The Fury

33

One week later

LaGuardiaAirport was surprisingly empty. We bought a couple of coffees at a java stand in the food court. I waited while he came back from the newsstand, carrying a bag with a paperback book and a copy of the

Gazette.

My father was thinner than I'd ever seen him. His eyes were sunken and his skin wrinkled. Gray hair taking up most of whatever was left. My father no longer looked angry; he just looked old.

Prior to a few weeks ago, I hadn't seen James Parker in years. My family was a memory, one I'd longed to forget. If you leave a person, your memory retains your last image of them. My last image of my father was an angry middle-aged man. Now he sat here, one step from broken, waiting for a flight back home.

"Mom's picking you up in Portland?" I said.

"That's what she said," my father answered, as though not believing her.

"If she says she'll be there she'll be there." He nodded, thinking more about it and agreeing with me.

I popped the top off my coffee and took a sip. Strong and sweet. "At least you've got a great story for your bowling league."

"I missed three league tournaments," he said, resent ment in his voice. "I'm sure they replaced me by now."

"Didn't you once tell me you had a 187 average? I'm sure they'll want that back in the rotation."

"One-eighty-seven, huh?" he said, thinking. "That seems a tad high. Maybe one-forty."

"Still not too shabby." He shrugged his shoulder, then took the lid off his coffee and took a long gulp.

When he set the cup back down, there was a scowl on his lips. "You know, prison food gets a bad rap. The eggs and joe down there weren't half-bad."

"If you really want, I'm sure you could figure out a way to go back."

"S'alright. Hopefully my TiVo recorded all the Law

amp; Order episodes I missed."

"At least your priorities are straight again." He nodded, missing the joke.

"You told me you saw Helen," my father said, looking back at me. He actually looked concerned. Even sad.

"She's in rehab," I said. "The state is paying for it.

Clarence Willingham is quite a guy. She has some good people looking out for her."

"I never got to tell her I was sorry," he said.

"I have her address," I said. "Write her a letter. She'd appreciate that."

"Maybe I will." The way he said it let me know that no such thing would ever be done.

"So they got the guys who did it. Who killed

Stephen."

"They're both dead. The real killer, Kyle Evans, tried to frame his friend. Then the cops killed him."

"Good riddance," he said. "It's all tied up with a pretty pink bow. I never want to set foot in this city again."

"I still don't fully get it," I said. "If Stephen was really as high up as Kyle and Scott said he was, did he really need to leave the country to get away from them?

And if they were able to get close enough, obviously

Stephen didn't think they were a threat. Which makes me wonder just who Stephen was afraid of."

"No disrespect to the dead," my father said, "but I don't think any of those boys were in their right mind."

"And the cop, Makhoulian. I'm glad he worked so fast to get you out. I just didn't think he needed to kill

Kyle. He looked like he was giving up."

"You're saying the guy who killed your brother should have lived?"

"One death doesn't always merit another. We have a justice system."

"Which would have probably screwed up somehow and either let that boy walk on a technicality, put him in some cushy detention facility because some quack doctor on somebody's payroll said he has woman issues. Or he'd be out in enough time to kill somebody else's son. I don't know what's going on in this city, Henry, but being among criminals day in and day out is no way to live."

"Maybe I'll move back home with you and Mom,"

I joked. That made him laugh. He checked his boarding pass.

"I should head to the gate. They'll probably give my ticket to some freak if I'm not there on time."

His flight didn't board for another hour, but the

Parker family bonding hour had run its course. We both stood up. My dad stepped forward, then wrapped his arms around me, the most tentative hug I could imagine.

I returned it. Just a little stronger.

"Thank you for your help," he said. The feeling was genuine. He wasn't going to apologize for the years before that, and I wasn't going to ask him to.

"Take care of yourself," I said. "And please take care of Mom. Do me one favor?"

He frowned. "What?"

"Mom was knitting something when I saw her in

Bend. If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to have it."

"I'll tell her," he said.

"And if you change your mind and decide to take a vacation in NYC, at least give me a call."

"I will. And give my best to your girlfriend. She seems like a catch."

"One in a million," I said. "Without her you'd still be in jail."

"Guess I owe her a thank-you then. Pass it on for me, will ya?"

"I will. And Dad?"

"Yeah, Henry."

"I'm sorry too. About Stephen. I wish I'd had a chance to know him. Maybe we could have saved him."

His eyes closed as he took a deep breath. When he opened them, he sighed and said, "Take care, Henry. It's good to see I raised you right."

Then he was gone.