Chapter 7
A plain white envelope arrived in the mail,
mixed among the utility bills,
and the colorful grocery store flyers,
sitting innocently on the kitchen counter.
There was no return address printed on it,
and the handwriting was a messy,
and familiar scrawl,
that sent a sudden jolt of ice,
straight through my beating heart.
Diane was upstairs in the guest bedroom,
happily organizing her baking supplies,
and humming a cheerful tune,
giving me a rare moment of privacy.
I snatched the letter quickly,
my hands trembling slightly as I held it,
and I practically ran into my private study,
locking the heavy door behind me.
I stared at the sealed envelope for a long time,
feeling a strong urge to throw it away,
but a morbid,
and twisted curiosity forced me to open it,
tearing the paper with a sharp letter opener.
Inside was a single sheet of lined paper,
covered in hurried,
and desperate handwriting.
Dad,
the letter began abruptly,
I know you told me never to contact you,
and I know you hate me,
but I have nowhere else to turn,
and no one else to help me.
I did not get on the bus to Chicago,
because I want to prove to you both,
that I have truly changed,
and that I can be a good man.
I found a cheap room in a boarding house,
and I am looking for honest work,
doing whatever I can to survive.
Please just give me five minutes of your time,
meet me anywhere you choose,
and let me look you in the eye,
and apologize for destroying our family.
I don't want your money anymore,
I just want my parents back,
even if it takes the rest of my life,
to earn your forgiveness.
The letter ended without a signature,
just a dark smudge of ink at the bottom,
where a tear,
or perhaps a drop of sweat,
had stained the cheap paper.
I read the desperate words three times,
feeling a strange mixture of burning anger,
and a tiny,
and pathetic sliver of parental grief,
that refused to completely die.
He was a master manipulator,
a skilled liar who knew exactly what strings to pull,
and how to sound perfectly sincere,
while plotting his next betrayal.
I crumpled the letter into a tight ball,
my jaw clenching with intense rage,
and I tossed it into the small metal trash can,
grabbing a long match from the desk drawer.
I struck the match against the rough box,
watching the bright orange flame flare up,
and I dropped it onto the crumpled paper,
watching it burn into dark,
and curling ashes.
The smoke rose slowly in the air,
smelling faintly of burnt ink,
and I opened the study window to let it out,
erasing the only physical proof,
of his desperate plea.
I would not fall for his emotional traps,
and I would not let him near Diane,
even if he begged on his hands and knees,
in the freezing rain.
I washed my hands in the adjacent bathroom,
scrubbing them with harsh soap,
as if trying to wash away the memory of his words,
and I walked back out to the kitchen,
my mask of calm firmly back in place.
The annual hospital charity gala arrived,
a lavish event held at the grand downtown hotel,
and Diane had been looking forward to it,
for several long months.
She wore a stunning dark green evening gown,
that brought out the bright color of her eyes,
and she looked absolutely radiant,
smiling as she linked her arm through mine.
I wore a tailored black tuxedo,
feeling a bit stiff,
and uncomfortable in the formal attire,
but I was happy to see her so incredibly excited,
and full of vibrant life.
The grand ballroom was beautifully decorated,
with massive crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling,
and round tables draped in crisp white linen,
covered with expensive floral arrangements.
We mingled with the wealthy local crowd,
chatting politely with doctors,
and wealthy business owners,
sipping fine champagne from tall glass flutes,
and enjoying the elegant atmosphere.
Diane was the center of attention,
laughing gracefully at the gentle jokes,
and speaking passionately about her local charity,
while I stood proudly by her side,
acting as her silent,
and supportive partner.
As the evening progressed,
the guests were asked to take their assigned seats,
and the catering staff began to serve the first course,
moving swiftly between the crowded tables,
carrying large silver trays.
I sat quietly next to Diane,
half-listening to the mayor's opening speech,
when my eyes casually drifted toward the kitchen doors,
watching the servers rush in and out.
A tall man in a crisp white waiter's uniform,
walked out of the swinging doors,
carrying a tray of filled water glasses,
and my breath completely stopped in my lungs.
He was thinner than I remembered,
his face gaunt,
and pale under the bright ballroom lights,
his hair cut extremely short,
and his posture slightly hunched,
but I recognized him instantly,
with absolute,
and terrifying certainty.
It was Aaron.
My heart slammed violently against my ribs,
and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead,
as I watched him move across the crowded room,
getting closer and closer to our table.
He had not seen us yet,
his eyes focused entirely on the heavy tray,
and his expression tight with intense concentration,
trying carefully not to spill a single drop.
I panicked,
my mind racing at a frantic speed,
knowing that if Diane turned her head,
and saw her estranged son serving water,
she would completely collapse in shock.
I had to do something immediately,
before he reached our side of the large room,
and destroyed the perfect evening,
with his unwanted presence.
I leaned over to Diane,
touching her soft shoulder gently,
and I whispered an excuse into her ear.
I need to use the restroom,
I told her quietly,
forcing a completely relaxed smile.
I will be right back, my love,
enjoy the soup.
She nodded happily,
turning her attention back to the current speaker,
and I stood up quickly,
intercepting Aaron's path,
just before he reached our section of the room.
I stepped directly in front of him,
blocking his way with my broad shoulders,
and I grabbed his upper arm,
May you like
with a vice-like,
and incredibly painful grip.
