Failings of the Fathers: 26

Morning came, and Todd had been able to finally fall asleep, but it was well past 3:00 a.m.  It had been close to two when Blair's phone finally disconnected, and up until then, he'd been listening to her in the dark, fighting sleep in avoidance of possible dreams.  None came, and he slept a few hours, uninterrupted.

Sleeping without her seemed to throw him back to times when sleep could never come.  He'd be up, at The Sun office, in the middle of the night, working and expecting others to do the same.  He'd avoided sleep throughout his life, and had learned to go without.  Recently, he'd settled into the comfort of having her near him, and accepting sleep as a more regular part of his life.  Being without her, this night, or any other, brought him back to those times.  He didn't like the feeling.  He didn't like being apart from his family.  Not with the chance that . . .

Momma was so distraught.  She thinks she knows something.  How do we know she's wrong?  Or, how do we know she's not just losing her mind again?

He got up, and showered, and coming out from the steamy bathroom, with a towel around his waist, he saw his phone flashing.  Going to it, he'd missed a call from Blair, and dialed it back.  "Hey."

"Hi.  Morning, Daddy, I sent you a picture of Jewel with her eyes wide open this morning, looking for you."  Blair said.  Her voice is everything to me.  Has been, since . . .  "You there?" she interrupted his thoughts.

"Yep, just getting out of the shower, here, Mommy.  I'll look at the picture when we're off the phone."

"She's so cute, Todd, she's just so alert."

"What's smaller than a peanut?"  he said, contemplating nicknames.

"I don't know, a soybean?"

"Maybe.  She's my little precious gem, though.  A diamond chip."

"I'll agree.  The kids are gone to school already.  I guess you and I fell asleep on the phone."

"You fell asleep on the phone.  I listened to you breathing for a while.  Believe it not, it helped."

"Are you okay?"

"As good as I could be, here.  It's creepy just being in this place."

"I can imagine."  She felt for him, and realized he was struggling with his past and the demons that crept into him when he was away from his family.  "It's just one day, and then you'll be home.  Are you staying the night?"

"Heck no.  I'm talking to the old woman and getting back there."

"I didn't think you'd be staying. I just wanted you to feel like you could, if you had to."

"You know, I don't even remember what Connie looks like much."

"You don't have to.  Just go ahead, be strong, and it will be over soon."

"If I had to be here longer, I'd go crazy here, without you and the kids.  This place is Hell on the planet."

"What time do you plan to go and see her?"

"As soon as I can.  If she's not there, well, I'll wait."

"I suppose you're not calling and announcing yourself?"

"Nah.  Wouldn't want to scare the wicked witch off."

"Be careful.  Just get the facts and then you'll be back with us by dinner, maybe, or at least tonight."

"I will.  I'll call you and let you know what's up."

"I was just going to ask that.  I'd want to know.  Keep in touch."

"I will.  Love you."

"Love you, too."

Hanging up was difficult, and he turned to the messaging program to see the photo.  There was Jewel with her eyes open, and Blair, looking so like she did at the wedding at St. James, with her face lit up with happiness.  A large smile was across her face, watching her daughter.

His phone bleeped.  Another picture.  When he opened it, his three sons were on the screen, each making a crazy face.  Ray had his tongue out, Sam crossed his eyes and put his thumbs in his ears, and Jack put his teeth out, as if bucked, and got hold of Sam's glasses.  He laughed, and texted them back.

I love you all. Take care of your mother, and Jewel.

He tossed the phone onto the bed, and got dressed.

***

Timothy went into the cafeteria, making careful pains not to bring attention to himself, and spotted them.  There, in the corner by the window, were Malcolm and Calvin, already digging in to their dinners.  Fortunately, for Timothy, they had their backs to the entrance, both of them opting to face the view instead of each other.

He got his tray, put together a meal for himself, and went to the table behind them.  He put his tray down quietly, and took his newspaper out, hiding behind it.  It would be the perfect excuse for him to be able to say that he never saw them, if they noticed him.

His plan was to listen to whatever they said, and try and determine if Tina could be right.  There was nothing to say they were not just regular guys, in the clinic for various ailments.  And there was nothing to say that they were not planted there to take out his son, once and for all.  He inserted his eavesdropper into his ear, and sat.

He ate, silently, reading his paper.  He could hear them, clearly.  Nothing about anything of importance. The scenery.  The quality of the food, or lack thereof.  Miguel's plight.  Calvin seemed to have a great deal of trouble with the younger man's sexual orientation.  Malcolm seemed to be melancholy, reminiscing about something from the past, hard to make out.  Something about being a child, in London.  Calvin complaining again.  Not enough salt.  Aiden's name had not yet come up . . .  

Timothy was interrupted by a familiar and rather loud voice, "Can you put that paper down and make room for me?"

It was Tina.

He looked at her, with wide eyes.  Several patrons around them looked in their direction, including Malcolm, who noticed them and waved.  

Timothy put on the best show he could, saying, "Tina, Dear, without my glasses I'm afraid I can't see very far ahead of me.  I was so into my reading.  Accept my apologies."

"I accept," she said, in her sing-song way, and pulled up a chair.  She placed her tray down, and took out her lipstick.  Using it to write on her napkin, she scribbled, and Timothy rolled his eyes.  He read it:  We can listen in on their conversation.  If they're from the Men of 21 . . .

"Ya don't say," he said, picking up his BLT and eating it.

***

Todd put the address into his GPS, and headed off.  It was less than five miles from the motel to Connie Bensonhurst's sister's house.  He stopped, once for gas, that he didn't need, and the second time for coffee, that he ended up throwing out the car door.  Somehow, he was in no hurry to get there, so he drove slowly, going over in his mind the birth of his daughter.  He still got a lump in his throat when he came to the scene where he actually held her in his hand for the first time and saw her cry in the firelight.  He could also see, in his memory, Blair, so tired and looking so beautiful with his daughter on her chest, half lucid from the pain and hard work. 

Let's get this over with, so you can get home to them.  Stop with this scared stuff.

The house was a small Cape Cod, not much different from the others in suburban Chicago.  It was well kept, trimmed with blue shutters against white, with evidence of coiffed shrubbery and neat landscaping.  He parked a short way down the street, and sat in the car.  "She's not going to take very well to seeing you, Manning," he said, catching his own eyes in the mirror.  "Or, is it that you won't take to seeing her?"

He flashed his phone at himself, catching glimpse of the home screen, where Blair's face was pressed against their baby daughter's. He rubbed the display area with his thumb.  "I'm almost done.  With all of this. The old man is dead, and Connie's going to say that same thing.  No sweat."

He got out of the car, and closed the door.  It sounded hollow in the wintry air.  In typical Chicago style, the sky was overcast gray, and the air was damp and chilled.  He put his hands into his front pants pockets, and huddled inside his coat to get warm.  He stood there, looking at the house.  He leaned on the rental car, and just studied the meticulous little home for a while.  

He could accept that he was scared to his bones.

He saw a woman look out, and see him, but he barely caught her face.  It should have prompted him to go to the door, or to leave, but he held back.  He knew what his apprehension was about, and he could face it; he didn't want to find out, somehow, that Peter was alive.  It would change everything.  It would make his children at risk, and his wife.  His mother.  Him.  It can't be.  Just go and get it over with.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, when a man opened the front door, as if to get the morning newspaper.  He looked up at Todd, and said, "Todd?"

"Excuse me, Sir?" Todd said.  In his shock, he stumbled over his words.

"My sister-in-law Connie recognized you.  What exactly do you want?"  The man said.

He thought.  "Peace," he said.

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