Kissing in a Dream

When the Bough Breaks

My place would be empty without Mongkut's laughter. Instead, I entered my father's home, put the code into the alarm then locked the door behind me. I moved through the place, remembering the same feelings I had as a child—cold, bleak, sterile.

Mongkut's house was a home. It had pictures on the walls and echoes of laughter down the halls. It had the warmth of a father's love though the relationship between father and son weren't bonded by DNA. I could still hear the way Mongkut giggled as his father told stories about him as a teen.

I was urged then to pull my phone to stare at the picture I'd taken of the two of them together. Mongkut's eyes brimmed with happiness and his father's had a pride I'd never seen in my father's eyes for me.

Using that picture as a boost, I rolled up my sleeve and set to work going through my father's things. His office had very little. Nothing on the walls, and the bookshelves stood bare. His bedroom was even worse. It had been years since I'd set foot in it. At sixteen, my father bought me a house and put me out with Tar as my bodyguard. The furthest I'd gotten into this house again, was the day I left for Canada.

The room was empty, furniture wise. Nothing but a bed, a bedside table and a lamp. The closet hung open with clothes on the floor. An Ashtray sat on the windowsill and I knew why. My father had started smoking in bed. The stench of stale smoke was still handing on in the air.

I looked into the closet and everything had been torn down. My mother had asked for it when they moved into the house and despite his dislike for her, he'd had a walk-in closet built for her. I supposed that was back in the days when he was still trying to be straight.

So far, there was nothing in the house worth keeping. I was hoping to find something of my mother's—a picture, earrings, a book with her name, something that might still smell like her—anything.

Instead, it was as though my father had stripped the house bare of anything of her. He'd buried all memories of her—the only thing left was me.

I looked like my mother—too much dark hair for my own good with eyes so wild, my grandmother thought a tiger with my father. As I played everything over in my head, I realized why he pushed me into the ground. He didn't love her, he loved him. I was the constant reminder of him not getting the man he wanted. I reminded him of my mother, of his broken heart and my father spent every day of my life, punishing me for it.

In the deepest, darkest corner of the closet, I found a little golden box. Arching a brow, I reached it and lifted it out. I sat on the floor inspected it to find there was no lock. My father was alone in this portion of the house—there was no need for secrets to be locked away.

Inside, I found an old, tattered photo of a man. It wasn't my father or anyone I'd seen before. I lifted it closer to my face, trying to scan through my memory. But he wasn't there.

On the back of the photo, someone had drawn a small heart. Setting that aside, I went through the box again and came back with a small, decorative bag. I set that on the floor in front of the box and pulled a man's ring. There was nothing special about it—just a simple, silver band.

At the bottom of the box was a letter, the envelop brown with age. I carefully slipped the letter from it and unfolded it.

Dearest P'Anu.

Nothing I say in this letter can mend your broken heart. And no matter what anyone around you say, I really do love you. But it was either sacrifice our hearts or my mother's life. I couldn't do that. I am ashamed to say I accepted your father-in-law's payment. The money should be able to get us to Canada and for her surgery. But you shouldn't be sad. I was told you are engaged to be married. I wish you and your household many children and the greatest of success.

I am returning your ring. It no longer belongs on my finger as your heart no longer belongs to me.

Forgive me, na?

With all my love,

Chet

I quirked a brow and read the letter again. Bitterness rose in my throat—it tasted familiar like the rage I'd experienced at Prae. I set the letter down to gather my thoughts and my anger while opening the bag. I dump the contents on the floor. For a moment, I didn't recognize anything there—until I saw the gold necklace with the Jade monkey pendant.

Next were the star earrings.

I recognized them through my fog. They belonged to my mother.

Years before, I'd asked my father for them. It was after her funeral and I was looking for something of hers to cling to. He'd told me they were buried with her and I'd come to terms with that answer. After all, they were things she'd never gone anywhere without. I'd never seen her without the necklace or the earrings. I'd bought her the earrings when I was twelve. I'd saved money given to me by an uncle I'd only see three or four times. She'd prized them, worn then even when my father was pretending to be nice and bought her diamonds.

Why did he lie?

Why keep jewelry of a woman he didn't even love? Was that the last stab wound? Was that the last way to hurt her—bury her without the things she prized most outside of her son?

I leaned my back to the bed as my mind became a flurry of activity. Nothing I could come up with a reason for my father to have lied to me. He was angry at my mother—I get it. But none of this had been her fault. Their parents forced them together. Her parents paid off Chet, and I suffered for all of it.

Mongkut thought I was strong. He saw a strength me I wasn't feeling. Everything was crumbling around me and all I could feel was weakness. How could he see anything else in me?

I pulled my phone out and called him. His voice should be able to give me a little bit of strength to last me until morning.

"Nong?"

I arched a brow. "Pa?"

"Is Mongkut with you?"

"No. We dropped him off almost an hour ago." I sprang to my feet and bounded out of the room. "How do you have his phone?"

"I heard it ringing on the front porch." He replied. "Nong, what is going on?"

"I'm on my way." I told him. "I'm sending a friend in the meantime—he's closer to you. Don't worry. We'll find him."

"Nong," Pa called.

I tossed myself into the front seat of my car. "I'm on my way. Please don't worry, khrap."

He agreed and I hung up. I called Tar next and set him in motion. My heart broke. The fear inside me that gave way to my anger. Whoever was responsible for Mongkut not being where he's supposed to be was going to hurt—

Where are you, my heart?

I broke all the speed limits to get to Pa's place. And when I pulled up in front my phone rang. The number was private but since Mongkut was missing, I figured I'd answer all calls just in case it was him trying to get help.

"Hello?"

"How does it feel to lose something you love?"

"You're about to find out." I growled.