Sins Of The Father

by James, Harper

  ‘Aw, you want mommy to kiss it better?’

  The throbbing pain in his leg, the one the painkillers couldn’t quite reach, eased as a shiver rippled through him at the thought. Where else might he be prepared to take an arrow?

  ‘Who’d you get to do all the work while you supervised?’

  ‘Well, there was Kyle—’

  An incredulous snort filled his ear, echoing unpleasantly.

  ‘What, after Floyd nearly hanged him?’

  ‘He feels guilty. Feels it was all his fault I got shot because of his mouth.’

  Another snort.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Floyd was going to shoot you whatever happened. It’s why he lured you there.’

  The throng of passengers coming through had thickened, a fluid mass of humanity dragging wheeled suitcases. Evan moved towards the front, held the name board prominently. Sterling could easily miss him. People don’t tend to read name boards if they’re not expecting to be met.

  ‘I know that. Kyle doesn’t. Also means I get my car washed for free every week until my leg heals.’

  Guillory couldn’t help laughing.

  ‘I suppose you suffer an unexplained relapse every time you go around there? The limp gets a lot worse.’

  ‘My mind doesn’t work like yours, Kate.’

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘Anyway, Mitch did most of the digging. He feels guilty as well because he didn’t take any notice of me after Floyd attacked me in their house. Thinks it’s his fault Kyle got snatched.’

  ‘So it’s a chain-guilt sort of thing. I suppose Kyle gets him to clean your car for him.’

  He didn’t think it was such a bad idea, although he wasn’t going to tell her that.

  ‘Jesus, Kate. I’ll never understand how women’s minds work.’

  She pretended she hadn’t heard.

  ‘Anyway, Kyle wanted to show him where the big adventure went down—which is what it is now that he’s safely out of harm’s way.’

  ‘Yeah, kids are good at bouncing back.’

  An attractive young woman had stopped in front of Evan, a puzzled look on her face. Evan moved to the side so she didn’t block his board from the view of the passengers streaming past, most of them with their eyes glued to their phones.

  ‘They won’t let him out of their sight now, either.’

  ‘Not even with Uncle Evan?’

  He heard the mocking tone in her voice and downgraded the restaurant he planned to take her to make up for last time. The young woman had stepped in front of him again like she was doing it deliberately.

  ‘Especially with Uncle Evan. I won’t repeat what Charlotte said. Hang on a sec, Kate.’

  He looked at the young woman, ready to ask her to move out the way. He noticed for the first time how attractive she was. It was a pity it wasn’t her he was meeting. Another passenger with his head up his ... sorry, with his eyes glued to his phone banged into her, knocking her out the way. She scowled at his back as he carried on oblivious.

  Serves you right for standing there in the way.

  ‘I’m Sterling Yates,’ the young woman said, pointing to herself. ‘I didn’t order a limo.’

  Evan’s mouth dropped open, not the best look you want to present when you first meet an attractive woman. He’d assumed Sterling Yates was a man. He held up a finger and ended the call to Guillory.

  ‘I’m here on behalf of your grandfather.’

  Her eyebrows lifted.

  So he’s not such a bad old stick after all.

  ‘I’m surprised after what he said about me going away. It must be his way of saying sorry. Talking about saying sorry, you were obviously expecting a man. Bad start.’

  Despite the words, the sparkle in her eyes told him she was joking. It was a name given to boys and girls after all.

  ‘No, not that grandfather’—now it was her turn to drop her jaw—‘the other one.’

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘If you like, I’ll bet you I can make up for the bad start—and then some.’

  She shook her head and looked at him as if he was a madman who’d somehow got hold of her name and written it on a piece of card in order to kidnap her.

  ‘Let’s go and sit down. Trust me, you’ll need to.’

  They found a couple of seats in a quiet corner, as far away from the other passengers as possible which only increased her unease. Was her stomach doing the same back flips as his?

  Then he told her who he was, what he was doing waiting for her and who her grandfather was. The last piece of information hit her like a slap around the face—even though he hadn’t said anything about the amount of money involved. He’d been trying to ease her into it. Seems he’d slipped up somewhere. He couldn’t see where.

  She leaned towards him, eyes wide, her voice barely above a whisper.

  ‘You’re telling me Frank Hanna is my grandfather? Or was.’

  ‘Uh-huh. Why, do you know who he is?’

  She threw herself back in her chair, ran her hand through her dark hair.

  ‘Frank Hanna? As in Hanna Pharmaceuticals? Of course I know who he is. I’m a doctor.’

  He waited while she took it all in, watched a whole range of emotions pass across her face. It would take some time for the full implications to sink in. At the moment it looked as if it was a free-for-all in her mind.

  ‘Did I make up for the bad start?’

  She smiled at him which did a few things—told him he’d done it in spades, made him wish he was ten years younger, just for starters.

  ‘I need a drink,’ she said.

  ‘What do you want? Coffee?’ he said, getting up.

  She looked at him as if he was the one who’d just got off a ten-hour transatlantic flight and whose brain was frazzled.

  ‘You can have coffee ...’

  They found an up-market seafood and champagne bar and got a couple of seats up at the counter. Evan ordered a bottle of the house champagne which got a nod of approval from Sterling. Just because you can afford to buy the whole vineyard, doesn’t mean you have to act like it.

  ‘From the look on your face I’d say Hanna Pharmaceutical is a good company,’ he said once the bartender had filled their glasses.

  ‘Good? Do you have any idea how much Hanna Pharm gives to charity every year?’

  That wasn’t what he’d meant by good. It seemed it was her yardstick. Then he remembered her interest in Médecins Sans Frontières. He still didn’t have any idea how much so he said the first number that came into his head—the amount of the bonus he was due for the assignment, the number with all the zeros after it.

  She smiled knowingly.

  ‘I’m impressed. You got it. That’s almost exactly the amount—per week.’

  His first reaction was surprise. Then his mind made the connection on a non-monetary level. For successfully tracking down Sterling he was about to be paid the equivalent of a week’s worth of medical aid, a week’s worth of essential medical supplies. If he was about to receive a day’s worth he’d have felt ...he didn’t know what he’d have felt.

  To receive a week’s worth made him feel something he’d never experienced before. He felt humbled. Felt a pricking at the back of his eyes. It was the champagne bubbles.

  The sobering effect of the thought didn’t go unnoticed.

  ‘Hey.’ She clinked glasses. ‘What’s wrong?’

  He shook his head but she wouldn’t let it drop and so he told her what he was thinking.

  ‘I don’t feel like I deserve it.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. If you hadn’t found me, who knows what might have happened? The company might have gone to somebody who took a look at the numbers and thought, okay, let’s start by cutting all that aid.’

  She didn’t know how right she was. If McIntyre or Vasiliev had got their hands on it, that would have been the least of the company’s woes. It wasn’t the time to tell her either. However, it was the time to bring up one sobering issue.

  ‘The
will is likely to be contested. Your grandfather knew that so he left DNA samples with me. We’ll need to take yours too.’

  She nodded, no problem.

  ‘If you open your mouth, I’ll do it now.’

  Inside his own mouth, his tongue was ready to do the honors if they couldn’t find a swab.

  She sat up straight and then grinned at him. He was only joking. He was joking, wasn’t he? There must have been something in the way he licked his lips told her what he was thinking.

  ‘You know, if you weren’t so old I might take you up on that. You’re not bad for an old guy.’

  That made the bubbles go up his nose.

  They sat for a while in an easy silence, her last remark bouncing around in his head, her head full of other sorts of possibilities.

  ‘When I told grandpa I wanted to work as a volunteer for Médecins Sans Frontières, he was furious. He thinks the whole reason you spend a ton of money and all that time and hard work training to be a doctor is so you can make even more money yourself. Nothing to do with helping people. And now I’ve ended up with more money than he could ever imagine.’

  She picked up a paper serviette and started to tear strips off it, her hair falling forward, covering her face. He guessed the implications and maybe the responsibilities were beginning to sink in.

  ‘What will you do?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘There are so many things going around in my head, I don’t know where to start. Build a medical center, set up a foundation, I don’t know. I’ll call it Sterling Health.’

  She repeated it, trying the name out. She rocked her head from side to side, not convinced, her mouth twisted to the side. Evan was about to offer to help get it straight again—he felt his own lips twitch at the thought—when she laughed suddenly.

  ‘Or Yates Health. That’d stop grandpa going to the country club all the time. His head would swell up so big, he’d never get through the door.’

  Evan gave himself a mental slap, told himself to ignore any provocative words she might utter.

  ‘Was he the one encouraged you to become a doctor?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve got him to thank for that.’

  ‘Even if it was for the wrong reasons.’

  She gave a soft shrug.

  ‘Looks like it worked out in the end.’

  She took another sip of her drink, put the glass carefully on the counter, next to the little pile of ripped serviette.

  ‘Que sera, sera,’ Evan said.

  She looked up sharply, fixing him with her gaze, the other-worldly dreaminess gone from her eyes, replaced by something more intense. A single thought filled his mind—if her grandmother Margarita had been as beautiful as she was, no wonder Frank Hanna had carried the memories with him his whole life. He could easily imagine a lifetime of regrets, catching you unawares when you least expect it, haunting you in the small hours of the night.

  The remark had sparked off similar thoughts in her mind although he was sure she didn’t have the whole story, if any at all.

  ‘I know I’ve been fortunate. My mother died when I was a baby’—she paused, the fact that he’d tracked her down registering—‘do you know all this?’

  He nodded.

  More than I’m ever likely to tell.

  ‘I had a very privileged upbringing thanks to grandpa’s money. That’s not how it was meant to be. My mother was blond, blue eyes, fair skin. Look at me.’

  She presented herself full-on to him, sat up straight. He didn’t need to be told twice. He admired the smooth, slightly olive skin, the dark eyes with a certain je ne sais quoi behind them, the mane of dark hair, flecked with a hint of red. He’d happily have done it all day. He wanted to ask if he was allowed to touch as well, just to make sure. Maybe taste too?

  ‘I’m half Latino. Things might have been very different if my mother had lived. I don’t know anything about my father, apart from the fact that he’s dead too. If he’d lived or my mother had lived, I wouldn’t have had the privileged upbringing I did. I might have ended up living in some run-down ... listen to me, I sound like grandpa. The point is, two people died for me to enjoy—’

  He put a hand on her arm to head off what was clearly a well-worn guilt trip.

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  She smiled sadly, the sort of smile that said better men than you have tried to put a stop to this, but thank-you for trying.

  ‘I’m just trying to explain why I want to give something back. And now this has happened, I intend to spread that good fortune around.’

  He knew all about guilt, imagined how she must feel about the prospect of banishing it from her life, or at least assuaging it. Then she asked him what he’d hoped she wouldn’t.

  ‘Do you know the background to all this?’

  He nodded, holding her eyes.

  ‘Not a good time?’ she said.

  ‘No. It’s a very sad story. I’ll tell you anything you want to know—just not today.’

  ‘Okay.’

  The silence became a little uncomfortable. She finished her drink, then laughed, a small, sharp sound like a cat’s sneeze.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not fishing for you to tell me’—she put her hand on his arm to reassure him of her sincerity, which only made him ready to tell her anything—‘but I’ve always known there was something unusual about my background.’

  ‘Unusual?’ He nodded a couple times. ‘Yup, I’ll give you that. What makes you think it?’

  She shrugged, a little embarrassed now to mention it. He felt a worm of excitement wriggle in his gut. He knew what was coming, had a good idea anyway.

  ‘Every year I receive a card on the anniversary of my mother’s death. It’s always the same card. Sometimes there’s nothing written inside, sometimes it’s something like be safe.’

  ‘Signed?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘What’s on the front?’

  She hesitated. She’d reached the part she felt silly talking about.

  ‘I think it’s meant to be a guardian angel’—she held his eyes, maybe looking for confirmation from him—‘looking over me.’

  His mouth was suddenly dry, his glass empty when he picked it up. He put it down, didn’t make a move to refill it for fear of breaking the moment. He was hard pressed to keep himself from telling her she’d got an angel alright, but it sure as hell wasn’t of the guardian variety.

  An avenging angel was what she had watching over her.

  ‘Why do you say meant to be?’

  ‘Because sometimes it doesn’t look like my idea of an angel at all.’ She smiled, showing perfect teeth. ‘With these big wings spread, sometimes it looks like—’

  ‘A crow.’

  Her mouth clamped shut, opened again.

  ‘How did you know?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘It’s not you sending them, is it?’

  How did he know? He almost laughed out loud as he thought about Elwood Crow’s answer to that same question when he told the police where to find the man who killed her mother.

  A little birdie told me.

  ‘No. I’m very’—he put a lot of emphasis on the word—‘sorry to say, I didn’t even know of your existence until a few days ago.’

  A delicate pink flush rose up her cheeks. She looked down for a long moment. He was sure he felt the heat coming off her face.

  ‘Okay, Mr Silver Tongue, how did you know?’

  He lifted his hands, beats me.

  ‘Maybe that’s one of the benefits of being old’—he made quotes in the air with his fingers as he said it—‘you develop a sixth sense.’

  She nodded enthusiastically like she believed a word of it.

  ‘Is that so? There’s something else I heard about older men. They’re meant to be very attentive to a lady’s needs.’

  She rattled her empty glass on the bar top.

  He kept his mind in check, on the straight and narrow, didn’t let it go anywhere near what sort of needs a lady might h
ave. He started to pour, slowly, letting the froth settle, doing the same for himself.

  Then she took the conversation off on another tangent. With so many things to take in at once, it wasn’t surprising if thoughts just popped out at random.

  ‘How did he die?’

  He hesitated, pretended to concentrate on not spilling the champagne.

  ‘He was at home, fell down the stairs and broke his neck.’

  Her mouth opened, her hand covering it immediately.

  ‘That’s terrible.’

  ‘No, not really. It was a mercy. He had terminal cancer. At least this way it was quick and painless. I never asked him, but he seemed like the sort of guy who wouldn’t want to spend the end of his days in a hospital bed with tubes and ...’ He waved the depressing thought off. ‘You’re a doctor, you know what I mean.’

  They were both silent a minute, watching the froth in her glass rise almost to the lip and fall back again as he carefully topped off her glass. Perfectly judged. If only he could say the same about every aspect of his life.

  ‘What was he like?’

  He closed his eyes, tried to think, to picture the man. Nothing came, beyond what he’d already said or everyday platitudes. And Evan didn’t do platitudes. He didn’t reckon Hanna did either.

  ‘I don’t really know. I only met him a couple times.’

  She breathed in deeply through her nose, let it out slowly. If you can read anything into the simple act of breathing, that long slow exhale asked why does one door have to close in order for another to open?

  ‘Now I’ll never know. I’d love to know what drove him. What made him so generous, give so much.’

  That was something Evan could have told her—although he wasn’t about to.

  He shook his head.

  ‘No idea.’

  He handed the glass to her, picked up his own and held it towards her.

  ‘Here’s to him, whatever it was that drove him.’

  She clinked his glass and sipped, blissfully unaware of what she was drinking to.

  Atonement for the Sins of the Father.

  Epilogue

  SHEILA WALSH LOOKED DOWN at the empty husk of a man lying in his bed and felt the urge again. Because he was an empty husk—not just empty physically as his body slowly shrivelled away, but empty morally because he was a monster. She couldn’t begin to count the number of times she’d thought about pulling the plug, ripping away all the tubes and everything else that kept this evil man alive. Every time it happened, the feeling was stronger, more insistent. Forget her job, her career, it would be worth it. But already she heard Father John’s faintly disappointed voice—the one that made her want to slap him—from the other side of the metal grille when she next confessed her sins.