Yeah, well, he wasn't my father, turns out.  He was my adoptive father.  You probably know that."

"I . . . heard.  Yes."

"Well, Peter Manning has done things . . . let's just say, I'm interested in where Connie is, and why the house was abandoned."

He cleared his throat.  "Mr. Manning, I'm sorry for the troubles you have faced.  I knew Peter for many years, and I was never fond of his tactics where you were concerned."

"Tactics.  I've heard it called a lot of things . . ."

"Nevertheless, I can tell you that Ms. Bensonhurst closed the house because she was not pleased with what she found there.  And, that is all I can say at this time."

Todd's hair stood slightly on end.  "I guess that's more than enough.  We both know what we're talking about here, so why bother pulling punches?  So, she knew."

"She knew about the house, yes.  She was not willing to do the work required to get it prepared for sale, so she just walked."

"I see.  Well, thank you, Mr. Adams, for talking with me.  You really didn't have to, and I do appreciate the little you were able to tell me."

"Mr. Manning, for what it's worth, I wish you and your family much luck."

"Thank you."

Luck isn't the half of it, Buddy.  You don't know.  Connie, I'll find you, I promise you that.

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