Forgotten (19 page)

The consequence of the question was rapid.
My father’s large body jerked violently.

“Papa,” Nate yelled. “What’s wrong?”

“Papa?” I parroted.

However, my
father only had eyes for Saul, eyes saturated with pure contempt.
Using the sturdy, metal armrests as an advantage, he stood, his
trembling body arrowed to the source of his rage. “Mr. Reardon, I
would like you to leave
now
.”

Saul slowly
raised himself from his seat. “Very well, Mr. Cabriati, but just
remember, this is your daughter’s life and whether you dismiss the
issue or not, there is someone out there, very cold, very
calculating and very smart, who is
not
playing games. Good afternoon
to you both.”

I stood up.

“You’re to stay here,” my father
demanded.

I knew that now to be impossible. “How can I
feel safe amongst people who can’t speak the truth?”

“
I swear,
Claudia.” Papa had pitched his voice very low. “I swear if you
leave today, if you continue this madness with this man, I will….”
His words froze.

“You will what, Papa? Disown me?”

His blatant
lack of denial struck me with vigor so powerful I mentally curled
up. Was this man my Papa, the one who for so long devoted much of
his existence to loving me? And yet the same man who had easily
discarded me for many years? I felt the first rumble of overdue
tears, the sickening spasms in my chest. “
You would disown me again
?”

He said nothing, his hurt clearly visible on
his face.

My hurt simply smothered me. “Goodbye,
Papa,” I barely breathed. And with that, Saul and I left.

Before reaching the car, Nate had caught up
to me. “What the hell is going on?” he said.

“
I’m not
sure.” I glanced towards Saul, who had the passenger door open.
“But I guess
we’ll
find out.”

“Put your phone on at least, so I can text
you… call you.”

I threw my arms around my gorgeous brother.
I tried to recall a time when life seemed less problematic, when
the only concerns we had were which one of us would fess up to our
latest prank on Milo.

A thought then crossed my mind. I pulled
free from Nate. “If you see or talk to Milo before I do, can you
get him to call me immediately?” Privacy was everything with our
anti-social brother.

Nate screwed up his face. “Why would you
want to?”

“I need to talk to him. He knows something
of great importance.”

Of that I was now certain
.

1988

“
PAPA,” THE LITTLE
girl screamed. Her hair flounced in all directions as she
scampered down the cobbled driveway.

He had just driven through the ironclad gates. He pulled
his station wagon to a halt, flung the car door open and in a
flash, ran along the same pathway into the arms of his daughter.
“Carino,” he murmured. She was all warmth and giggles. How he loved
her, that oval face beaming at him, those wide, glimmering eyes
that mirrored his adoration. Why had he taken so long to see her
this time? What was wrong with him? He knew all too well the
frailty of the future. He was, at times, beyond
redemption.

“
Papa, I missed you.”

If it was at all possible for a body to be
severed and still survive, then that was his pain at that moment.
“Oh my Carino, I missed you too. Your Papa has not been well.” His
excuse was pathetic but it gave her the solace she deserved.

“
Are you feeling better now?” Her eyes brimmed with
optimism. He savored the moment with his daughter and thought if
innocence in its purest form could be captured in something so
corporeal, then she was that thing.

“
I am getting better,” he said. The words
sounded like truth to a child’s ears. “I just need a little more
time and then we will be together.”

“
All of us,” she sang, clapping her hands
in rhythm with her words.

“
Of course, Carino, all of us.” He held
out a parcel wrapped in silver and surrendered it into her eager
hands. “I have a present for you.”

She drew it close to her chest and held it
there, taking pleasure in its existence. A mixture of joy and shame
quickly hit him. “Where is Alice?”

She grabbed her Papa’s hand and while
humming and skipping, led him back along the meandering path, past
the lions and the fountain and over the rise to the little
cottage.

The white stoned dwelling was a page from a children’s
storybook. Vibrantly colored gardens fenced it. A tall, wired
archway entwined with emerald ivy, served as an entrance. Once
through, the little girl hurried up the pathway to the open wooden
doorway. “Alice,” she screamed, “Alice, quick, Papa’s
here.”

A young, waiflike woman appeared at the
door, hastily fingering her fair hair into place, then smoothing
the wrinkles from her midnight blue dress. Her pretty face searched
for the person in question and once seeing him, smiled happily.

The man ventured closer, his eyes now fixed
to the woman. No words were necessary to explain his lengthy
absence; no presents to nullify the guilt. He simply drew Alice
into his arms and kissed her. After a moment, he pulled back. Then
in one brisk movement, he scooped up his daughter and entered the
house.

“
See, Alice?” the girl said. “I told you he would come
soon.”

Alice reached over to her and gave her hand
a loving squeeze. “You were right, my little one, you were
right.”

December 26, 2010

6:25 pm

I WAS
SILENT
for the entire trip back to Saul’s
house. When we pulled up in his driveway, he asked me if I was all
right.

I wasn’t
sure if I was. I wasn’t even sure if I was reacting the way I was
supposed to, you know, like the way normal people would - those who
weren’t associated with two murders, three if you included Simon –
when discovering their birth was an accident, that not only had
they been given to someone else as a result, but for
seven whole years.

I felt
frozen, disconnected, completely burnt out.

Perhaps
that
was normal.

“
I’m okay.
Tired, but okay.”

Once
indoors, I promptly excused myself and went to my bedroom. I
retrieved my phone from my bag and turned it on. Ignoring the many
texts and missed calls, I tried to ring Milo. His phone was off. No
surprises there. I quickly fingered a request to call me as soon as
possible. I then set about making myself appear a little less
like
shit.

The shower
was perfect, cool and refreshing. It loosened my stiff muscles,
helped dampen the persistent, dull throb in my head. Even the sweet
smell of orange body wash was surprisingly uplifting. I stayed
immersed beneath the powerful water jets, until my fingers
wrinkled, until I felt strong enough to continue with my absurd
life.

Once dried and dressed, I pocketed the phone
into my stonewashed shorts and returned to the living area. I found
Saul on the outdoor deck reclining on one of two sun-loungers. An
opened bottle of white wine, two glasses, one almost full, the
other empty, stood on a wooden table attached to the side of his
lounge.

The sun was
setting to the rear of us. Its rich, shimmering hues commanded the
skies, stretching across the lush vegetation to the dark blue of
the ocean. And the only sounds were those of the abundant
wildlife.

I didn’t
refuse the offer of a drink or the occasion to unwind alongside of
Saul. I nestled into the other sun-lounger, felt its soft fabric
brush the skin of my legs and laid my head against the thick
headrest. I sighed and tried to compartmentalize much of the day. I
needed time to center, if only for a moment.

Saul passed a glass of wine to me. “Are they
always like that?”

I placed the wine on my own attached side
table and then swatted a ravenous insect on my arm. “Who?”

“Your family.”

“Deceiving, over emotional, demanding… what
part?”

“Hmmm… more like over-protective.” Saul set
about lighting several large potted candles. Within seconds, the
tangy smell of citronella suffused the air.

“You noticed!” I said with some derision.
Then in kinder tones. “They just worry.”

Saul was quiet.

“
I guess
I’ve always given them so much to worry about. And when things went
wrong, I, well… would fall apart and allow them to step
in.”

“You didn’t do that today.”

“Which, fall apart or let them step in?”

“Both. I thought you were quite
self-controlled, considering. I was impressed.”

In retrospect, I had surprised myself how
well I had stood up to my unusually angry father whether my reasons
were legitimate or not.

“How do you feel?”

“Angry, hurt….”

“Pretty normal reactions, I’d imagine.”

“A little guilt, as well.” I sipped my wine.
It was dry, oaky, just how I liked it.

“Guilt?” Saul raised his eyebrow. “For
what?”

I pictured
my father’s enraged expression; my mother’s tear-ridden face, my
brother’s shaken, bewildered one.
All
because of me. I explained this to Saul.

He settled his gaze upon the striking,
dimming skyline. “Guilt is nothing more than a useless, destructive
emotion.”

It sounded like a well-rehearsed mantra.

Saul finished off his wine and reached for a
refill. In a more genial tone, he added, “Besides, you have nothing
to feel guilty about.”

Perhaps he was right, but I couldn’t shake
off the feeling completely. “You know, I thought I knew my family.
I thought I knew my Papa.”

Saul shrugged. “Don’t judge them too
soon.”

“How can I not?”

“
Because,
you’ve only heard one part of the story. You haven’t even heard
your mother’s version. Your parents love you, particularly your
father. Whatever the reason for their behavior, it has to be good
one.”

“I want to believe you.”

“
Then
believe it.” Saul straightened and anchored his body closer. “You
want to know what else I see?”

I could almost touch the soft, tranquil
breath of his words.

“
I see
someone who, at present, is feeling betrayed by the one person she
has trusted and loved her entire life. A very understandable
reaction. However, I also see a man whose prime motivation for
existing
is
his
family, to protect them and support them, no matter what it takes.
That’s a pretty special person to look up to in your life.” He
caught a wisp of my breeze-blown hair and fingered it behind my
ear. “I certainly wouldn’t be giving up on him just
yet.”

In spite of how outraged and wounded I felt,
I still loved my father. I had no wish to believe anything bad of
him. “You almost sound as if you admire him.”

Saul leaned
back into his chair. “I do. Think about it. He was determined at
any cost to reconstruct a family that he had loved and lost and he
did exactly that. It wouldn’t have been easy. What he achieved is a
credit to him.”

“But when you were talking with him you were
so….”

“Heartless? I’m simply doing my job.
However, it doesn’t affect what I see.”

I analyzed
the man near me. During much of the day, he had soothed me out of
one ridiculous state after another, supporting me whenever he saw
the need. “How do you do it?” I asked him.

“Do what?”

“Remain so calm when everyone else around
you isn’t.”

Again, he projected that look I had seen
earlier, that darkness dirtying those crystal blues. It seemed to
speak a century of words that, at present, were foreign to me. A
language I had yet to learn. “I don’t always do it,” he said,
barely audible.

The unmistakable humming of a car brought
the curious mood to a standstill. A set of high-beamed headlights
sped up Saul’s lengthy driveway and disappeared somewhere beneath
the house.

Saul shook
his head. “Ah, shit! Trouble!” But he was grinning in a knowing,
roguish way. “I probably should’ve prepared you for
this.”

Before I could ask what he meant, a door
slammed somewhere in the distance, and then footsteps followed,
growing louder on the timber floorboards.

A high-spirited voice called out from the
kitchen. “Hey, buddy. Have I got some fascinating shit to share
with you.” I heard a fridge door slam, a clink of glassware and
before long, a man stepped out onto the deck.

“We drinking the good stuff, mate?
Celebrating something?”

My mouth slammed shut.

It was
Muscle Man from The Local.

***

I watched Muscle Man, aka Ethan Sloane as he
talked to Saul.

But I wasn’t
listening. I was still trying to comprehend his presence. I mean
really, what sort of freakish coincidence was this? I could just
picture Mel’s annoying smirk, hear her say,
Fate, Claudia, it’s just bloody fate and about
bloody time
.

I groaned, too loud for my liking.

“
You okay?”
It was Ethan. He was leaning forward in a wicker chair that he’d
dragged from further up the deck. Both hands held his half-empty
glass of wine. His eyes made me think of conifer trees, dark
emerald with tiny sprinkles of brown. They shone wide as he looked
at me.