The Butcher's Daughter

Chapter 5

Tommy Martin was adrift on a sea of seemingly unsolvable long division problems when he heard a knock on his door. "It's open," he hollered, allowing his eyes to stray from his textbook and across the mess of dirty laundry and discarded sneakers on his bedroom floor. "So, you can either come in or beat it!"

Benny was normally displeased with this sort of jargon, but didn't appear to be bothered this time. The door cracked open and he beheld the delightfully uncommon sight of Tommy doing his homework. "Son?"

Tommy folded his arms across his chest. Usually, his father only started sentences with the word "Son" when he was very proud or very disappointed. Since Tommy was certain that he hadn't done anything worthy of pride for as far back as he could remember, he braced himself for whatever reprimand he had earned. "What did I do this time?"

As Benny navigated his way through the clutter, he refused to make any sort of eye contact with his son. At least, until he knelt and they were face to face. "I just got off the phone with Miss Zipp. Apparently, Miss Casey had her baby this morning," he said, lowly.

"And you're telling me this... why?" Tommy glanced back at his textbook and pretended to re-engage with it. Hearing anything about Marigold since their last encounter in the schoolhouse was difficult- even more so than it had been after her marriage. He'd sought closure during that meeting, but gained nothing of the sort. He was just as in love with her now as he always had been. "Boy or girl?" Tommy managed to ask.

"A little girl. Premature, but strong."

"Well..." his frustration with his father's "hovering" was beginning to show. "Extend my congrats, I guess."

"There's more," Benny looked at the edge of the textbook that Tommy was shuffling nervously with his fingertips. The fidget grew worse as he hunted for the right words to say. "Son, sometimes there are complications with pregnancies that put both the baby and the mother at risk. Miss Casey suffered one of those complications," he could see the color in Tommy's face drain and a sudden flash of fear enter his usually mocking blue eyes. When he grabbed hold of his hand, Benny found that his palm was sweaty and cold. "Marigold is gone. She passed away."

"That's a lie!" He pushed Benny's hand away with force. "You're lying to me, Father! You're lying!" Tears came next, washing a red, angry hue across the young man's face. "Please," he begged, still sitting, but preparing to escape from his now claustrophobic work space, "please tell me that this is nothing but a lie!"

"I'm so sorry." Benny shook his head.

Tommy covered his face, for just an instant. Then, he flipped his desk and all of its contents over onto the floor. Before falling to the ground in a heap, to cry, he swung the chair into the edge of his nightstand, causing splintered plywood to fall down around them like sharp pieces of jagged rain. His hands searched for something else to destroy, simply for the pleasure of seeing something other than his heart and soul shatter before his eyes. But Benny grabbed him and cut his anger short.

Feeling the balance of his weeping son fail caused Benny's eyes to sweat. He held Tommy close, closer than he had ever held him before. "I'm sorry," he would repeat, occasionally. The cries, so mournful and pained that Tommy released, escaladed and echoed through the house. Every now and then, there would be a lull when his energy failed; but Tommy continued to revisit his father's words. They echoed in his mind like his cries did in his messy room: "Marigold is gone. She passed away." And Tommy would weep again.

"I love her," he confessed upon remembering how to form words and thoughts. "I've loved her every day from the day we met. Everyone- even you, Father, treat it like infatuation. But I really, truly love her! With everything that I am!" He dove, this time, into his father's chest to tremble and sob as though he had been brutally injured.