Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 71814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“Hey, Dad,” I managed to say, my voice coming out weak and awkward. I should’ve called ahead. What the hell was I doing just popping up on the doorstep after years of not seeing him?
My dad used to have a clean-shaven face and close-cut hair for his office job, but overgrown stubble now covered his jaw, while his dark hair covered his ears in shaggier strands. His shoulders tensed under his dark blue robe, making me feel even more nervous.
Was he about to run and hide from me?
“Hey, honey,” my dad finally replied with a fragile smile. He shuffled forward and wrapped his arms around me in the stiffest hug on planet Earth.
I hugged him back, frowning against his shoulder. My dad hadn’t ever been the most outgoing person in the world. He had always been a bit reserved, but this was a whole other level of standoffish. It was like we had forgotten how to exist around each other.
“Sorry for just showing up. I came to town for work,” I explained once we broke apart.
My dad raised his eyebrows, awkwardly tucking his hands into the pockets of his robe.
“Oh, that’s… great. It’s been a while since you were last here,” he commented.
I was sure he wanted a reason. Maybe he already knew deep down, but I wasn’t here to dredge up that part of the past.
“I’ve just been really busy,” I told him as I shifted back and forth on my feet a little.
My dad noticed my restlessness and cleared his throat.
“Come in, come in,” he ushered me inside, leading me to the kitchen where he fixed me a glass of water.
I nodded my thanks and took a sip, my eyes sweeping over the top of the glass to survey the kitchen. My mom’s cherished apron was still hanging on the wall next to the doorway, but the counters weren’t pristine and shiny like she used to keep them. Half a loaf of bread in a messily tied bag, a few dishes, and a cereal box lay discarded on the counters.
Everywhere I looked, it was so obvious that she wasn’t here anymore.
“Are you still working at your same job?” I asked him as we stood in the middle of the kitchen.
My dad rubbed the back of his neck.
“Oh, no. We had a… disagreement, and I left,” he explained. “I’m just doing a technician job right now.”
Well, that was still something. Something told me that his grief led to this “disagreement” that probably meant him being let go. I wasn’t going to say that out loud, though.
“That still sounds good,” I replied. This was so awkward. I needed to move this conversation forward before my mom’s death came up. “I’m actually looking into the arson incidents happening around town. Evidently, Mom did some research on some arson incidents in the past. You wouldn’t happen to remember her talking about that, would you?”
My dad’s brow furrowed as he thought for a few seconds. He then shook his head.
“I don’t recall,” he answered.
Frustration crackled within me. I wanted this to be somewhat easy, but life was a stubborn bastard.
“Did she ever mention anything… peculiar about her work?” I pushed for more information. I didn’t want to be all conspiracy-theorist-like, but it was eerie that my mom had died after finding proof. What if she felt like she was in danger at some point?
My dad shook his head again.
“No, nothing like that,” he said.
I did my best not to sigh in disappointment. It wasn’t his fault for not knowing if she kept things a secret, but I wished he could at least give me some sort of clue.
“Most of her things are still in her office if you want to take a look. Might be some stuff in the attic too,” my dad informed me before checking the time on his watch. “I have to head out in a little bit, but feel free to stay and look around. This is still your home too.”
Oh, ouch. I forced a smile onto my face and nodded, my eyes trailing him as he walked out of the kitchen. Guilt washed over me as I imagined him feeling as alone as I did in those years we were separated. It was so hard to lean on each other back then. What if we drowned each other while trying to keep each other afloat?
But I didn’t say those words aloud. I didn’t want him to regret his past actions or how he felt, because he couldn’t control his grief just as I couldn’t.
All I could do was be polite to mitigate any awkwardness and focus on my work.
So, I got to looking. My mom’s office looked the same as before with funny, motivational posters on the walls, a neat desk with colorful office supplies, and three whole filing cabinets full of documents pertaining to her research. Thankfully, she was organized.