Fracture

Part 2

            An enchanting melody echoed through my ears, reverberating on the proverbial rolling walls and staircases. I walked through the unfamiliar hallways, my hands tracing the intricate wood, shadows dancing in the moonlight beneath my bare feet. Black and white marble tile stood smoothly, cool beneath my steps. As the melody stopped, I came to a white grand piano, gloriously sitting in the middle of a ballroom. The keys were stained and tarnished in blood and dirt. As my heart thundering the rhythmic pattern in my chest, I sat to play.

"So that's what you've been working on?" My father's voice was full of cheer and jollity. I shot straight up from my slumped position, leaning over stacks of paper, wiping the drool from my face. I stood up to welcome him, my arms wrapping instinctively around him. "I was wondering why I hadn't seen my youngest daughter in weeks." His smile always seemed to dance all the way from his eyes, rosy cheeks glinting in the sunlight as he thumbed through pages of unedited manuscript- the traces of my most recent novel.

"It's almost finished, just etching out a new ending. I'll let you read it when it's done, Daddy." I chuckled, pulling the papers from his palms. He threw his hands up in surrender before hugging me tightly once more.

"Sarah Nicola Kristoph, you need to do something about this condo. I thought you were paying someone to renovate it?" His eyes glimmered in the sun, shimmering an iridescent green before locking onto me.

"Samuel-" I let out a warning growl, using his first name. His meddling was all but welcomed; in fact, I hated it. "I'm a writer, I can't pay someone to renovate my condo. I can hardly pay my bills." His belly stiffened slightly with his sigh before grabbing my keys.

"You're better than this." He gestured to my outdated kitchen and dark shag carpet. His usually enthusiastic voice had turned solemn, almost still. He gestured for me to walk behind him, handing me the keys. I shuffled the manuscript papers into a neat stack on my kitchen table before tidying up the remainder of my kitchen. I hated messes; they always made me uncomfortable. With a smile and my purse, I walked into the brisk city streets with my father. Today was an especially difficult day. Every year, my father took me to dinner at my favorite restaurant, masking the memory of twenty years ago.

"Twenty years and nothing but dreams." My scoff echoed in the car, reverberating from the windows. "She left a 6 year-old girl on a fucking park swing and we celebrate with dinner." I could feel the tension rising. I hated today, but I never had the courage to say it.

"You haven't had those dreams in years, Sarah, it's time you learn to let it go- for your sake. Holding that bitterness can't be easy." His hand touched mine softly.

"I still have dreams, though, daddy. They're not about her, but, they're vivid. Almost real, daddy. I'm telling you, they're not normal." I whined, annoyed.

"Your therapist said they're fine. Just your brain's way of dealing with it." Daddy retorted, squeezing my hand yet again. "Besides, your mother had her reasons for leaving." In twenty years, despite what she did, my father never spoke ill of my mother. I knew he loved her, but how could you justify loving a woman who left your daughter alone in a park. He never remarried, never dated, and never spent time away from home. He was a loving, doting father and husband to a woman who all but died. Fuck, as far as I'm concerned, she did die.

"Look, Sarah, I know you hate her, but, it's not all on her. Let it go." My dad's knuckles were white from holding the steering wheel. With a quick jerk, he pulled into a parking space and pushed the gearshift into park.

"Let it go? Let it go?" An angry rumble rose like fire in my throat, roaring lava from my words. "Dad, you can't be fucking serious. I was 6 years old, sitting on a park swing. One moment she was there, the next- poof- she disappeared. Gone. And you, all you do is make some fucking excuses- oh forgive her- oh she had her reasons. Spare me the bullshit; I'm an adult. She fucking left. I was sick and she couldn't fucking deal." Tears began to well up into my eyes and I opened the door to walk out of the vehicle and into the restaurant. An uneasy feeling crept into the pit of my stomach before I felt two strong hands grip my waist and pull me back, slightly, turning me on my heels. Looking up, I saw a pair of steel-silver eyes, peering down at my eyes.

"Hello, Sarah." I turned to run to my father, my protector, my savior, but was pulled back by strong arms and the smell of warm cologne. I had turned to an empty parking space and the faint smell of exhaust. He was gone.