All Things Return

by W.H. Harrod

Eleven a.m. to 1:58 p.m. felt more like three days than three hours. Terrance sat fidgeting in the passenger seat of the much-maligned van waiting for Jess to pull over to the side of a tree-lined residential street and let him out. Mrs. Bidwell lived two blocks over from where Jess parked. He planned to walk the two blocks to her house while Jess went to a designated spot to await his call. If she didn’t hear from him in two hours, she planned to call the police. “Well, I’ll be seeing you later, I hope,” said Terrance as he prepared to exit the van. “If—”

  “Be quiet,” commanded Jess before he said anything else. “Don’t start thinking negatively. We’re going to get out of this and spend a long life together.” Then, she leaned over and kissed him, gently shoved him out the door, and drove away.

  Terrance stood on the side of the curb wearing his goofy golf hat and dark sunglasses watching the van recede into the distance. “I sure hope you’re right,” he whispered before turning to go to meet his fate. If questioned later, he couldn’t have told you what he saw during his two-block walk. His mind focused on one thing—the cartel’s whereabouts at that exact moment. If it didn’t appear menacing to him, it didn’t exist, especially, as he neared Mrs. Bidwell’s home. He walked up to the house with all his defensive senses on full alert. The slightest out-of-place noise or movement, and he’d be showing his pursuers his favorite track star imitation.

  As he stood on the large front porch in front of the door, he listened intently for strange noises from within. One minute, two minutes passed, and he heard not a sound. Maybe she isn’t home, he thought. Maybe they’ve taken her captive and are waiting for me behind this very door? He started to leave, but before taking a single step, the door opened, and there stood Mrs. Bidwell asking him to come inside.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Butler. Have you been standing here long? I didn’t see your car drive up. Please come inside. Can I get you some refreshment before we start? I have some fresh lemonade.”

  He followed her instructions. Everything looked okay. He may as well get this elderly, liquid offering ritual out of the way first so they could get down to business. “Yes, thank you,” he answered as he observed everything in eyesight, including her. This still may turn out to be a trap.

  “Excellent. Please come and sit down while I get it for you.” If something underhanded lay in wait for him, this lady gave no indication of it.

  He heard the ice cubes clank into the glass, followed by the pouring of the refreshment. A moment later, she returned, offering him a big cold glass of lemonade. “There you are. Take your time. Whenever you’ve refreshed yourself, we’ll talk.”

  He quickly took a big gulp. “I’m fine, let’s do it. What is it you have to tell me?”

  “Yes, well, first I want to tell you that I think you made a very wise and noble decision not to go forward with the story. Very possibly, the nobility of your decision is of lesser importance to you right now than certain other factors, but I believe as years go along your attitude will change regarding this.”

  He glanced around the room as he responded. “That may be—”

  His hostess cut him off. “Mr. Butler, there’s no one else here, if that’s what’s concerning you. You have absolutely nothing to be worried about.”

  “How can that be? What about the cartel? I’ve seen them. They’re following me around. You don’t know what I’ve been through since last we met. I’m scared out of my wits.”

  Mrs. Bidwell turned sympathetic. “That’s what I’ve heard, and I’m sorry about that, but—”

  The look of sheer horror on Terrance’s face caused Mrs. Bidwell to halt in mid-sentence. He stared past her through the front window to the street where a black SUV pulled to the curb in front of the house. A heavy set, well-dressed Hispanic male exited the car and started walking towards the front door of Mrs. Bidwell’s home. Terrance jumped out of his chair and headed for the back door as Mrs. Bidwell caught hold of his wrist.

  “Please wait, Mr. Butler. There’s nothing to be afraid of. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  “What?” howled a confused Terrance. “You want me to meet someone from the cartel? Are you crazy?” Why is this lady holding on to my arm so tightly?

  “He’s not from the cartel. He’s a former foster child of mine. I asked him to watch out for you these last few days. It’s okay.” Yet, she retained her tight grip on his wrist.

  He halted his escape momentarily to absorb the information provided by Mrs. Bidwell. “What? That guy’s not with the cartel? How can you be sure?”

  “Stay where you are; I’ll be right back,” pleaded Mrs. Bidwell. She released his wrist and walked over to the fireplace mantel, selecting a framed picture of a young man and bringing it over to Terrance.

  “The man coming to the door is Javier Lopez. My husband and I were his foster parents for a number of years. He is very loyal to me, and he thinks of me as his mother. I asked him to tail you for a few days to see if anyone followed you. His real job is an insurance investigator. This is a picture of him when he was sixteen years old. He’s only here because I asked him to help us. Please sit back down. I want you to meet him. You have nothing to be afraid of.”

  Terrance’s chest pounded. He didn’t know what to do. Should he believe her? Or should he take his customary first idea and jump up and run? Then he thought of Jess, and he realized he might be leading a bunch of murderers back to her if this guy followed him. He took a deep breath and sat back down. He no longer had the will to run.

  This time when he spoke, he sounded much calmer. “The other day you trusted me to make the right decision. Now, I’m going to trust you.”

  Mrs. Bidwell smiled like a proud mother at his response. “Again, Mr. Butler, I am well-pleased with your decision.”

  She left Terrance sitting on the sofa and walked to the door to greet her newest guest. “Come in Javier. It’s so nice to see you. I want you to meet my new young friend.”

  Thirty minutes later, Terrance felt like a condemned person given back his life. Javier turned out to be one of the nicest people he’d ever met. He displayed great affection towards Mrs. Bidwell, and he also apologized for his awkward attempts to watch Terrance’s back door, so to speak. But at least, as far as he could determine, no one was following him. Before he left, he gave Terrance his business card and told him to call him if he could ever be of service.

  Once they were alone, Mrs. Bidwell asked Terrance how he felt. He appeared to be a changed man. No longer did he look haggard and terrified.

  “Mrs. Bidwell, I can’t recall when I have felt so relieved. My girlfriend and I were preparing to clear out of town forever. That reminds me, I need to call her within the next hour or she’s instructed to call the police. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you, but I was scared. It won’t happen again.”

  “I’d like to meet your girlfriend sometime. Is this a serious relationship? Pardon me for prying, but my reasons will soon become apparent,” said Mrs. Bidwell.

  Terrace laughed. “You know what, I can honestly say that to have found out how much we care about each other and how committed we are to each other as a result of this frightening experience made it worth it. I now know who I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

  “That’s wonderful,” replied Mrs. Bidwell. “And the story, do you still feel the same way about the story—now that you realize the cartel is not outside waiting for you?”

  “More so than before,” replied Terrance. “And not because of the fact that, in all likelihood the subject is my birth father. He was a good man, and in spite of some very tough breaks, he became an even better man. I’m not going to destroy that for no good purpose.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” said Mrs. Bidwell, “and while we are on the subject of the man who by all indications was your real father, I have something for you.” Mrs. Bidwell went into the adjacent room and retrieved a large brown envelope.

  “You mentioned needing some of Joseph’s hair and other items so you can sec
ure a DNA test for you and Joseph. I believe you will find sufficient material in here to accomplish that.” She handed the envelope to Terrance.

  Terrance accepted the envelope, recalling having requested the samples. However, as he sat there holding the envelope, he realized things had changed. What purpose would a DNA test serve now? To prove who his real father was or wasn’t? Then what constituted a real father? Someone who dutifully passed the combined genetic mutations of a million members of the same family tree on to an opposite sex representative of another equally diverse family tree for the purpose of producing yet another child in a very long line? Or, did it have more to do with being there as a caring parent day in and day out? Terrance was partial towards the latter. Therefore, he already had two male individuals who had fulfilled that roll admirably: his adoptive father who raised him and a man named Joseph Right who devoted his life to watching over him all those years. So what purpose would a DNA test serve him? The answer, very simply, was—no purpose at all.

  “Mrs. Bidwell, I appreciate your efforts here, but I don’t believe I’m going to need this after all. I believe Howard Douglas is my birth father. Although, I will never be able to share this with the world, I will still be proud to claim him and Whitney McClain as my ancestry.” He handed the envelope back to Mrs. Bidwell. “Do with this as you choose. I’ll never ask you for it again.”

  A smile unlike any other displayed before covered the entirety of Mrs. Bidwell’s face as she accepted the envelope. “I am well-pleased, Mr. Butler. You are displaying a level of wisdom usually reserved for people well beyond you in years, and although I am confident that you’re the son Joseph came here to be near, I agree with your notion of human qualities superseding genetic makeup. This reassures me you will be up to the task.”

  Ignoring her remark, Terrance observed as Mrs. Bidwell returned the envelope to the other room while taking a dainty handkerchief from her dress pocket to dry her eyes. It looked to him as if they both felt a great sense of relief.

  When she returned from the other room, he couldn’t help but ask a question. “Mrs. Bidwell, were we ever in any danger from the cartel? If we weren’t, you can tell me because I’ve made my decision, and it will not change.”

  His hostess walked towards him without answering. After she sat down, she responded, “Mr. Butler, everything I related to you regarding the cartel is true. Do not ever think differently. They are out there waiting and watching, and they always will be.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Terrance. “It’s been over twenty years. What is it after twenty years that could be so important to them? What are they looking for?”

  “This,” answered his hostess as she handed him another envelope. “This is what they are after, and the reason why they will never forget.”

  Terrance inspected the envelope. The return address listed a Swiss bank and was addressed to, Account Holder, Box 2011, Kansas City, Missouri. Terrance looked back to Mrs. Bidwell. “Do you want me to read this?”

  “Please,” she answered.

  Terrance scanned the enclosed documents, and when he looked back to Mrs. Bidwell, he appeared confused. “This says there is almost seven million dollars in this account. There’s no name listed, only a number. Are you telling me Howard Douglas stole this money from the cartel, and that’s why they are still after him?”

  “You are exactly right, except that it was more like a million and a half when he took it. It earned interest all these years so that’s how it got to the current amount. Joseph included me as co-owner of the account some years ago just in case.”

  “I don’t suppose you could simply give it back to them and ask them to forget all about it, could you? No, of course, you can’t do that. They would kill you anyway. So, what are you going to do with all this money?”

  “I don’t intend to do anything with it, that’s not my job. That’s going to be your job, Terrance. You’ve proved by your recent actions and decisions more so than the obvious physical similarities you display that you’re the rightful heir to Joseph Right’s legacy. It will be your job when you finish your schooling. You’re going to need that law degree, for sure, now. I expect setting up a foundation and administering to it will keep you fairly busy. I’ll provide for your education and upkeep from now on out of these funds until you’re ready to take control in a few years. I think you will be able to accomplish a great deal of good with the resources you will have available. Don’t you?”

  Terrance sat speechless and looked prepared to stay that way for sometime.

  “But remember, Terrance, never assume the cartel isn’t out there waiting for someone to slip up. They will be out there waiting, forever.”

  It’s a good thing Mrs. Bidwell checked the time and reminded Terrance to call Jess before the hour passed. He did manage to call Jess, who sat waiting all this time ready to come charging to his rescue, and convince her to pick him up in front of Mrs. Bidwell’s house. She consented, although most reluctantly, after many assurances.

  Waiting for her outside on the sidewalk, he waved as she cautiously drove up in the clanking and lurching old van. At first, Terrance had a hard time recognizing her as she, too, had secured dark sunglasses and a huge sunbonnet. She looked ridiculous just like he did two hours earlier when he arrived here. He stood there laughing for a moment before getting into the van. As he entered the van, he put his dark glasses and hat back on because they were a team now, and if one of them looked ridiculous, then both of them would look ridiculous.

  Sitting there with the girl he loved in the most hideous vehicle west of the Missouri River with the weight of the entire world off his shoulders, he felt down right giddy. “Darlin’,” he said in his best imitation cowboy drawl as he leaned over towards her, “sumpin’ wonderful’s happened.”

  “That right?” replied his still skeptical companion.

  “Do I have a story to tell you, and I’ll do just that while we’re on our way to trade this remarkable piece of machinery in on a real nice Jeep Cherokee. By the way, have I told you today how absolutely amazing you are?”

  CHAPTER FORTY