by O. J. Lovaz
Back at the historical society’s parking lot, they exchanged phone numbers—felt like being back in college. The time came to say their goodbyes. Anna wondered if he might try to kiss her on the lips. Instead, he kissed her on the cheek, in a very gentlemanly fashion. She liked that—this had only been their first date, after all, if it had been a date. It sure felt like a date.
Lost in these thoughts, Anna walked back to her car. Her phone rang, startling her as if getting a call had been unthinkable. Could it be Michael already? She pulled out the phone. It was not Michael who was calling, but her brother, Frank.
At that very moment, she remembered the black box in which she’d hidden the dreadful secrets. She’d locked them up in there until later, and that time was now—the key was in her hand, and her hand was shaking.
CHAPTER III
Standing by her car, Anna stared at her ringing cell phone with Frank’s picture on the display, her index finger hovering nervously over the bright-green circle with the word Accept under it, agonizing over whether to take the call. What would she say to him—just act casually? Or instead tell him straightway that she needed to talk to him about a very delicate matter? Yes, that would probably be best.
But by then, she’d thought about it too long; the call went to voice mail. She could have called him back that very moment, but once the phone went quiet, she no longer felt compelled to do anything.
It was scorching hot inside the car, so she turned on the air conditioner at full blast and cracked open the front windows. A text message from Frank arrived: “Haven’t seen you in weeks. Want to come by tonight?”
She couldn’t say no. What excuse could she give him?
Five days had gone by already. How much longer could she keep him in the dark? Soon enough, she’d have to tell him everything: about the picture, Aunt Marlene’s text message, and that godawful little chat with her mother.
Closing her eyes now, she could see it as clearly as if it had happened minutes ago. Scarcely an hour after the incident with the text message in the kitchen, her father had gone back to the basement—his man cave—and her mom had gone outside to water her garden.
Anna headed to the backyard. She and her mother started to chat at first about random things, but Anna subtly steered her to discuss family matters. Anna waited for her to make a remark about her father.
“Victor never was very interested in spending time with my parents, and to be honest, the feeling was mutual—your grandpa always hated his guts; your grandma still does,” she said.
It was Anna’s perfect opening—she jumped in at once.
“How about Aunt Marlene? Was Dad also distant with her, or did they get along just fine?” she asked her naturally, not even making direct eye contact, but keenly aware, studying her every move, dissecting every word she uttered.
Her mother’s face suddenly paled and stiffened, as if holding back tears. She turned away from Anna, looking down at a rainbow of daisies, and mumbled her response, “With, um, Marlene, he was all right. They’ve usually been on good terms.” She appeared to take a deep breath. “Well, you must remember Marlene and your cousin Diane came to visit us often, before they moved to Maryland.”
Anna felt a cold shiver. She’d been sitting in the car for over five minutes with the air conditioner on full blast. She turned it down, buckled her seatbelt, put on her oversized sunglasses, and drove away.
She wouldn’t go home; didn’t want to be by herself. No, she’d go back to the town center, to her friend Stephanie’s bookstore. She could say hi, grab a coffee and a book, be around other people, and organize her thoughts.
Stuck at a traffic light, her mother’s words still bounced in her head like a distant echo. Something she’d said came in a flash, “your cousin Diane.”
How could she have forgotten about Diane? She also had a right to know. Whatever came of this, she couldn’t hide it from Diane any more than she could hide it from Frank.
If only she hadn’t been in that kitchen.
If only her father had not left his stupid phone out in the open.
If only she could’ve turned a blind eye. What force had compelled her to dig deeper?
But how could she ignore potential evidence of an affair between her father and her mother’s own damn sister?
She couldn’t. However terrible the consequences might be, she’d do her duty as a decent human being, and as her mother’s daughter.
Then again, maybe nothing really happened. It could all have been a series of fateful coincidences the universe had concocted to torture her.
Truth be told, though, her father wasn’t a man who couldn’t be suspected of such a hideous act; if there was something Victor Goddard had proven not to be, that was an exemplary husband and father.
Anna heard a loud horn from the car behind her and noticed that the traffic light had turned green—maybe a while ago—so she stepped on the gas pedal while making an apologetic gesture with her hand.
A few minutes later, she drove by the house where the famous ballet dancer had lived as a child. Michael had said specifically that she had lived there with her mother.
She conjured up the image of a little ballerina alone with her mother, fatherless. Immersed in her vision, she couldn’t help but wonder who had had it worse, the ballet dancer, who grew up without a father, or her, who had a father, but a heartless, cruel one who seldom showed her any resemblance of love.
Had the ballet dancer been given a choice, would she have preferred to have a father, any father, however uncaring, bitter, and cruel? But before the ballerina could give an answer, Anna had to push the brake pedal hard to avoid hitting the car in front of her that had stopped for a pedestrian. Her car stopped just a few inches short of impact, then everything was still but her heart pounding with sudden vigor. She took a deep breath as all preceding thoughts abandoned her.
A moment later, she arrived at her friend’s bookstore. This particular street had a distinctive old-town charm, inviting its visitors to pause their everyday lives’ nonsense, sip a coffee, read a good book, maybe even light up a cigar.
Luckily, she found a parking spot right across the street from it. The building itself looked like something one ought to find in the midst of an enchanted forest. Nestled between an ice cream parlor and an antiques shop, the storefront presented nicely harmonized purple-and-blue accents, and a pale-pink door, like a dollhouse.
Crossing the street, Anna could see through the store’s large glass window a small group of happy customers having, by the looks of it, a rather amusing chat. On top of the window sat a big sign with the name of the shop, Stephanie’s Books & Coffee.
The moment she opened the door, a glorious tsunami welcomed her with irresistible aromas—coffee, cinnamon, vanilla, sweet pastries, and warm butter croissants. For now, it would just be a coffee for her, but she might get a lemon tart later.
There were quite a few customers sitting at small tables, couches, and lounge chairs; chatting, reading books, all having either coffee or tea. A well-organized interior made the most of the available space, with the majority of the bookshelves flush against the walls, allowing for more seating areas throughout the store.
Anna came up to the counter, where Stephanie herself came to say hello and take her order. “Hey girl! How’s the novel?” she asked Anna.
It was all right. “It’s great, very suspenseful.”
While making Anna’s double-shot latte with skim milk, Stephanie promised to check on her later.
Coffee on hand, Anna went and picked up a copy of H. P. Lowell’s newest novel. Nothing better than the smell of a new book or that moment of childlike wonder turning the pages to chapter one.
She sat on a green lounge chair at one of the narrow ends of a long coffee table. On the chair at the other end of the table sat a middle-aged man in business attire with a serious, inscrutable expression, his attention closely fixed on whatever he was typing.
Between them, an unoccupied brown leather s
ofa where a couple with a little boy had been sitting a minute ago. Farther out, gathered around small tables, were little groups of younger people, chatting gleefully and enjoying their coffees, teas, and frozen drinks.
Anna spent the best part of the next hour reading. She looked around and noticed there were considerably less customers than before. The serious man had left too.
Stephanie left a young barista in charge of the operation and came to sit next to Anna, on the corner of the brown leather sofa.
“How are you liking this one?” Stephanie asked enthusiastically.
“It started out great. How’s business?”
“Oh, I do all right. I have a modest but faithful clientele; and luscious young Brad over there has been good for business, too, you know.”
“You devil.”
“You know it. There’s a younger crowd coming in lately, as in, since Brad works here, and they spend good money on their lattes, mochas, macchiatos. and frozen coffee drinks.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” Anna heard her phone again and glanced at it. “My brother’s texting me.”
“How’s Frank, other than very fine?” Stephanie asked, her eyes narrowed, sparkling with mischief.
“Stop it. He’s doing well. His music school is growing.”
“Good to hear that.”
“And he’s pretty serious with his girlfriend, Sarah.”
“Oh, do you think he’ll propose to her soon?” Stephanie asked.
“I think so, yes.”
“Oh poop.” Stephanie let out a muffled laugh. “I’m kidding. How exciting!”
“I know. It’s hard to imagine Frank married. But Sarah is really nice.”
“Oh, you’re going to cry like Mary Magdalene at his wedding.”
“Yes, I think I will. You know, our whole childhood it was Frank and me against the world.” Anna felt she was starting to tear up and tried to conjure up funny thoughts to wall off the onrushing wave of emotions.
“Yeah, I know. Has he made peace with your father yet?”
“I doubt he ever will, and I can’t blame him. There was something about him that Dad despised, and he let him feel it every day of his life.”
“Sorry I asked,” said Stephanie. “I know you don’t want to talk about that stuff.”
“Sometimes, it’s good to talk about it. It does more damage bottled up inside.”
“Well, you know you can tell me anything. It’s all as safe with me as it would be with a priest, and I won’t make you pray no Hail Marys.”
“That’s terrible,” Anna said. She’d take Stephanie over any priest, over the Pope too.
The bookstore was now empty except for two old men sitting in a corner playing chess.
“It’s always slow at this time of the day,” Stephanie said.
“It’s kind of nice like this too—different.” It reminded her of Michael’s empty library. “Of course, I’d rather see it full of customers, but this gives us a chance to chat.”
“Yes, it does.” Stephanie sat back, crossed her legs.
An unusual moment of silence demanded to be filled with anything. The memory flashing in Anna’s mind right then somehow became spoken words coming out of her.
“There’s one night I can never forget. Frank was playing with his favorite video game. He must have been eight years old and I seven. The game looked so fun—I wanted him to let me play, but he was close to reaching the next stage or something.
“I started crying bitterly, trying to take the controller from him. Mom was in the shower upstairs. The front door opened, and Dad came in, already fuming. When he asked what was going on, I wanted to say, ‘It’s nothing, Dad.’ But I was terrified and what came out of my mouth was, ‘Frank doesn’t let me play.’
“Frank thought Dad was going to hit him; I saw him recoiling in a corner of the couch. Instead, Dad yelled, ‘I’m sick and tired of this shit! This ends now!’ He yanked the game console in one violent movement and slammed it against the wall.
“The plastic casing cracked, and little parts came flying out of it in all directions. What I remember most is Frank’s face. I don’t know if he felt more rage or heartbreak at the moment, but I think he was no longer a kid after that night. I’ve carried that guilt with me ever since.”
Stephanie held her hand. “No kid should have to go through what you two had to.” She sat there shaking her head, breathing out slowly.
“I wanted to love Dad—I did. But he didn’t even seem to want us. It’s like we were these things he’d gotten stuck with, like we stood in his way.
“And Mom, well, I could never understand why she put up with so much emotional abuse. I remember how he used to belittle her and humiliate her in front of us. It was awful.”
“Did Frank ever stand up to him?” Stephanie asked, a slight frown forming on her face.
“He did when he was fourteen or fifteen. I can’t remember exactly. That’s an even more awful story.”
“What happened?” Stephanie asked anxiously.
“I’ll need another coffee before I tell you that one.”
“I got it—this one’s on the house.”
Stephanie went over and talked to the young barista. A moment later, she returned with two coffees.
Anna took her cup from Stephanie. “Oh, you didn’t have to—thank you!”
“No problem.” Stephanie sat back, legs crossed, coffee in hand, ready to listen.
“Um, okay,” Anna began. “This happened on a Sunday. Frank had made plans to play the guitar, at six that afternoon, in a band he and his friends had just formed. Trouble started when my father unexpectedly decided to mow the lawn midmorning.
“We’d been in Frank’s room and came downstairs about twenty minutes before eleven a.m., expecting to see Mom and Dad dressed and ready for mass. Instead, we found our dad in the kitchen, all sweaty and with grass clippings stuck to his jeans, drinking a tall glass of water. That’s when our father announced the change in plans—we were going to mass at six p.m.
“Frank flushed and muttered, ‘I have a thing in the afternoon.’
“Dad didn’t even look at him when he answered, ‘Yes, you have a thing, and it’s called mass.’ I thought Frank would drop it right then, but no—he decided this would be the day to stand up to him.
“He said something like, ‘Our band plays at six. It’s been planned for a week.’ Then he said, ‘I’m not going to burn in hell for missing one mass, am I?’ I was petrified!
“Dad stared down at him, stunned at first, but then enraged, and yelled, ‘You little shit! I couldn’t care less about your stupid band. We’ve never missed mass, and we’re not starting today, so help me God!’
“Frank gave him a defiant glare and opened his mouth to say something, but right then, my father’s hand came flying down and slapped him so hard I thought his head would fall off.
“That should have been the end of it, but, no, Frank was possessed. He pushed Dad, eyes on fire, and yelled, ‘You, fucking ignorant jerk! Do you really think God forgives the hell you put us through every day just because you show up at church and bow, kneel down, and repeat the same prayers every Sunday?’”
“Your dad must have gone berserk,” said Stephanie.
“Oh, he lost it. He dragged Frank across the house, saying, ‘You’ll respect me, you little shit, even if I have to kill you!’ Even then, Frank was cursing him every step of the way.
“Dad pushed him out to the backyard; meanwhile, I could hear my mom frantically running down the stairs. Dad grabbed a broomstick and took a vicious swing at Frank, hitting him on an arm so hard that the broomstick shattered—he fell to the floor, writhing in pain. Dad stood by him with a merciless, hard expression, as if he might kick him in the ribs. That’s when Mom ran in—she fell to the grass, holding on to Dad’s legs and crying, ‘Stop, Victor! Stop, for God’s sake! Don’t hurt him!’ He turned away and stormed out of the house.
“Mom lied to the doctor about what happened, and she tol
d us to lie too. That’s messed up, huh?”
Stephanie was speechless. Anna sipped her coffee.
“Luckily, Frank didn’t have a broken bone. He stayed home, nursing a nasty bruise, and couldn’t play with the band that day, but he didn’t go to church either—or ever did again. You could say that was Frank’s Independence Day.”
“I don’t even know what to tell you, girl.” Stephanie tapped her hand tenderly.
“Thanks for listening to my horror stories.”
Stephanie reached across and hugged Anna. “I better go help Brad.” From one moment to the next, a line of five or six customers had formed at checkout.
“I’ll walk with you.”
Anna paid for her newest book and a lemon tart, said goodbye to her dear friend, and stepped outside.
It was a pleasant Friday afternoon, sunny and breezy. Next door, people were coming out with ice cream cones, kids were walking with their parents, couples were sitting on benches, laughing, and kissing. Anna crossed the street and got into her car, then remembered she still hadn’t replied to Frank. She took out her phone and typed, “I’ll be there at seven. Got something to tell you.” She took a deep breath, read the message again, and sent it.
CHAPTER IV
Frank lived only two blocks away from St. Mary’s and within walking distance of his new music school. His walk-up apartment was small and would have been quite uninteresting except for the three guitars, one acoustic and two electrics, he had hung on a wall in the main living area, and a piano, wedged in a corner, on top of which there were two curious brass table lamps. A black vinyl sofa and loveseat; a modern, also black, center table; and some sparsely arranged basic decor completed the space where, around fifteen minutes past seven, Frank received Anna with a kiss on the cheek and a long, warm embrace. He must have started using a new shampoo; he smelled like a stroll in the forest—the commercial would say.
“It’s good to see you, sis!” he said.
“How’s my big brother today?”
“I’m so good it’s scaring me.”
Anna followed him to the kitchen. “Funny. How do you come up with those answers?”
