by Kira Blakely
Dad would have loved it.
I get the bottle of wine as well, pouring myself a glass and raising it.
“Cheers, Dad.”
“Dash?”
I finish the contents of the glass, setting it down on the table before turning around to find myself face to face with a tall woman in her fifties. She wears sunglasses and an elegant black dress.
“Mom.”
She takes off her sunglasses to reveal eyes sore from crying. “Oh, Dash.”
She runs over to me, hugging me tightly, saying nothing more. No words are needed. I can feel it all in her embrace: how much she missed me, how relieved she is that I’ve come home safely, how she wishes I’d come home sooner and seen Dad one last time, how lonely she is now that Dad’s gone, and how less lonely she feels now that I’m finally here. I put my arms around her as well. “I’m sorry I missed
Dad’s funeral.”
Mom pulls away, shaking her head as she dries a tear. “It’s alright.”
But she isn’t alright. She looks older, much older than I last remember, and something tells me she aged much more in the past few days than she has in the past twelve years. She’s still beautiful but she’s thinner, paler. She looks frail. Exhausted. I’m the one who’s coming home from a war zone, but she looks like she’s just been through World War III.
“I should have come sooner,” I tell her. “I should have come to see him before he… while he was still alive.”
“He would have been happy to see you.” “Would he?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer that. “Well, it doesn’t matter now.” She strokes my cheeks. “What matters is that you’re home. And for good, I hope.”
“I’m not going off to war anymore, if that’s what you’re asking,” I tell her.
“Good.” She smiles. “Because you’re needed here.” “Is he?” a familiar voice interjects.
I turn around to see Billy coming out of the house in an impeccably tailored suit, glass of wine in hand. He, on the other hand, doesn’t look like he’s changed at all. His nose is still mousy and his chin is still weak, two features I expected to grow as he aged. Still the same neatly combed chestnut hair. Still that average build, just a few pounds short of stocky. Still that same bitter look in his brown eyes.
“Hello, Billy,” I greet. “How have you been?”
“Better than you,” he answers, the bitterness also in his voice. “What are you doing here? I thought Dad told you not to come back alive.”
“Billy,” Mom scolds. “Dash is your brother.”
“Really? I seem to recall Dad saying I’m his only son.” “We all know why he said that,” Mom says. “He didn’t mean it. Besides, now that your father’s gone, we’re all that’s left of this family.”
“Ah. So because Dad’s gone, Dash is forgiven?” Billy asks.
Mom frowns.
I step forward. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused you, Billy. That was not my intention. I believe I made that clear before I left.”
“Your leaving made it clear you didn’t give a damn about anyone in this family,” Billy says.
“Billy,” Mom scolds again. “Stop it. The past is in the past. Dash is here now. He’s back.”
“So, what? Are you going to hand him the company now?” Billy asks.
“I don’t intend to take over the family company,” I assure.
“But you want a piece of it?” Billy shakes his head. “Well, you won’t get any. Dad’s made sure of that.”
“Now, now, Billy,” Mom says. “We don’t know what Dash’s plans are now that he’s home. And we’re not sure about anything your Dad left.” She turns to me. “That’s why we’re meeting with the lawyer this evening. You remember Walter, don’t you? He’ll be reading your father’s last will and testament.”
I give her a puzzled look. “He is?”
“You look so surprised,” Billy says. “Isn’t that why you came home?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “That’s not why I came home, and you know it.”
Billy shrugs. “The truth is I don’t know you anymore. My brother died twelve years ago.”
“That’s enough,” Mom says then turns to me. “Dash, why don’t you go inside? The lawyer will be here at six. I’m sure you’ll want to rest before then.”
“Why should he even come?” Billy says. “He’s not in Dad’s will and you know it.”
“Billy…”
“You’re right, Mom. I’ll go inside and rest.” I give her a kiss on the cheek and walk towards the house, pausing in front of Billy and giving him a pat on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you again, Billy.” I lean over. “Please don’t make things harder for Mom.”
He snorts. “You’re the one who’s been doing that.”
I don’t retort. Instead, I make my way into the house.
“Do you still think Dad left you something after all you’ve done?” he calls out.
Again, I don’t mind. I don’t know what I think. At any rate, it doesn’t matter. I’ll find out tonight.
* * *
“To Daniel Shore Siegel, my older son who left his family behind and went off to war,” Walter reads from the document in his hand.
I hold my breath.
“You told me you were going to find your own fate, so find it. I leave you nothing.”
I hear my mother gasp. Fuck.
“All I have I leave to my beloved wife, Nina Patterson- Siegel, and my son, William Louis Siegel.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Billy grin.
“And now, for some other small things. To my friend…”
I am no longer listening, lost in thought as I sit back in my chair. I knew Dad was deeply hurt by what I’d done. After all, he begged me to stay, and I walked out on him. I didn’t expect him to forgive me so I can’t say I’m entirely surprised by his decision to cut me out of his will.
Still, I was hoping he wouldn’t. Guess I know that now.
I stand up, putting my hands in my pockets before pacing the room.
In his last moments, I hoped he would remember me as his son, the same way I remember him now: not as he was last, but as he had been before.
I tell myself he didn’t have the time to reflect or change anything in the will, but he did forgive me. He wished he could take it back.
He died suddenly. It’s possible.
But now, all is lost and I feel like punching the wall right there below his portrait. I don’t know what hurts more: my father still controlling my life even though he’s gone, or how this ruins all my plans for the future.
I stop by the window, scanning the garden below with a furrowed brow. I had plans. I had plans to create my own company. I was going to manufacture better weapons and equipment for military personnel, in turn saving hundreds of lives.
I sit down, burying my face in my hands. Have I really been such a horrible son?
“That is all,” Walter says as he turns the page over. “Oh, wait. I forgot about the addendum.”
An addendum? I raise my head along with my hopes. “Concerning my son, Dash,” Walter reads. “Should he come home alive and have a legal family to support at the time of my death or within three years of it, he shall have his inheritance.”
What?
“Otherwise, my estate will still solely be distributed among my wife and Billy.”
I blink, still trying to digest that addendum. I can still get my inheritance.
But I need to have a family to support. A “legal” one.
They always did love to see the men of our family get married up and start having babies. Clever old goat trapped me.
“I guess you’ll have to get married, big brother,” Billy says as he approaches me, grinning. “That shouldn’t be a problem, right? If I recall, you were always irresistible with the ladies. Oh, wait. That was when you were younger and had a lot of money.”
I frown at him.
“Billy, stop it,” Mom scolds, sitting beside me. “I’m su
re you can find someone. You’re a Marine, after all. If you want, I can even help you.”
I shake my head, placing a hand on her thigh and almost laughing. “It’s fine, Mom. I’ll be alright. I don’t need you to find me a woman. Don’t need anything.”
I stand up, leaving the room after a brisk parting kiss to the crown of her head.
I can find a woman on my own.
* * *
I’m not so sure I should be doing this.
I sit in front of my laptop, opened on the desk in my father’s study, wavering.
Yes, I want to get my inheritance. I need it to start the company. No, I don’t want to have a family just to get my inheritance. What kind of a person does that?
Then again, I’m not getting any younger. And I have to admit, when I was out in the field, there were times when I wished that I had a family. Not Billy and my parents, but my own family that I could come home to.
A family I truly belong with.
I sit up, sighing as I place my fingers on the keyboard.
Alright. Let’s do this.
I pull up RealCupid.com and start making my own ad.
What am I looking for?
I find my mind drifting back to the last woman who really made a dent in me… It was so long ago, it takes me a minute to dredge up her name: Janine. I remember her clearly. Haughty yet serious. Bright copper hair that demands to be played with, to be pulled. Smart, amber eyes a man could get lost in.
But I can’t say all that, or no one will respond. I haven’t seen another woman like that since.
So I start with the basics.
Female. 25 to 30. Long red hair.
I can’t totally discount the memories she left impressed in me. I love redheads now. So sue me.
Single. Straight. Healthy and physically fit.
I wish I could add all the details as I remember them. The heart-shaped pendant around her neck. The high, firm breasts. The proud way she stood. The nervous, fleeting eye contact that could suddenly fasten and hold, letting me know she really wanted me, too.
But I can’t say all that or no one will respond. So…
I’m looking for someone with a heart of gold, someone who doesn’t like breaking the rules, but does it anyway for a bit of good fun. I’m looking for someone who isn’t afraid to scrape her knees
climbing a tree or falling out of one, or break up a fight or hesitate to laugh out loud even with a mouth full of food, someone who doesn’t mind being alone but is always ready to have a good time. Can handle her alcohol but doesn’t mind getting a little drunk every once in a while.
As I type, I remember Janine at the bar, sipping her beer and eating her salad and sizing me up and when I’ve finished typing, I smile.
That’s her, alright.
Now, I just have to add one more tiny detail.
Ready to get married and have a child ASAP.
At that last bit, I frown, finding it a bit weird. Oh, well. The whole situation is weird.
I hit DONE on my ad and send it blazing into cyberspace.
Standing and stretching, I head to the window over- looking the tall elms and the short brick enclosure of the courtyard. Beyond lays the road… and the rest of the world.
I know you’re out there.
4
Janine
Three months earlier
“I’m dying, Janine.”
As tears trickle down my mother’s cheeks, I feel my strength falter. I sink into a dining chair and stare at the floor, hands clutching at my chest as the pain erupts, making it almost impossible for me to breathe.
No.
“What did the doctor say? Didn’t they offer some way to treat this? Surely, there must be something they can…”
She holds my shaking hands in her own, kneeling in front of me. “It’s no use, Janine. It’s already too late. The cancer has already spread far too much.”
“No. There must be–”
“Look at me, Janine.” She squeezes my hands. “There’s nothing more they can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.”
Slowly, I lift my head to look into her eyes, my own brimming with tears, and as I do, I see the plea in them, silently shattering my heart into pieces.
“Mom.” I throw my arms around her, sobbing.
She squeezes me in turn, rocking me back and forth like a child on the linoleum floor. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
I do feel like a child again, like a child who just got lost in the mall and was found, like a child crying after a bad day at school. My mother has always had that effect, comforting in its own way.
But I won’t ever feel this way again after she’s gone. I’ll never be a child again.
No. Maybe I can’t be a child anymore. That time is past. I have to be a grown-up now. I have to be every bit a strong, thirty year old woman.
“Oh, Mom.” I clutch her arms tighter as I bury my face in her warm chest, unable to believe that, soon, I won’t hear her heart beating from inside it.
It’s unbearable, but I have to bear it because my Mom can’t do it alone. I wish I could turn back time. I wish I could take her place. But I can’t do any of those things. I can only remain by her side and make things less painful for her. I can only make her remaining time meaningful, no matter how fleeting.
“How much time?” I ask her, wiping some of my tears. “Months. Weeks.”
I nod, holding her hand as fresh tears fall. “I’ll be right here, Mom.”
* * *
Present Day
I pull the sliding door open and step out to the balcony where my mother is seated on a wicker chair, staring out into the ocean. There’s an open crossword puzzle, forgotten, on the patio table. A glass of ice water sweats beside it.
“The ocean looks beautiful today, doesn’t it?” I say as I approach her, tucking some strands of hair behind my ear. The salty breeze blows them away again immediately.
“It always does,” she answers, looking at me.
I force a smile, trying to ignore the thin lines on her pale face or how sunken her eyes look. It’s only been three months, and yet she’s changed so much, already slipping away.
It’s almost as if the news killed her more than the cancer itself had, though I’m sure that can’t be right.
At this rate, she’ll…
I stop the thought, taking another deep breath.
No, I won’t think of that. I won’t think of what’s coming.
I’ll just think of now, of this moment.
I have to make the most of each moment.
“Remember that day we went sailing – you, Dad, and I?” I pull up a stool so I can sit beside her. “It was such a beautiful, sunny day. Nothing could go wrong.”
“Except your Dad didn’t really know how to sail,” she says, grinning. “If that other boat hadn’t passed by, we would have been stuck in the ocean, drifting off to God knows where.”
I chuckle. “I wonder where we would have ended up. I used to imagine us being stranded on an island, just living a simple, happy life.”
“Without TV?” My mother shakes her head. “Your father wouldn’t have survived without his football games.
“I guess I’ll see him soon,” she adds sadly. Another lump forms in my throat but I swallow it. Don’t cry, Janine. Be strong.
“I’m sure he’s waiting for you,” I tell my mother as I stand up. “He’ll be standing there with his arms on his hips, saying, ‘What took you so long? I’m starving.’”
And I do my best imitation of my father, making my mother laugh.
“I’m sure he is,” she agrees. “He must miss my cooking.”
And I’ll miss it. But I don’t say that out loud, sitting back down on the stool.
Mom reaches out to stroke my cheek. “I’ll be sure to tell him what a fine woman you’ve been since he left.”
“Oh, Mom.” I place my hand over hers, blinking away tears.
“I really am proud of you, you know.” She touches her head to min
e. “You’ve come so far and I know you’ll go even farther. You’ll have an amazing life, find a wonderful husband, have kids…”
She suddenly falls silent, her hand slipping away as she sits back in her chair.
“Mom?” I place a hand on the arm of her chair and give her a look of concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “I just… I wish I could see my grandchildren before I go.”
Grandchildren? My eyes grow wide with surprise. She’s never brought that up before.
“I wish I could be there for you when you give birth, give you advice on motherhood to get you started, hold my grandchild in my arms, you know,” she explains.
“A grandchild?” I ask, still in disbelief. “You want me to have a child?”
It’s not that I don’t want to have children. To be honest, it’s always been in my plans. But now?
“Of course, darling. Someday.” She giggles a little and shakes her head. “Not right now, just for me. I’m just saying it would make me happy, knowing you had a family of your own.” Her hand falls from my cheek and she gazes to the sea again. “And no one can complete your life quite like a child.”
I understand that. Really, I do. But…
“I just wish I could see how my grandchild will look! Will he be a he? Or a she? Will they have my eyes, perhaps?” I look at her. Her eyes are distant, and in this moment, she is sublime with bliss at the fantasy of a grandchild.
“But that’s not the way things happened.” She looks at me and pats my cheek again. “I just thought it would be nice.”
A child, huh? If only I could pull one out of a hat.
“Hey.” She leans towards me and grins, shaking a finger as if she caught me doing something bad. “Don’t go run off and get yourself knocked up by the next man you see, Janine. I already know how much you love me. I don’t need any grand gestures.”
I give her a practiced look of relief. “Of course not, Mom.”
Even as I say that, though, the wheels in my head are turning.
Surely, there must be some way.
* * *
No way.
I shake my head as I stare at my computer screen, a list of sperm donors and their pictures right in front of me.
There’s no way I want to have the child of any of these. Hell, I don’t know any of them. What if the donor I choose turns out to be some deranged psychopath? Or what if he has some rare, ugly disease?