CHAPTER SIX #3
It was close to three in the afternoon when I headed out onto the porch, where I grabbed the push broom.
I used it to sweep the dried-up leaves and windswept cigarette butts into a neat pile to be cleaned up later with the dustpan.
And it was during that moment when I heard the telltale sound of footsteps approaching.
Relief was swift to wash over me, and I felt like a little kid who’d been waiting all day for his father to come home from work.
I looked up from my sweeping, ready to batter Leonard with a thousand questions about where he’d been and what he’d been doing while my soul settled in the comfort of knowing he was home …
only to be crushed again by the sight of an uncharacteristically well-kempt Gerald Crowley strolling up the porch steps, wearing a suit far nicer than mine.
“Leave,” I ordered, looking away immediately, while the internal panic began again with a harsh vengeance.
He’s here, but not Leonard.
That can’t be a coincidence.
“Hey now. Is that any way to greet your old man?”
My trusty knife sat comfortably in my back pocket.
I could easily whip it out and slice the smirk right off his smug face before he knew what hit him.
But I chose the path of silence and continued to brush the leaves away, not bothering to give him the pleasure of my attention, all while wondering when I’d last seen his ugly mug around this place.
He had only come once, and it must have been thirteen, fourteen years ago.
It was when I threatened him in Leonard’s office.
How old had I been then? Nineteen, maybe twenty? It was so long ago, well over a decade. It was the most time he’d ever gone without coming back to remind us that he still existed. So much that I’d almost allowed myself to forget the lowlife who’d acted the part of my brother’s and my sperm donor.
But here he was again … and on the day Leonard was suspiciously missing.
Why?
And why did he look so … put together and rich?
“You’re just gonna ignore me and pretend I’m not here?”
I aimed my gaze toward the street to watch the cars as they whizzed by.
It was a fairly busy road. Traffic built regularly during the daytime hours and got quieter at night, when most of the world was asleep.
The sound of passing cars and rumbling trucks had become a comfort over the years since we’d moved into the funeral home.
But now, the beeping horns and squealing tires added to the irritation tugging at my nerves.
I was on edge. Worried about Leonard, but not wanting to voice that concern to anybody out loud. And now, added to that, I was bothered that my father had crawled out from whatever slimy corner of the underworld he dwelled in.
Why? I asked myself again. Why now?
I bit my inner cheek, pushing microscopic bits of nothing with overly aggressive shoves of the broom.
I didn’t want to speak to the man. Didn’t want to acknowledge him at all.
I wanted him to simply evaporate into thin air and never return again.
But right now, he was here, Leonard wasn’t, and there was no way this wasn’t somehow connected.
I just didn’t want to acknowledge what it might mean.
What it probably meant.
But I have to.
The broom stilled. My hands tightened around the handle until I thought it might splinter and break beneath my harsh grip. A torrent of anger and hesitancy warred against my tense nerves as I squeezed my eyes shut while I fought for the willpower to do what I knew I needed to do.
Then, with an exhale, I opened my eyes to turn and look at Gerald Crowley in his expensive, tailored suit and said, “Fine, I’ll bite. Why are you here?”
One side of his mouth curled into a satisfied smile after he’d gotten what he wanted—my attention.
He took a step toward me, as if by my talking to him, he’d gotten my permission to approach. “I came to invite you to my birthday party.”
“Your birthday party,” I repeated with a frown, enunciating each word.
He nodded. “Today’s my fiftieth birthday, my boy, and I’m having myself a little shindig.”
I knew my parents had been young when they had my brother and me.
If I pushed my mind hard enough, I could still remember the youth in my mother’s eyes when she forced her face to smile at me, though she looked exhausted beyond her years.
Yet, despite all that, it still startled me to learn that my father was only seventeen years older than me.
It raised the question of how old my mother had been when I was born and how old she’d been when she died, and if I thought Gerald Crowley had the answers, I’d ask.
But I doubted my father knew much about my mother, if anything at all.
She’d been an easy fuck when he couldn’t find anyone else to use. It was as simple and as horrible as that.
So, instead, I stared him down and said, “You’re having a birthday party, and you want me there.”
He tucked his hands into the pockets of his navy-blue slacks and rocked back on his heels.
“Thought it was time to turn over a new leaf,” he said, seeming unnervingly genuine.
Then, before I could settle into the discomfort of his tone, he turned to stroll the length of the porch as he added, “And I think I have something that might be of interest to you.”
I glowered at his portly frame as the hairs on the back of my neck bristled, like a wolf threatened by a gun-toting hunter.
My hand reached around to my back pocket to touch the handle of my butterfly knife, itching to whip it out and sink its sharpened blade into the base of his spine.
But to kill him would be to silence him, and he had answers I needed.
“Speak,” I demanded.
My father looked over his shoulder and cocked his head, as if considering the command, then replied, “Nah. How about you come to my party, and we’ll chat at my house?”
House? He has a house?
“And if I say no?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Then you’ll have to live the rest of your little life without ever knowing what I have.”
“What does that—"
He held up a hand, and something on his ring finger glinted in the lowering sun. I narrowed my eyes at the diamond-encrusted gold wedding band sitting comfortably there as another dozen questions came to mind.
When did he get married? How long ago?
There were many years between when I’d last seen him and now. He’d been quiet, absent, and, as it would seem, incredibly busy.
What else has he been up to?
“No, no, my boy. We are not talking here,” he said, shutting me down with calm confidence.
“And why the hell do you think you have that type of power over me?”
He smirked, that air of confidence now bold and bubbling to the surface. “Because, son, in this very moment … I very much do.”
The first day of November had brought with it an eerie chill.
A gust of wind blew through the porch, casting the neat pile of dead leaves and smoked cigarettes to scatter across the floorboards again in a chaotic, jumbled dance around my feet.
Gerald walked with the wind, moving through the low cloud of debris to close the distance between us as he reached into his coat pocket.
I tensed and kept my hand on my knife, assuming he was arming himself, and he chuckled.
“Jesus, Abraham,” he gently scolded. “Always so on edge. You have to learn how to loosen up, son. You’re gonna drive yourself to an early grave if you keep that up.”
Then he produced a large white envelope, and as he handed it to me, he said, “It’s a costume party, but you don’t have to go crazy. A mask would be fine. And if you don’t mind, I’d prefer that you come alone. Don’t tell your brother or your girlie little friend where you’re headed.”
Girlie little friend. I scoffed with a roll of my eyes.
Now in his thirties, Shawn was far from girlie, nor was he my friend. He was, for all intents and purposes, my brother, just as much as Isaac.
But Gerald was never going to see it that way. If he wasn’t blood-related or married in, he was never going to be family.
It left me uncomfortable to not tell Shawn or Ike about this encounter. But if he had information about Leonard, I didn’t want to risk not finding out.
So, I tucked the envelope inside my jacket and asked, “And if they question where I’m going?”
Gerald snorted. “I don’t fuckin’ know. You’re not stupid. Make something up.”
Then he left without another word, walking down the steps with his hands in his pockets and strolling along the sidewalk like he didn’t have a care in the world.
And when I opened the invitation, I found the provided address wasn’t far from here, in Hollow Cove—a historic, secluded enclave, situated on the bluff overlooking Salem Sound.
The type of fancy place where houses had names and each one was built on its own private street, named after the family who had built it.
I hadn’t been there myself, but I knew homes in that area were valued in the millions.
To live there, one would need to have an exorbitant amount of money.
And that was when I realized that Gerald Crowley—the man who had played a part in my birth with my junkie, homeless mother—truly had been busy in the years since I’d last seen him.
He’d gotten lucky. Maybe even luckier than me.
And I had to find out how.
But more importantly, I had to find Leonard, and something told me Gerald Crowley knew exactly where he was.