Mickey - The View From Here PART TWO - Gallavich

Rachel

*Hello! Welcome to Part Two. If you have not read Part One yet, you might want to :)*

In case you never picked up on it, Terry was a racist bastard. I had never seen him give a civil word to anyone of a different race. He even disliked that Ian's lineage was Irish. I often wondered what Terry would have said if I married a Russian or Russia-leaning Ukrainian man. He would have still hated us, but he might have not been so vocal. At least I would be with "one of our own."

So, you can understand why I was considerably confused when an older black man opened the door while I was expecting an old white lady; Rachel.

Stunned and a little embarrassed, it took a moment for me to find my words. "Hey," I finally said to him before I furrowed my brow and glanced down at the box in my hands. "Uh, sorry to bother you. Does a woman named Rachel live here?"

The man in the doorway carefully assessed Ian and I before he told me, "I think you got the wrong address, son, sorry."

As he began to close the door, I panicked. "Wait, wait, wait, wait. My name's Milkovich. Terry Milkovich is my—was my dad."

I had his attention, but he didn't speak.

"Look," I sighed. "He knew some woman named Rachel. I think she used to live here."

While the man was deep in thought on how to deal with us, a mousey older white woman emerged from behind him, opening the door wider to see us. "I'm Rachel."

Though her husband seemed weary of the situation, Rachel invited us inside.

I set the box down on their coffee table and took a seat next to my husband on the couch across the room from the mysterious Rachel. "So Terry, my dad, passed away a few days ago."

With her forefinger rested to her temple, she looked down from my gaze. "Sorry to hear that."

I felt it was important to specify. "He was murdered, actually. By a nun. Or a...cold-blooded killer nun in a costume. We don't actually know that yet."

"Mick," Ian said softly, nudging my arm and refocusing my attention on the issue at hand.

"Anyways, we were going through some of his shit," I told Rachel, opening the box to show her. "And, uh..." I plucked the photographs we'd found and handed them to her. "Found these."

As she took them from me, Ian explained, "it's how we found you. The address is on the back."

It was surreal to see the peek of a smile on Rachel's face as she looked over the photographs.

Impatient and eager for news of any kind, I probed, "so, how'd you know my dad?"

Eyes still on the photographs, Rachel confessed, "he was my first love."

Love? Strangely hopeful, I let slip, "really?"

Happily reminiscing with each photograph, Rachel told me who my dad was. "Met when we were teenagers. Spent every second together." She chuckled to herself, fondly stating, "he made me laugh."

Surely, Rachel was confusing Terry with someone else.

Ian and I responded in the same instant. "Terry?" I tried to confirm while Ian simply said, "he did?"

Surprised by our reaction, she smiled. "Yeah. He had a great sense of humor."

Ian and I glanced at one another, still in disbelief that she was talking about Terry.

"Asked me to marry him and I said yes, but my family was Hasidic, so--"

"Sorry," I interrupted as my brain worked at full power to process this information. Certainly, Rachel hadn't said what I thought she had. "I--w--what's that?"

"Jewish?" she replied with an almost-arrogant air that said, "ever heard of it?"

And my mind was blown. Terry was a neo-Nazi for fuck's sake. This didn't make any sense. "No shit."

"When Terry asked for my father's permission, he said no, but Terry wouldn't give up. He talked to my father. Said he'd convert. He really loved me." She paused, sighed, and continued her story. "My father said, 'okay, if you convert and learn Hebrew, you can marry my daughter."

Next to me, I could feel Ian leaning on the edge on his seat.

"Terry started studying the Torah, took Hebrew lessons at the temple. For a year, he tried but it was too difficult for him."

With refreshments, Rachel's husband joined us in the sitting room. "Here you go," he said, handing her a fresh cup of tea.

"He couldn't get it," she went on, thanking her husband before continuing. "Again, he approached my father. 'I've converted to Judaism,' he said, 'but I can't learn Hebrew. Can't you meet me halfway? Let me marry Rachel.' But my father said 'no way. Deal's a deal.' So Terry killed him," she concluded before taking a sip of tea.

"Your dad?" Ian asked her.

"I am—I'm sorry," I found myself saying, compelled to apologize for my evil father's deeds from before I was even born. "He--"

"Police couldn't prove it. No witnesses, but.." she looked me dead in the eye. "I know it was Terry."

Ashamed of our association with my father, both Ian and I scratched our respective forehead with discomfort.

"But, you know," Ian said, trying too hard to find the non-existent silver lining, "with your dad out of the way, you could marry him, right?"

How the fuck was he the smart one in this marriage when he spouted shit like this?

Rachel's husband exhaled heavily.

"I didn't want to marry him," Rachel stated kindly. "He killed my father."

"Yeah, that makes sense," I said, hoping Ian wouldn't ask another stupid question.

"Uh-huh," Ian agreed.

"So I ended up marrying Albert," she said, beaming at her husband in the chair next to her.

"Right."

"Okay," Ian said before asking delicately, "did Terry know that you married a black man?"

Albert didn't seem to like that question, but stayed silent anyway.

"Uh, yes," Rachel replied, confused as to what difference it made.

As I cleared my throat, Ian nodded to himself, "mm, that explains that."