Chapter 5

Part two

I wandered about, drinking in the glory of the sunset and the serenity of the night until long after the last star shone in its place.  Then I stumbled wearily up the stairs to my apartment.

I could hear a phone ringing all the way from the hall, piercing the stillness of the hour.  It took me more than a moment to realize that it was my own.  Bursting through the door, I scrambled to pick it up.  I glanced at the clock above my stove.  It was well after eleven.  Who would call at this time of night?

“Hello?”

I jumped at the voice.  “Daddy?”

“Hey, honey, I—“

“Where are you?  Do you realize you probably just woke up half the building?”

I could barely make out his voice over all the background noise filtering through the phone.  Several different jazz and country songs intertwined to create a dissonance that made me cringe.  There was raucous laughter, and the clinking of coins.  Overwhelming it all was the clatter and hum of machinery, and I though my head would spin its way off my neck.

“What?”

Realizing that he hadn’t heard a word I’d said, I offered, “Go into another room,” as loudly as I dared, at the same time trying not to finish the job he’d doubtlessly started when the phone had rung.

He must have at least understood my tone, or perhaps had the same idea himself, because the background cleared considerably in a matter of seconds.

“Where are you?” I repeated.

“I’m outside the Hollywood casino in Tupelo, Mississippi, on Bob DeRuiter’s cell phone, so I’ve only got a few.”  I opened my mouth to protest, but he anticipated my objection.  “Wait, before you get all preachy on me for comin’ to a place like this, you gotta know why I called.”

He paused, obviously hoping to perk my interest, but I pursed my lips in silent irritation, and he took that as his cue.

“I just won the jackpot on one of them nickel machines—you know, the ones they got linked to all their other casinos—eleven thousand dollars!  Just think of that, Fiona, we can get you a new car, maybe, or—“

“I don’t need a new car, daddy, I’ve got one just fine.”

He stopped.

“Well, we can get you some new clothes, then, and maybe…” he trailed off.

“I’ve got my own clothes, daddy,” I said softly.  “I have a job at the bookstore downtown.  I’m doing okay.”

He was silent for a moment.  Then he said, so quietly I could only barely make out his words over the now dulled roar, “I guess you really are okay by yourself, then, huh?”

It was my turn to pause.  Was I?  How much happier I’d be, I thought, in a real house, with a real…family.  But I was doing okay.  “You just get yourself home, okay?  You can use the money to…” I took a deep breath.  Get yourself a car, some clothes, a job…”to move back in here.  For real, Father, to stay.”

Something told me that if he didn’t; if he was left to himself, he’d drink until that what was left wouldn’t cover the bill for his funeral.

“I will, Fiona,” he said resolutely.  “I’ll get the first plane out Monday morning.”

I ventured a half smile, unsure of my feelings under the pressure of these plans so quickly thrown together.  “Great.  See you then, daddy.”

“See you, honey.”

I hung up.

Then I collapsed on the sofa with a sigh.  My life was about to change again, if this all worked out.  But the exchange had been so fleeting that it almost could have been a dream.

“Nooo,” I moaned, rolling over, already drifting to sleep, though I still wore my jeans and jacket.  Not a dream.  Dreams never ended quite right.

I spent most of the weekend with Andrew.  “I guess I just take some getting used to,” he’d laughed at one point.  It was true.  In some ways, I concluded after stepping out of his car Saturday evening, he was a bit like me.

Wondering where I’d come up with that connection, I found myself thinking back on our day.  I’d first gone over to his house, though that required fighting back some inexplicable hesitation.  The place had been enormous, practically a palace, with stone walls and perfectly kept hedges lining them.  At least two stories high, the room was a tidy gray, to match the stone.

Andrew had laughed when I had referred to it as a palace, staring up at its looming walls with wide eyes.  “A prison’s more like it.”

The interior was sparkling white, prim and neat to the utmost extreme.  I only dared sit on the cloudlike sofa after a skeptical look at my clothes, afraid any smudge would rub off and taint the perfection.  “I think I see,” I’d murmured.

His parents were out, and for that, I was grateful.

We’d talked for hours, something I’d never done with anyone before.  I was amazed by his depth.  At school, he’d always sauntered about as if his grin was as plastered as his hair.  I’d taken this as an indication of an artificial heart.  Today, it occurred to me that it was no more than artificial happiness.

And that, I concluded with a sense of accomplishment, just as I climbed into bed, was our connection.

Author’s note:  Didn’t think I’d do it, didja, Ben?  ::Grin.::  Now I’m waiting for those 20 chapters of “Symphony.”  Mwahaha.  Anyway, here’s this chapter, and you may expect one more in the near future, though I advise you not to hold your breath.