Sanford Crow

CHAPTER 25

Every road, corner, and landmark came to him with total recall. Ever since they got off the main highway, Sadie watched her father as he'd point to a random building and give a tale of his adolescence. They were mostly fun and quirky, afterthoughts of a world gone bad.

He sought out his old elementary school and retold the story of a bully on the playground who tried to intimidate the wrong boy. "Just one good punch to the nose, and he never bullied me or anyone else again."

"Just like you told me to do, Daddy!" Sadie exclaimed.

"That's right, sweetheart. And those little girls never bothered you again, right?"

"Right! I made that Courtney girl run for the hills."

"You see, sometimes violence is the answer, just don't tell your mother I said that."

They both laughed. He hadn't known what to expect being back there, how he would take being home, where it all began.

Home, is that what this is?

What he knew is that his mind was a wildcard, erratic and overly sensitive, like an old used car, susceptible to breakdowns at any given moment. The fact that Sadie was with him was irresponsible enough, but he had hoped that since she was there, he'd be able to hold it together; she'd be able to hold him together.

Since Sanford left Sanford, both had gone in different directions. The town looked as if it were trying to keep up with the rest of the world but didn't know how. The old tire shop became a dollar store, the local pharmacy turned into a CVS; two Wal-marts were built on the opposite ends of the town. The movie theater—where he and Eric spent countless hours—still stood, but as an empty shell in a rundown building.

"What was once joyous, is joyous no more," Sanford said out loud, wishing he only thought it. When his father's words came out of his mouth, it left him with a nasty taste.

"What does that mean?" Sadie asked.

"What? Oh, just reminiscing is all."

Sadie drew her attention back to the window, having enough wherewithal to stop pursuing the question. Sanford loved that about her.

"Dad?" she called fragilely.

Her next question was one he was not prepared for, but one he expected.

"Yes, honey?"

"Um..." She took her time, trying to find the right words. Sanford could tell she was just as scared as he was about it. The light ahead turned red and they came to a stop. Sadie took a few breaths and continued, "How come you never... you know... tell me about your family?"

His foot turned heavy, frozen on the brake pedal. A car behind them honked its horn when the light turned green and they stayed put. He never wanted to lie to his daughter; he thought lies were the quickest way to lose her. Though lies and secrets were two entirely different things. He had always kept her in the dark, in a safe and empty room, where the truth couldn't touch her and couldn't hurt her. Never once had he thought to mention his father, much like Jonathan had never talked about his own. Now that the question was out, lying was not an option. He decided it was time for her to know.

They drove quietly for ten torturous minutes. Sanford's eyes led the way, concentrating, remembering how to get there, amazed at how easily it had all come back. When he turned on to the street, each house told its story. The neighbors that never knew until it was too late, and how they had made those cliché statements to the papers like "They were always such a nice family"; "He always seemed so normal"; "I never once suspected it."