"Sold my guilt-trip tickets long ago," Leonard said. "Mom looks at me and sees Lawrence. It'll only make the situation worse. Lawrence was her favorite."
"You both were." Jack promised.
"No, Pops. Two objects can't occupy the same space at the same time. Not even on an emotional level. It's just the way things are."
"You really convinced yourself of that lie on top of all the others you believe?"
"Here we go," Leonard argued. I always knew it, Pops. So did you. I accepted it. It's cool. There's always a favorite. Parents don't admit it except to themselves and even then, pretend not to. I was never in the habit of convincing myself of lies. You and mom had a hard time selling Santa Claus to me when other kids swallowed it hook, line and chimney. No, I reserve that unique habit for you Americans. You're so damn good at it. You live, eat, sleep and bath in lies and wonder why you have rebellions."
"Now here you go," his father shot back. "And you're not one of us, right?"
"Not anymore."
"I didn't follow you out here to argue, Leonard."
"I'm glad. Seems to me we're having an open and honest discussion thus far," Leonard said with a tinge of sarcasm.
His father paused a moment, then changing the subject, said, "Plan on coming to the house?"
"Don't think so."
"Why the hell not?"
"You already know the answer."
"Maybe I don't. Maybe I don't know the answers to a lot of things you presume I know answers to, Leonard."
"Maybe is a loaded word. Someday soon, dad, we have to get together. Have a real father to son sit-down and talk. We never did that." Leonard leans closer toward his father for emphasis on what he says next. "I'm remembering things. Strange, disturbing things and I'm torn between my incurable need to know and the fear of knowing."
"Remembering what things?" Mr. Strahm demanded in an attempt to cover his uncomfortableness.
"Oh, you know," Leonard said. "More than I do. It involves the military is all I know for now and somehow… you're involved.
A sixteen-wheeler whizzed by. Leonard hopped to the curb to avoid the splash it made. Water got on his pants, but his quick response avoided a worse urban bath. His attention again turned to his father.
"You really should come to the house," Mr. Strahm said. "You can make good with the family, friends again. All is forgiven."
Leonard only smiled at his father's avoidance technique. The outside of this hard-shell of a man may have been beaten down by ill health, but his mind and stubbornness remained upright and impossible to penetrate. "What was Lawrence involved in at the lab, Pops? He was still working for the government, right?"
"I've no idea," Mr. Strahm replied just a little too vehemently for Leonard to be won over. "He never spoke to me about anything he was doing at that place. All I know is most of his work was classified. He couldn't have talked about it if he wanted to. You already knew that. Why in hell you so interested in what he was doing there?"
"Pops, come on," Leonard said. "You never were good at acting naïve. Lying was more your forte.
Mr. Strahm's expression hardened as he glared at Leonard. "If this wasn't your brother's funeral, I'd kick your smart-ass all-over Manhattan."
"Hardball candy, Pops? Lawrence didn't eat candy. Remember? Not even as a kid. He's spit it out soon as his tongue figured out what it was. You of all people should know that."
"There's always a first time," Mr. Strahm shot back.
"Don't tell me you're going to willingly drink the Kool-Aid with everybody else."
"It's no Kool-Aid, Leonard. As usual you're making things up again. The writer in you is running away with your imagination."
"That right?" Leonard said with finality. "Well, I say you and everybody else are not making enough of it and you have no imagination. You see what you want. Usually what's comfortable. I'm never comfortable, Pops, and won't be until I find out what the hell happened to my brother. Your son."
"Maybe it's a good idea you don't come to the house after all," Mr. Strahm said firmly.
"Yeah," Leonard said, "I knew that before you."
Leonard stepped off the curb and went around to the driver side of his gray BMW. He opened the door, looked up at his father. "Be seeing you, Pops."
Mr. Strahm said nothing, as Leonard got inside the car and drove off.
CHAPTER 2
The two-story colonial house occupied a serene, picturesque location in Croton-On-The-Hudson in Westchester County, New York. A township of no more than eight thousand residents. The bay window in the family room offered a spectacular view of the Manhattan skyline across the shimmering dark waters of the Hudson River. A view Mr. Strahm would take in for hours at times, alone. Those times have grown more frequent. Retirement was not for a man of his temperament. So long ago but still seemed like yesterday. Nothing else seems to interest him except his memories and Dorethea.
Intrigue.
Something he craved like a lover. Gently swirling brandy in a fine-crystal glass, he contemplated his hands. No matter how young-looking an elder person appears the hands always reveal a much truer age. And his were more telling than with what he felt comfortable. He retired only because he had to and not a day has since passed that he did not regret it. Ill health demanded he give up the work he so loved. He turned his attention back out the window. A dozen or more vehicles were haphazardly parked around the front of the sprawling property. Every one of the automobiles bespoke wealth and privilege. And it meant nothing to him. Not anymore. Instead, it served to remind him of an invading army. He felt almost guilty about that, unappreciative, but guilt was for the weak and again he did not give a damn.
Inside the house most everyone gathered either in the living room or kitchen. The laughter, conversations, and strong aromas from the food reminded him that life continues even in the face of death, perhaps even more profoundly, because of it. He was all too familiar with death. This time however it was unexpected. Not like in war where under some condition's humans welcome it. In peacetime in civilian life it was an unwanted visitor, a heartless form forever on the hunt for fresh souls, and it never left empty handed. He wanted no part of the family gathering. In fact, he wished they were all gone so that he and Dorothea could be left alone undisturbed in their private grief. It was inevitable it would be that way. Sometimes that was better. For him it would have been. In a strange, reluctant way he did not blame Leonard for his decision not to come. With his Gift he would be experiencing more than just his own grief. It would be too much to bear. Mr. Strahm did not possess that curse and was happier about it. He tried desperately to grasp the reality of a world without Lawrence. He never imagined burying one of his own children. The other way around was more of what he anticipated and naturally expected. He focused now on the main road which led to and from the house. He went over in his mind the countless, treasured times he had seen Lawrence drive his car up that very road for his weekly Sunday visits. No matter how busy his schedule, if he were in the States, Lawrence would visit them every Sunday after church. For Mr. Jack Strahm that will be the worse - the empty Sundays.
More bad memories.
Jack felt comforted here in his own private world. It was still raining, though a little heavier, which only exacerbated the weight of an already depressing day. Yet, all he heard was the patter of rain as guests' voices faded to silence in the background of his mind.
"He's not coming." Dorothea's voice broke through the reticence, but with gentleness and sad conviction.
Jack waited a moment. He was not ready for company, but this was the woman whom he loved with all his heart.
"Leonard, you mean?" he said.
Dorethea sensed her husband's fleeting annoyance at her unexpected company. Something she'd grown used to over the years. She never took it personally.
"Who else, dear?" she answered matter-of-factly.
"I know." Jack said, facing her. The hurt and pain in her eyes were difficult to bear. "I'm sorry. I tried."
"No need for sorrow, Jack. We've already enough of that." She joined him at the window, looping her arm through his. A rare smile flashed across her face, as she dipped her head toward his glass, lightly sniffing the brandy. She did not drink, but she loved the smell of it. "Leonard always had his own way of doing things."
"Not doing things as well," Jack added.
He found her smile out of place. But not just her smile. Her entire demeanor. It's been years since Jack saw her so relaxed and somewhat carefree. It not only did not coincide with the emotions he saw in her eyes but unnerved him. Could she be in some form of shock? Worse, insane? He had seen it all too many times on the battlefields. Or was he just exaggerating? Allowing his overactive imagination to get the best of him for no reason. Dorothea was a more than capable and industrious woman who shunned weakness, though she pretended it most times only to manipulate.
"That's no excuse," Jack said. "He should be here."
"Perhaps." Mrs. Strahm sighed deeply. "This road… it won't be the same." She looked over the room. "And neither will this house."
Jack looked at her, sympathetically. "We'll move," he said gently but almost too willingly. "Sell the house."