Chapter 23-
A knock on the door.
Sun seeps through the partly open curtains and I turn over in bed, expecting to see my father. He’s not there. I panic for a couple of second, rethinking my dream and if he’s gone. Did he leave? Am I alone again? Then, I realize he likely woke up before me, and the dream was just that; a dream. It wasn’t real. My father will not disappear. Again.
Another knock.
“Wha—?” I mumble into the covers which are pulled up by my face, blocking out the chilly air bleeding through the window, cracked open to let in fresh air over the night.
“Can I come in?” A woman’s voice comes through the door.
“Mhm,” I grunt and roll over, wrapping myself even tighter in the blankets. Sleep is so welcoming, so comfortable…
My eyes are nearly closing again when the door opens at last, letting in Flordellis. She’s chirpier than usual, which is strange to me, still lounging in bed, without an air of ‘morning person’ about me.
“You can’t stay in bed for so long,” she admonishes. “Your father wants to spend time with you, which isn’t too absurd of a request if you ask me. At least come out and eat lunch with us.”
“Lunch?” I snap up in bed, slightly less groggy. “Wha—What time is it?”
“Why, it’s twelve forty-three, darlin’.” She says, her tone friendly and full of benevolence.
I shake my head in disappointment. “I’ll be down in a bit. Sorry I woke up so late. I couldn’t sleep.” The bits and pieces of the dream that I recall are perplexing and bitter, so I try not to focus on it.
“Oh, why not?” Flordellis continues to prod me. I just rub my droopy eyes and look at her, thinking of a decent answer.
“Uh…bad dreams.” It is true, after all. It’s just common enough not to be questioned; something I’d rather not partake in after just waking up.
“Alright,” she eyes me suspiciously. “Well, here’s your bag. Bathroom is two doors down to the right.” She sets down my backpack by the door and shuffles out of the room, closing the door gently behind her. I pick up the bag, trudging out of bed like a zombie awakening from the grave.
I look the bag over and conclude that I must’ve left it in the kitchen when Flordellis was presenting her exquisitely delicious cookies yesterday. Yesterday. So much changed in just a single day. Twenty-four hours. I met my father. I felt deeply and sincerely happy for the first time in a long stretch of bitter depression; not feeling good enough because of my mother feeding me lies.
Even so, my father admitted himself that not all is over. Not everything is fixed. I’d like so dearly to be able for everything to be resolved. I just want to live a normal, happy life. And it cuts into me to know that it won’t happen. Not right away, at least. Yet, if so much could change in one day, maybe it’ll happen again. Maybe within one of the next few days, everything will resolve itself. Ha, fat chance of that happening.
I gather a pair of dark jeans and an oversized cable knit sweater, snowy in color, before heading out to the bathroom. My bare feet suction against the cold floor and I push open the respective bathroom door, stepping inside. It’s steamy and humid as if another person had just taken a shower before me. I set down my clothes on the counter and run my hand over the small, fogged mirror centered above the sink.
Looking back at me is hip-length hair, plain in color. The blonde strands don’t shine spectacularly. My ever changing eyes stare straight back at me. They’re warm and foggy with weariness from the past fw days.
I sigh and splash my face with icy water. It awakens me—reviving my tired appearance. As I keep looking into the mirror, I notice two hinges on the left side of it. Curious, I tug on the edge of the mirror opposite the hinges. It feels like it’s been untouched for year, molded into one position; closed. It inches out slowly with a forced screech each time I get it to budge. I have to tighten my finger tips around the side, leaning back and gritting my teeth to open it. In one jerky motions, the mirror swings out and my grip loosens, sending me flailing backwards. I hit the wall and a thud resonates through the room.
“Darling, are you all right in there?” I recognize Flordellis’ voice outside the door.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I mutter through dizzying pain.
I hear her waddle away before getting up cautiously. Black dots flag my vision, telling me to sit back down and let the pain subside. I just breath slowly through it and stead myself against the bathroom door. When the fog fades, I see no cabinet behind the mirror like I expected, only a plain white wall.
“Who puts an opening mirror door in front of a wall?” I mumble absentmindedly to myself. Angry that I spent time and caused myself pain on a stupid architectural decision, I put on my clothes for the day, ready to get out of this bathroom.
I drop one of my socks and bend down to pick it up when I see a sheet of paper sitting on one edge of the sink, blending in with the counter’s white shade. I frown and pick it up with two hands and begin to look it over.
At first glance, it seems like a boring paper with a bunch of words plastered all over it. Upon actually reading it, I see that it’s a confirmed agreement that Lev Salder is deemed not guilty in a case involving a murder. My eyes go wide as I read into the detail. The general idea of it seems to be that Lev was accused of a murder in 2001, thirteen years prior to present day, but was wrongfully done so. The document says the accuser was lying, and Lev doesn’t have to serve the time in jail that he would have.
My heart speeds up and once I finish reading it, I have to lay down on the bathroom floor to recollect myself and the sudden knowledge poured into my hands. I stand once I think I’m ready and close the false mirror door which had been pressing the document against the wall.
I twist the doorknob and exit out into the hall. I storm down the stairs and slip into the kitchen. A doughy smell fills the air, muddled with the aroma of pepper jack cheese and sweet bell peppers. I see a large vegetarian pizza, homemade, on a board placed on the counter. I am tempted so badly to take a piece, but I have to find out why this paper was hidden in the bathroom.
Around the table, Blaine and Orson, who had slept on the couches the previous night, chatter nonchalantly with my father and Flordellis. A few random people also join them around the dining table, making small talk and not paying too much attention to me as I step right up close to my father’s chair. He looks up at me, grinning widely.
“Hey, Tarey. Did you sleep well?” he says kindly. I only have to hold up the document for his face to get a milky white; sickly around his vivacious blue eyes.
He rises up from the seat promptly and presses his hand against my shoulder blade, guiding me out of the kitchen and back up into his own room. Once the door is closed, he turns to face me.
“How did you find that?” he inquires.
“I was in the bathroom. Got curious.” I tell him, trying to keep the usual snide tone out of my voice since I don’t want to restart anything off badly with him. But being accused of murder usually brings up some questions.
He shakes his head and slumps down onto the bed. “I’ll have you know that I didn’t murder anybody.”
“That’s great to know and all, but I was wondering more about why this paper exists since you didn’t do such a thing.” I say, a snippiness in my voice. I try to omit it from my tone, but to no avail. My father doesn’t seem offended, though.
A sigh escapes my father’s lips and he rests his forehead against the palm of his hands, propped on his knees. I sit down next to him.
“I don’t want to discuss this now. I want to spend time with you free of other trouble. We will talk about everything at one point, I just don’t want it to be now. I hope you understand.” He mumbles, getting up. “And remember, don’t show that paper to anyone. It doesn’t leave this house, and preferably this room if possible. I’ll tell you all about it soon, I promise.”
And I trust him. I learn to be sympathetic for my father. I’m sure I’m not the only one with a lot going on; experiencing troubling thoughts. He exits the room and I’m left on the bed, staring down at the baffling document in my hands. If my father didn’t murder someone, then why would somebody accuse him? I want to know everything right now, and you’d think I’d learn that answers to questions like these don’t always come easy. Even so, I can never stop hoping to find solutions.
*
“Hey, stranger.”
I look up from my place on the couch where I watch the portion of last night’s movie that I missed by falling asleep. Blaine stands there, her green eyes warm in greeting me.
“Blaine,” I say, my voice wispy as I stand up and go over to embrace her. “I’m sorry that we haven’t really talked since before I met my father.”
“No, I understand. Orson was a little bit butt-hurt, though, so I had to explain that to him. We’re both anxious to hear what has been going on with you and your father. We’ve only seen you two getting along and talking about chili and movies. I presume you two have talked over more than that.”
I chuckle and we both go to the couch, sitting down comfortably. “Yeah, we’ve talked about more.” My thoughts instantly drift to the paper dismissing the accusation that Lev murdered someone, and I want to tell Blaine everything like I’ve done before. I swallow the temptation and give her a meek smile. She grins in return and Orson walks in before she can say anything else. He slumps down next to me and watches my expression intently.
“Hi, Taryn,” he says at last, splitting the silence.
“Orson, you sound like you’ve never met me before.” I roll my eyes at him and he grasps my hand in his. Blaine makes gestures as if she’s sick, pretending to retch in response to the affection between Orson and I. I brush her off with an easy chortle and go back to watching the movie.
“Your dad seemed distraught when he came back to the table at lunch today,” Blaine comments. I scowl at her when she isn’t looking and soften my face when she glances back. I don’t want to talk about it. She shouldn’t bring it up.
“Really? He was fine when I talked to him,” I lie. Blaine raises an eyebrow and I concentrate on the TV screen, busying myself with easier ideas to grasp.
“Is something going on that we should know about? You can tell me anything and you know that.” Blaine stares at me with welcoming, persuasive eyes. I can’t look or else I’ll get sucked in and I’ll want to spill everything out.
“I’m hungry,” I change the subject promptly and get up to go into the kitchen. I spend an unnecessary amount of time searching through the cabinets and the fridge, even though I already know what I want. I just need to buy myself uninterrupted time to get all of my thoughts together. Eventually, once I get myself sorted out, I deposit a piece of pizza from lunch onto a plate and warm it up in the microwave. The warmth it gives off when I take it out shields me against the weather outside signaling that without a doubt, November is coming with haste.
Blaine and Orson are talking in hushed tones when I come back and split their conversation by situating myself in the middle of the two of them. Blaine looks at me strangely as I chomp down on my pizza and act as if no daunting questions were ever asked.
“Taryn, it’s obvious that you’re avoiding something.” Orson says.
“Avoiding what? Nothing is going on. I’m reunited with my dad so can you guys just share in my happiness for once? I’m actually trying to be positive,” I say as nonchalantly as I possibly can. Orson shrugs and submerges himself in the movie while Blaine continues boring holes into me.
“Tar, I’ve known you for long enough to know when you’re lying, and you are most definitely telling lies right now. I’d appreciate it if you could just tell the truth.” Blaine scolds, a parental air in her voice. I feel belittled by how smart she sounds; how wise and logical her words come across as.
“Well I’d tell you if my father told me what was going on,” I mumble. Orson doesn’t seem to take notice, and Blaine and I just exchange stares as she goes into her typical train of thought whenever I present a problem to her.
“He hasn’t told you about…whatever this is about?”
“No. I’d like it if he did.” I look down at my feet while replying.
“Well, tell me when he does. Just because you found your father doesn’t mean that you can’t still come and just talk to me, even if the problems might get less serious now.” Her soothing tone makes me feel better, and I finish off the rest of my pizza feeling okay. I know that she’ll be there for me even if my father won’t tell me everything I want to know right away.
I excuse myself from the living room, telling Orson and Blaine that I’m sleepy and will be joining my father in his nap. I head upstairs and get caught in the hall by Flordellis. I still have yet to find out the whole story behind her phone call, but I don’t feel like bothering myself with the effort right now to weasel it out of her, if it becomes necessary.
“Did you find everything okay in the bathroom this morning?” she asks. I furrow my brow. What a weird question…
“Uh, yeah, I just sort of hit my head—“
“Oh, I wasn’t talking about you hitting your head, dear.” With that, she shuffles off down the hall, humming a jazzy tune. I would interrogate her more about what just happened, but I just don’t have the energy. I don’t want to take upon myself all these different strange occurrences whenever they arise. If I did, I’d be under the same stress I’d be under at home with my mother, even if my dad is around.
I tip-toe into my father’s room to make sure he doesn’t wake up. My hands shuffle through my backpack, still situated by the door. When my fingers touch the paper I found in the bathroom this morning, an electric shock goes through me and gears begin to turn inside of my head.