Daddy's Little Killer

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

We nibbled. Flirted. Drank two bottles of wine. Somehow I drifted from the safety of my chair to the end of the sofa. Eventually, both of us gravitated toward the center. Todd liked to talk, and the more wine he drank, the more he did it. I learned that his best friend was a man named Crevan, that his mentor was Tony from, and I quote, "another life" which no amount of wine could pry out of him, and Todd spoke of his parents with great reverence.

At last, a topic I understood and shared his pain of separation. My reasons were different of course. Todd's parents died almost two decades ago. 

"Cancer," he said softly. "My mom died from pancreatic cancer. They tell me it's one of the worst kinds a person could get. I don't know much about it other than that it took my mom faster than any of us were prepared for." He sipped his wine. "Dad took it harder than I would've imagined. I know I joked about marriage before, but if my parents were the standard, I guess that's why I've never taken the plunge."

"I don't understand."

"It's hard to find someone I could feel that connected to, you know? I mean, when Mom died, I have no doubt that the biggest part of Dad died the same day. He was never the same afterward. I don't think he knew how to live without her."

My experience with Marie and Wendell was quite different. To my knowledge, Dad was alive and well in upstate New York. Losing the woman who tried to murder him hadn't killed him. Two years on Riker's Island and seventeen years in state prison hadn't done it either. Not even the state of New York had been able to kill Wendell Eriksson.

"So what happened to your dad?" I let my fingers dance along the back of his hand. Warm skin, sinew beneath leapt a little at the light touch.

"He went up into the mountains and died."

"Suicide?" Such a dire question deserved soft and reverent utterance.

"Not actively. He wasn't found for a long time."

"I'm so sorry, Todd."

"Yeah," he said. "I was really close to my father. More than Mom, I think. Don't get me wrong. I loved her dearly and worshipped the ground she walked on. But there's something about fathers and sons."

"Fathers and daughters too," I spoke softly. Missing Wendell had been on my mind almost every second of every day for the past two years. I felt him inside me, a living, breathing entity that spoke his words of wisdom to guide me through life's deepest pain. By the average person's standard, my father was the embodiment of pure evil. To me, he was the father who loved me, who brushed away my tears and kissed scraped knees. He imparted the wisdom of a lifetime, even if his moral code was twisted when compared to the norm of society. 

His fingers threaded through mine. "You were close to him?"

I nodded. "Sometimes I miss him so much I feel like I would do anything to be with him again."

"You mean..."

"No, I'm not suicidal." And it would literally be suicide to show up at Attica for a face-to-face with my father. "I only wish that things had been different."

"What about your mother?"

I shrugged. "We weren't close. Not like I was with Dad. My mother was very religious." A contradiction that bordered on obscene if I thought about it too much. Off robbing armored cars by night, typing up the church newsletter by day. 

"And your dad?"

"He loved science." Insert forensic natural. My dad could cover his tracks from the best of the best. "And he put his foot down with my mom when it came to exposing me to all of her superstitious stuff."