Just a Happy Ending

Phone Call

Henry's throat locked up.

"Hello?"

"Y-yes, uhh... hello," Henry managed to stutter.

"Who is this?"

Do you not recognize your father's voice? Henry wanted to ask. "Uh... I was hoping to speak to your father."

"Oh. I'm sorry, sir. My father's been dead for about four years now."

"Really? How?"

"He went to visit a friend up in New York. The house caught fire and neither of them made it out."

"Any clue how it happened?"

"Dunno."

Henry glanced at his left hand. "Did they... recover your father's ring? I know it meant a lot to him."

"Uh... no offense, sir, but that's not really your business. Who are you?"

"Right. Sorry. I'm—..." I'm your father, Jon! I'm alive! "I'm an old friend. I hadn't heard from him in a while."

"Oh. Yeah, sorry."

"Uh... about his ring?"

"No, they didn't find it. Firemen figured it melted. Though you ask my mother, she doesn't think it was there in the first place and the body they found wasn't my dad."

"That's quite a story. What do you believe?"

Jon sighed a deep, drawn-out sigh. "I'm not sure. It's hard to deny the evidence but... my mom is so sure. She's still waiting for him."

"Because he told her to wait for him." Henry sat down, his knees weak and chest aching. "Before he left, 'wait for me,' he said."

"That's... right." There was a long pause. Jon's voice sounded tight as he started speaking again. "We drew cartoons. They were my dad's and he let me draw them."

"You gave Bendy a tail and wings," Henry said, his heart beating faster. "Boris got fluffy fur and long, droopy ears. Alice had giant wings I could never figure out how to draw right. We called them Jon-models."

Another stretch of silence. A breathy sound that was either a laugh or a sob crackled through the speaker. "Dad?"

"You're still waiting?"

"Y-yeah... yeah, we are."

Henry covered his mouth with his palm, tears burning his eyes and immediately flowing down his face.

"Dad, I swear, you better have one hell of a story to explain this."

"You have no idea," Henry said, laughing through the tears. "I-is your mother there? Can I talk to her?"

"She's at Aunt Ange's house until tomorrow. But I can call her! I can tell her!"

Henry shook his head. "No, not right now. As much as I want to, let her sleep tonight."

"Fine. But... you are coming home, right?"

Henry paused. Of course he was coming home. But... how, exactly? And was he going to be bringing everyone with him? "Yes, of course. Uh... I'm not exactly sure how, but I am coming home."

"Where are you right now?"

Henry lowered the receiver. "Hey, Janet? Where are we?"

"Corner of nothing and nowhere, Ohio."

"Ohio," Henry said to Jon.

"... Ohio?"

"Yeah."

"... Why?"

"Ehm... long story."

Janet thunked a baking tray onto the counter. "Better not be on there too long, bucko," she said with a glower. "Long distance ain't cheap."

Henry hugged the receiver to his ear. "Jon, I have to go."

"You better be coming back. We've waited for you."

"I know. And I am. I swear, I am. Just... wait for me a little longer, okay? I'm coming home soon."

"Okay."

Henry's grip shifted. Neither of them wanted to hang up. "I love you, Jon."

"Love you too, dad. I'll see you soon. Or else I'm going to burn Ohio looking for you."

"Heh. That shouldn't be necessary."

"It better not. We'll be waiting."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye—"

The line cut. Henry looked up at Janet who had her hand on the phone holster. He gave her a disapproving look which she ignored and turned her back on. She marched to the bottom of the stairs and shouted up that food was ready.

Henry gently set the phone back into place. His thoughts swarmed through his mind like moths in a jar. He stared at his hands. Did that call really happen? He talked to his son. It had been four years since he'd left and only now had he phoned home out of the blue from the middle of nowhere. All because his old business partner decided to play a little game.

Four years. The world thought he'd been dead for four years. Granted, his world was fairly small, but it meant everything to him and it thought him dead. Would his family even recognize him? Was he the same man that asked them to wait for him? He'd changed so much, and not just because there was ink on his hands.

Did any of that matter? He talked to his son. His family knew he was alive. They'd waited all this time.

And now they knew he was coming home.

A smile brightened Henry's face. He was going home.

He was free. And he was going home.

He wept through the first real meal he'd eaten in years. He didn't hear the conversation around him. He felt an emotional signal every now and then, but even that didn't quiet the moths in his mind.

He was free. He was going home.

They were still waiting for him.

And he was going home.