Never Coming Home

by A.R. Wise

  * * *

  “Hey Dad,” said Darcy as she opened the door for her father. “Two nights in a row, huh? What are you doing here this time?”

  “I had something I wanted to talk to you about. Is this a good time, or are you headed out?”

  Darcy was wearing a tight black dress with see-through lace sleeves that extended up and over her cleavage. Her hair was in a bun with a curl dangling down over the left side of her face, and she was putting on an earring as she welcomed her father inside.

  “No, I get dressed up like this so that I can sit at home alone. What do you think?”

  “Where’re you going?”

  “Out with a friend.”

  “On a date?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Who is it? Humor me.”

  Her shoulders dropped as she groaned. She looked over at her father with a weary expression. “Did you come over for something other than to interrogate me?”

  Lincoln walked in and closed the door. He felt like an intruder as his daughter continued to get ready. She was walking back and forth, muttering about how she couldn’t remember where she’d left her keys. As she passed Lincoln, he smelled her perfume. She used the same as her mother, and the scent brought back memories that’d sadly become tainted and bitter. “I’ve got something I’d like to talk to you about.”

  “Ever hear of a phone?”

  “No need to get snarky.”

  “Sorry, it’s just that I’m in a bit of a hurry, and you’ve got a bad habit of showing up unannounced lately.” She must’ve noticed her father’s sad expression, because she walked over to kiss him on the cheek and apologize. “Don’t give me the puppy dog eyes. It’s not like I don’t want to see you. It’s just that I don’t need to see you every day. What’s up this time?”

  Lincoln snickered and tilted his head as he said, “I came up with a scheme to convince you to come and see me every day.”

  Darcy laughed, but then saw that he was serious. “What are you talking about?” she asked while continuing to get ready.

  “I want you to come and work with me.”

  She halted, gave him a quizzical stare, and said, “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m helping out with a new project that I thought you’d be interested in.” He walked over to the poster on the wall and pointed at the missing person picture. “I want to investigate the murder of Betty Kline, and I want you to help me.”

  “You can’t be serious. Dad, I was just joking about that. Are you seriously going to become a private investigator just to get me to change my band’s name? Is this some sort of midlife crisis or what?”

  “Midlife crisis? No. It’s just…” he struggled to explain his goal to her. “There are a lot of people who want to know more about the murders. I’m going to set up a crowdfunding site to pay for me to check into the case. We’ll go to the crime scene; maybe interview some people involved. The anniversary is coming up, and I thought we could use that to get more attention.”

  “I’ve got a job.”

  “Right, I know, but I thought you might want to quit and do this instead.”

  “I’m not quitting my job. Look, Dad, this is an interesting idea and all, but I’m not going to just up and quit my job. That’s crazy. And don’t you need a license or something to be a private investigator?”

  “Not in Colorado, and you don’t need to worry about the money. I’ll make sure you keep a steady income.”

  “It’s not just a steady income I’m looking for. You were the one who taught me to find something I enjoy doing and do it for a living in case the band never takes off. I’m trying to do that. I know I’m not making much money now, but I’m learning a lot, and hopefully I can use that experience to open my own restaurant one day. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “Well yeah, of course, but I thought…”

  “I think it’s awesome that you’re doing this,” said Darcy as she fiddled with her earring. “You used to tell me how you wanted to be a private detective when you were a kid, so I’m happy for you. But I’ve got to start planning for my life too. As much as I hope the band takes off, right now there’s not much hope in making a living at it. I need to stick to my guns at the restaurant.”

  “You’re right,” said Lincoln in defeat. “I didn’t think it through.”

  “You should still do it though,” said Darcy in an attempt to rejuvenate her father’s waning enthusiasm. “I think it’d be good for you to start working on something like that.” She walked over to him and straightened the lapels on his jacket like a parent preening a child before church. “You’re always happier when you’ve got a project to work on. I hate it when you’re listless. I know Mom feels the same way.”

  “Listless, huh?” Lincoln grunted and moved towards the door. “I should get going. Don’t let me keep you from your date. I love you, sweetie.”

  “Dad, wait.” Darcy took him by the hand to keep him from leaving. “Why don’t you give me a call in the next couple days to let me know how it’s going? I’ve always wanted to find out what really happened to Betty.” It felt as if she was doling out her attention like charity, which made Lincoln feel ashamed of his blatant attempt to convince her to spend time with him. “Maybe we can get together for coffee soon and you can tell me what you’ve found out. How’s that sound?”

  “Sounds good,” said Lincoln, smiling faintly. “I’d like that.”

  Lincoln left Darcy’s apartment and walked slowly back to his car, contemplating where to go next. It was getting late, and he hadn’t eaten. He considered going to a restaurant, and ran through a mental checklist of which ones served the best martinis, settling on a choice between a local Japanese-Italian fusion place and a bar that happened to serve decent nachos. As he was debating where to go, he glanced back up at his daughter’s apartment and saw the vague suggestion of her shadow against the blinds as she continued to get ready.

  He was reminded of her first date, when she was seventeen. She’d been wearing a purple dress with a white sweater, and her blonde hair had just started to grow back after chemotherapy. Her mother made her wear a babushka. She looked like a little old Russian woman.

  Darcy had started dating much later than her friends due to the illness that’d stolen away much of her childhood. She’d been worried that no boy would ever want to go out with her because of how sick and frail she’d become.

  Lots of fathers dread the day their daughters go on their first date, and they threaten to wield shotguns and scowls to greet boys who dared come to the door. Lincoln hadn’t felt that way, and when Darcy was healthy enough to go on her first date he cried after saying goodbye. He cherished his daughter’s joy, excitement, and nervousness as she waited for the young man to pick her up. It was one of a thousand experiences he’d been afraid her leukemia would steal.

  The ducks splashed in the pond behind him and he turned to regard them with a smile. The male dove beneath the water. His orange feet wiggled in the air as his girlfriend waited beside him. He came back up and shook his iridescent-green head violently before diving back down again as the female swam lazily away, glancing back as if wondering when he would come along with her. The male came back up, shook the water off his head again, and then promptly dove back under as the female got farther and farther away.

  When Lincoln looked back up at Darcy’s window he saw that the light had been turned off. He knew his daughter would be coming down soon, and he hurried to get in his car. Instead of starting it, he sat there with the window rolled down and waited. When she didn’t come down, he took out his phone to waste time by looking at a social media site. He saw a post that his ex-wife had put up an hour earlier. It was a picture of her in a black dress and a caption that said, ‘Headed out for a night on the town with one of my favorite people.’

  Lincoln realized that his ex-wife and Darcy were meeting up. His daughter wasn’t going out with a boy. The person she was meeting, who she didn’t want to reveal, w
as her mother. They were both trying not to let Lincoln know how much time they spent together. They were afraid it would upset him.

  Darcy came down, her heels clacking on the cement as she rushed to her car. She was oblivious of her father as he watched. She’d grown into such a beautiful young woman, but he would always remember the little girl she’d been.

  He remembered the nights at the hospital, when she would cry herself to sleep as her parents struggled to think of a way to help her forget the truth that those tubes and needles constantly reminded her of. All those beeping machines, and whispered conversations with empathetic but painfully honest doctors. Her bright blue eyes dimmed by pain, and her blonde hair lying in clumps in the shower drain. Her lonely sobs when she thought she was alone, and her forced smiles when she knew her parents couldn’t stand the pain.

  Darcy survived her battle with cancer, and blossomed into a stunning, intelligent, and kind woman. Lincoln hadn’t come out of the struggle unscathed, and neither had his marriage. In some battles, there are unexpected casualties, and the fight can rob a person of everything they have, leaving them battered and broken.

  Darcy drove away, leaving Lincoln alone in the parking lot staring at the pond, watching a mallard search for his mate.

  Listless.