The First Councel

CHAPTER 16

The Saturday morning traffic out to Virginia isn’t nearly as bad as I thought it’d be. I assumed I’d be bumper-to-bumper in I-95’s asphalt embrace, but the bad weather leaves me breezing toward Richmond with nothing but dark gray skies and clouds in my eyes. It’s the kind of colorless, grim day that feels like it’s always about to rain. No, not rain. Pour. The kind of day that scares people away.

Married to the far left lane of the highway, I keep a cautious eye on the rearview mirror until I’m well out of Washington. It’s been more than a month since the last time I drove out to see him, and I don’t plan on bringing unwanted guests. For almost a half hour, I try to lose myself in the repetitious views of the tree-lined landscape. But every stray thought leads back to Caroline. And Simon. And Nora. And the money.

“Dammit!” I shout, banging the steering wheel. There’s never an escape. I flick on the radio, find some good noisy music with a beat, then crank the volume way up. Ignoring the still overcast skies, I slide open the sunroof. The wind feels good on my face. For the next few hours, I’m going to do everything in my power to forget about life. Today’s about family.

I spend the last half hour on the highway in a four-car caravan. I’m in second place, with a navy Toyota in front of me and a forest green Ford and a tan Suburban behind me. It’s one of the true joys of traveling-linking up with strangers who match your speed. A united defense against the technology of a cop’s speed gun.

Two exits away from my destination in Ashland, Virginia, I break from the procession and make my way over to the right-hand lane. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that the tan Suburban follows. Just a coincidence, I decide. Up ahead, I see the sign for Kings Dominion. It always made me laugh that this place was so close to my dad’s. An amusement park-so close; so far. I take a full whiff of the irony and a quick glance in the rearview. The Suburban’s still behind me.

He’s probably going to get off at the amusement park-there’s not much else to see out here. But as we approach the exit, he doesn’t have his blinker on. He’s not even slowing down. He’s just moving in closer.

I look over my shoulder to get a better view of the driver… and then my throat goes dry. What the hell is he doing here? And why’s he alone? Yanking my wheel to the right, I pull onto the shoulder of the road, kicking a cloudful of gravel dust in his face. We’re just a few yards shy of the Ashland exit, but with a punch of my leg, I slam the brakes as hard as I can. Behind me, the Suburban is blind from the dust and closer than ever. He comes to a jerking stop, but his front bumper lays a quick bite into mine.

Jumping out of my car, I race to the driver’s side of the Suburban. “What do you want!?” I shout, banging the base of my fist against his window.

Turning away, Harry isn’t concerned with my question. He’s focused on something in the backseat. No, not something. Someone.

She sits up and her laugh rips through me. “And you think I’m a psycho driver?” Nora asks as she readjusts her baseball cap. “Honey, you take the cake, the presents, and the whole damn birthday party.”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Don’t be mad,” Nora says, getting out of the Suburban. “I just wanted to-”

“Just wanted to what? Follow me around? Run me off the road?”

“I… I just wanted to see where you were going,” she whispers, staring at her feet.

“What?”

“You told me you were going to visit your dad… but something about the way you said it… I just wanted to be sure you were okay… ”

I look over at Harry, then back to Nora. Her head’s down and she’s kicking at a few pebbles in the dirt. She’s still hesitating. Afraid to open herself up. Every other time, that’s when she’s been burned. And with everything going on… the way we’re tied together… she’s risking it all just by being here. But she still came.

Even as I move toward her, I know Trey would tell me to walk away. He’s wrong. There’re some things you have to fight for-even if it means losing it all. No matter what anyone says, there’s no easy anything.

Slowly, I lift her chin. “I’m glad you’re here.”

She can’t help but smile. “So you’re really going to see your dad?”

I nod.

“Can I meet him?”

“I–I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

She pauses at my reaction. “Why not?”

“Because… Why would you want to meet him anyway?”

“He’s your dad, isn’t he?”

She says it so quick, like there’s no other answer. But that doesn’t mean she’s getting in.

“If you don’t want me to, I’d understand.”

I’m sure she would-she wrote the book, the prequel, and the sequel on this stuff. And maybe that’s part of the problem. Once again, we’re back to fear. And loyalty. I can’t ask for it if I don’t give it. “So you don’t care that he’s-”

“He’s your father,” she says. “You don’t have to hide him.”

“I’m not hiding him.”

“I want to meet him, Michael.”

It’s a hard one to refuse. “Okay, but only if you-”

“Harry, I’m riding with Michael,” she calls out. Before I can say a word, she dashes for my car and hops inside.

“Sorry about your bumper,” Harry says to me as he heads back to his Suburban. “I have a budget to pay for that if you want.”

I’m talking to Harry, but still staring at Nora. “I guess… whatever… yeah.”

As he opens his door, I ask, “You don’t still have to watch her, do you?”

“I won’t come in, Michael, but I do have to follow.”

“That’s fine as long as you know one thing. When it comes to my dad, you should steer a little clear. He doesn’t like cops.”

Pulling off at the Ashland exit, it doesn’t take long for us to hit horse country. One minute we’re tracing the double-yellow lines of Route One; a left turn later we’re riding up and down the peaks and valleys of Virginia’s most picturesque rolling roads. Traffic lights become green trees and yellow stalks. Parking lots become lush open fields. The sky’s still cloudy, but the sweet smell of the outdoors… it’s suddenly the sunniest of days.

“Not to be an ingrate, but where the hell is this place?” Nora asks.

I don’t answer. I want her to see for herself.

Up ahead, the grounds of the facility are located next to a family-owned farm. It wasn’t the farmer’s first choice for neighbors, but the possibilities for cheap labor quickly changed his mind. When we pass the farm and its corn-stalk-covered fields, I make a sharp left through the gate in an unmarked log fence. The car bounces along a dirt road that weaves its way to the front entrance.

As we pull to a stop, I half expect Nora to race out of the car. Instead, she stays where she is. “You ready?” I ask.

She nods.

Somewhat satisfied, I get out of the car and slam the door. For perhaps the first time in her life, Nora follows.

The facility is a one-story 1950s ranch house with a propped-open screen door. So much for security. Inside, it’s a normal house, except for the walls, where fire escape routes and state licenses are posted right as you walk in. In the kitchen, a heavy, nappy-haired man is leaning forward on the counter, newspaper stretched out in front of him. “Michael, Michael, Michael,” he sings in his deep Cajun accent.

“The world-famous Marlon.”

“Momma only made but one.” He takes a quick look at Nora, then does an immediate double-take. He’s too smart for the baseball cap. Here we go.

“Mmmm-mmm-lookit dat. What you doing this far south?”

“Same thing that Creole accent’s doing this far north,” she shoots back with a grin.

Marlon lets out a thundering laugh. “Good for you, sister. ’Bout time someone didn’t say it was Cajun.”

I clear my throat, begging for attention. “Um… about my father… ”

“Been asking about you all morning,” Marlon says. “And just so you know, I been lookin’ out since you called, but there’s nothing to worry about. Whole place hasn’t had a visitor since Thursday.”

“Who came on Thur-”

“Let it go,” Nora says, leaning in over my shoulder. “Just for a few hours.”

She’s right. Today’s supposed to be for family.

“He’s waiting for you,” Marlon adds. “In his room.”

Nora takes the first step. “All set?” she asks.

My fists are clenched and I’m frozen. I shouldn’t have let her come.

“It’s okay,” she says. Prying my fingers open, she takes me by the hand.

“You don’t know him. He isn’t… ”

“Stop worrying about it,” she adds as she lifts my chin. “I’m going to love him. Really.”

Warmed by the confidence in her voice, I hesitantly head for the door.