spectator. [hs]

two

Wednesday, July 25th, 1978.

     After one week, Detective Wallace still hasn't paid a visit. I gave my dad the number to call as soon as he came home from work Wednesday. At supper, he pried at me the entire time, asking exactly what Detective Wallace said and asked of me before he left. I was honest with him. Had I not been, I'm sure nothing would've made sense from then on.

"He said he wanted to assign you a lawyer..?" I told my father as I held the fork in my right hand. I was watching him, keeping still. His expression changed, his eyebrows knitting together. "He said despite that there's been over fifty investigations in mom's case.. that none of them have realized what's right in front of their eyes," I stopped, almost feeling guilty for saying that. "Or something like that."

   The time was reaching six, and I heard dad's truck engine from the grass I was sat in. I leaned up, closing shut my book in my hands. I didn't even bother moving the bookmark. I rose to my feet, now running through the grass feeling it tickle my legs. I noticed someone else leave the passenger's seat of the truck.

  I reduced the speed I was running, letting my body come to halt as I tried to see who it was.

   I didn't know from here, but I could tell it wasn't Detective Wallace.

    His dark hair blew around in the wind, not too long. He wore a suit, checkered with a pair of nice loafers from what I could see. His back was faced my direction, so I couldn't see his face. I would know if I had my glasses, I huffed in annoyance at my own irresponsibility. Even reading, I squinted instead of just taking my glasses with me.

  I chuckled to myself when I finally could recognize the familiar man now standing in our yard. It was our church pastor, Russell Rodgers.

   I sensed the conversation fading away as I approached the two. "Oh, there she is," I heard in dad's deep voice. Pastor Russell turned his head my direction, his expression immediately radiating a natural felicity he always has. "Ah, hello Kennedy, how are you doing today?"

  I grinned. "I'm good," I snuck a peer at my dad. "And yourself?"

   "I'm great," he beamed. I wasn't surprised. "I'm so thankful you both are here. I was hoping to talk to you both for a few minutes." He requested shortly after that we head to the porch where he would elaborate on why he payed a visit.

  I took a seat on the swing next to my dad after offering Pastor Russell a glass of water.

  He took a seat across from us, sitting in the wooden rocking chair that my mom always used to sit in when she snapped beans, or folded the laundry. I wanted to get rid of it, because at first it only would upset me every time I took a peek at it. However, I soon realized it wasn't something we could easily get rid of. It had a great deal of sentimental value in it.

   "I wanted to come by to pay my dues for your wife, John, and your mother, Kennedy," I could feel a lump rising in my throat. Keep it together, Ken. "I understand it's been a year.. last Wednesday, I believe, and I know how grief affects everyone differently, so I beg your pardon if this comes across insensitive of me but I wanted to tell you how proud I am of both of you. Just for keeping your lives going. And I know there's probably been hard times, really hard times," I nodded at this, which he acknowledged. "But I've been praying for you both everyday, even before then, and I hope that you're both focusing on the brighter side of the situation."

   "We have each other," my dad said from beside me. I couldn't hide the smile that crept onto my lips as I looked over at him. He grinned back. "And that's what's kept me going."

  "I mean," dad shuffled his feet below him. I could always tell when he was nervous or uncomfortable. That's what he would do. "Everyday I get up and think, 'would today be different if she was still here?' But I don't know the answer, and I never do.."

   Pastor Russell always listened attentively to whoever he was speaking with, even if it was a three year old child rambling on about something pointless like a piece of candy. He was genuinely kind and treated everyone the same, with respect.

   "And you probably never will." Pastor Russell stated.

   My dad nodded from his stance. "Probably not."

   Pastor Russell began talking about an old library director to my dad, giving vivid details of the meetings, since my dad had attended them. He mentioned a new set of scheduled meetings coming soon to the church. "I hope you can join us, John, and of course you're welcome to come too, Ken."

   I gave Pastor Russell a grateful smile as I politely nodded my head. "Thank you."

   I stayed quiet again while my dad asked Pastor Russell about the new meetings. He asked what time they would be, where they would be, who was on the committee this year. Pastor Russell answered every question with a thorough, well-said answer.

   After a few minutes, Pastor Russell adjusted his suit, straightening out his tie. "Well," he pressed his hand along his coat jacket. "I should be going now."

  Dad and I both walked Pastor Russell to the car.

  "I'll see you this Sunday, Kennedy. It was very delightful to talk to you today. Thank you both for allowing me the time to speak with you." He thanked us both continuously. I couldn't help but snicker when dad finally led him to the passenger seat as a nice way of helping him to shut up.

  Dad shut the door for him, before facing me with raised eyebrows. "I'll be back in a few minutes. I'm going to take him back to the church, and then I'm going to get something for dinner, okay? Will you be okay here for a little bit?"

  I nodded assuringly. "Yeah."

  "Alright," dad lifted his hand to point to the barn doors. "Don't forget to feed Barkley and Scout. Scout might need a quick brush, too." He instructed on our horses inside of the barn.

   I confirmed I would check on them and feed them while he was gone. And after I convinced him I would be fine, he got into the driver's seat and started up the truck. I turned away and walked up the two stairs to the backdoor. Dad pulled out into the small road, and beeped the horn softly before waving through the window.

  I waved back before heading into the kitchen where I prepared to eat anything I could find. Our horses meant a lot to me, but when I became hungry, no one's feelings were of any meaning or relevance to me.