The Love You Crave

15.

Present Day… Donovan Creed.

“Hello, Father.”

“Kimberly! Hi!”

First time in what seems like forever my daughter Kimberly has actually taken my phone call. I wonder why now, and not the last dozen times over the past three months.

I start with what I hope is a safe topic. “How’s college life?”

“My biology teacher’s a dick.”

“That should make for an interesting year-book picture.”

“Tip-tip, pshhh!” she says, making a sound like a drummer hitting two rim shots and a cymbal.

“You must be dating again,” I say. “I haven’t heard from you in awhile.”

“That’s a nice way of saying I haven’t answered or returned your calls.”

“I try not to take it personally.”

“Good. Yes, I’m dating. But you wouldn’t approve.”

“Why not?”

“Fathers never approve of the men in their daughters’ lives.”

“I can try.”

“Right. Where are you this time?”

“Las Vegas.”

“Winning much?”

“It’s not that type of trip. What’s his name?”

“My boyfriend? You can’t possibly think I’d tell you that!”

“Why not?”

“Every time I tell you a boyfriend’s name, he turns up dead.”

“That happened one time! And you know very well the police said a woman did the shooting. A woman your boyfriend picked up at a bar and tried to rape!”

“He’s an atheist.”

“What? Who?”

“The guy I’m dating.”

“An atheist?”

“Are you going to be judgmental about it?” she says. “Because if you are, I can hang up.”

“Relax.” I sigh. “Is that what defines him?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, is that how he introduces himself? ‘Hi, Kimberly, I’m Chuck, the atheist!’”

She laughs. “Chuck?”

“Well, you won’t tell me his name.”

“You can call him Chuck. I like that. He’s quite successful, by the way.”

“Then, Chuck it is. Where’d you meet him?”

“At church.”

“Excuse me?”

She laughs. “It’s his job. He sells only to religious people.”

I remove the phone from my ear and look at it. Sometimes a deliberate action like this proves I’m not dreaming. I put the phone back to my ear and say, “Please tell me why religious people buy products from an atheist.”

“He’s a pre-Rapture pet salesman.”

I say nothing.

“Father? Hello-o? Are you still there?”

“Sorry. I thought you said he was a pre-Rapture pet salesman.”

“You don’t approve. I knew it!”

“I don’t even know what it means.”

She sighs. “You’ve heard of the Rapture, yes?”

“I have.”

“Pets can’t go.”

“Where?”

“To heaven.”

“They can’t?”

“According to these people, they cannot.”

“So?”

“So Chuck tells the church people he’s not qualified to be part of the Rapture because he’s an atheist, but he’ll take care of their pets when they get called to heaven. For a fee.”

“And they trust him?”

“He’s a good salesman. Plus, he’s the only game in town.”

“And you’re dating this guy?”

“We’re not getting married, or anything. It’s just sex right now.”

“Thanks for sharing that.”

“I figured you’d get around to asking, eventually.”

“Have I ever asked about your sex life?”

“Not in so many words.”

We’re both quiet a moment. Then I say, “But school is good?”

Kimberly laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“Your ability to communicate with me leaves a lot to be desired!”

“Why is that, do you suppose?”

“I think you’re afraid you’ll say the wrong thing and I’ll hang up. As usual.”

“It doesn’t mean I don’t love you,” I say, “because I do, and always have.”

“I believe you. Even if you hate my boyfriend.”

“ Hate him? I don’t even know him!”

“That’s the point. But if we’re being honest, what’s your first impression?”

I pause. Then say, “He sounds like a flake.”

“They’re all flakes to you,” she says. “And that’s why I don’t take your calls sometimes.”

She hangs up, and I stare at my phone again before clicking it off.

Then I call Lou Kelly.