Parlor Tricks

Chapter 17

Hank found himself alone in the garage. He was drawn there, to the car. He often felt his father's ghost surrounded him, but the spirit took a physical presence with the car present. There was a buzzing in his ears that dulled his focus. He gave up trying to do even simple tasks like picking up tools; instead, he stared at the derby photo. His father's boyish face could be his own reflection, except his father's face still had naïve hope in it.

The affair had already started; it was just a matter of simple math. The easy, carefree smile felt guileful. Hank's hands gripped the workbench as the betrayal course through him. He didn't hear her coming; even when his name passed her lips, he remained deaf. It was the mug set down in the corner of his eye and simultaneously, her delicate hand gracing his back for the briefest of moments, that pulled him back. Then her touch slipped away; he could feel her moving from him. His skin burned, and his stomach churned from the sensation.

"What are you doing?" He didn't turn to face her; instead, he let his eyes close and gripped the workbench painfully hard.

"I was going to the garden."

Frustration flared. "What are you doing here?" He took a heavy breath to steady himself before he turned to face her. "Do you want me to pay for the sins of my father? Can't you see I already have; already am?"

"Sins of your father?" Her words strung together as if a mockingbird sang them; the terms lost their meaning amidst the melody, but the lull was there.

"There is nothing left to take from this family," he let out a cracked laugh. "I thought maybe you were trying to steal my sanity, but I think I am just as crazy as the old lady." Hank's hand flailed towards the house in an erratic gesture.

"Hank, I..." She didn't get to finish.

"Get out," Hank's muscles bristling with anger. "Now," it was a warning, not a demand.

Josie turned quickly. A bit of her tea sloshed to the floor. Hank watched as she paused, gazing after the splotch on the floor for a moment. His eyes fell to the darkened cement just in time to see a smaller drop land nearby as Josie swept away. His eyes didn't follow her; they stayed on the second drop, so small and delicate, just like Josie. It centered him; allowed him to breathe.

He found himself in the Consul, the passenger side, as though his father would slip in at any moment to review the complicated angles of the situation in which they found themselves tangled. He let his finger stroke over the white of the dash and fall to the red vinyl seats as his hand coursed over the curve of the seat, a corner of a thick paper bit at a fingertip. Absently, he pulled the paper up, faced with a yellowing photograph of strangers, but they weren't strangers. Hank stared down at the photo for a long time, trying to rectify his memory of the image. A little girl with tight auburn ringlets and a playful smile. It was the face that had haunted his memories but also made him question them. The girl's hazel eyes and dark hair didn't match the image in his mind. He could picture the giggling little girl covered in sand. Her eyes were blue, and ringlets were yellow like the midday sun.

Hank's body knew before his mind could accept the obvious. His feet carried him so quickly he almost missed her huddled on the bench. He froze, staring at the back of her head covered in auburn locks. Josie pulled him to her. Hank stared at her as she huddled in a tight knot on the garden swing with the tracks of tears gleaming in the moon.

"Josie." His words were too clouded with remorse to come clear.

A hiccup of a laugh came from her chest, "you thought I was your sister."

Hank's body was still acting without thought; his hand raised to his head, startling him. "I thought you were my sister," a laugh erupted from his chest as well.

"I just thought you knew when you saw the car and then with dinner..."

"Peter knew; he recognized you."

"No, I don't think so. He recognized the car. He gave it to my momma. It was our getaway car, except we didn't both getaway."

"Why would my father..." Hank couldn't finish; he just sank to the swing beside her.

Josie didn't punish him, though. Her eyes were distant as she breathed in the crisp fall scent and fell to his side absently. She even curled in further when he shifted an arm around her. Hank felt the trust she was giving him, but that he hadn't earned. She plucked the photo from his hand, running a finger over her face just like she had to Peter's.

"I don't know," Josie stiffened in Hank's arms. "I used you, Hank." She shyly lifted her eyes to his. "I researched; I knew you had taken to cars." Deep down, Hank had always known he had been a target, but hearing the words still wounded him. "I didn't know you were still close to Peter. I hope to learn more about your father and find a way to Peter from there, but you would lead me right to him."

Hank didn't realize his recoil until he saw the distance between him and Josie. The mysterious confidence he had always seen in her had evaporated. She was a broken and forgotten toy, just like him.

Staring at her plunged him into a deep and encompassing grief for his father. "Do you think my father..."

"I did, that's how the tale is told, but you and Clara..." She shook off a thought. "I guess I don't know what I believe anymore. Why would he? He had you and Clara. Why would he hate my mother that much?"

"Who would?" Hank couldn't fathom that much hatred. Even when he thought Josie was here to seek revenge, he knew she wouldn't have mustered murderous hate, nor would he.

"My father," the words came gravely.