Crooked Man

S I X T Y O N E

As we walk closer to the center of the town with Owen Abbot, I look around me. The old buildings and nice little cafés, cute morning rush of people trying to get to work, the warm weather and the soft and delicious smell of fresh bread.

Ah, I think. It's like I'm on vacation. But I know I'm not. I have a mission. I don't know what happens afterwards but we'll see what time brings us.

"Hey, Melody?" He says suddenly, startling me. "Where do you come from?"

I point to the forest with my finger. "From behind the forest, Mr. Abbot."

"Call me Owen. And you-you come from Harrington?" He asks, surprised.

"Yeah, you know Harrington?"

"Sure I do. I once...I once lived there..." He lowers his voice saying that. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and puts it into his pocket, realizing he hadn't even lighted it yet. "Nice place, it was."

"... So you have a...like..." I stop myself. Is it too early to ask if he has kids?

"Family?" He says, smiling. "No."

No. No? NO? NO?!

"This place is good!" He exclaims, showing me a place to sit in a medieval themed café. "We can eat here."

"Okay." I say, trying not to show my disappointment. I don't know why I wanted him to be a father. My father, actually.

I examine his face under the now risen sun. His big, green eyes shining. His brown, pompadour style hair newly washed. His "not shaved in some time" looking beard. He doesn't look his age. I mean, he must be middle aged, right?

I decide I must ask more.

"Why did you live in Harrington?"

"Harrington." He mumbles, not looking me in the eye. "It was a long time ago. I can't even remember."

It's gotta be him. It just has to. He looks exactly like Anna, talks the exact way mom used to. And every picture I saw of him, although they weren't too clear and I couldn't quite see his face, he had always had the same hairstyle and the same eyes.

My mom used to tell me about him. What he did for a living, how they met and how happy they were. She just never told me anything about him leaving. Why he left. How, he left.

"You had a wife or something over there?" I ask, impatiently. I have to know.

Just then the waiter comes and asks for our order. I order the cheapest but most delicious of all. Omelette. As the bold waiter in a tux walks away. I repeat my question.

"Did you have a wife there?"

"You ask a lot." He says, glancing at me sharply. "It gets...it gets annoying."