Page 79 of Too Old for This
I got over that when Archie was born. He was big and healthy with a strong pair of lungs.
As soon as he was old enough to understand what a father was, and that he didn’t have one, he asked why. I told him the truth, mostly. I said his father had died in an accident before he was born.
But what was he like?
That was the question I hated. Archie wanted to know all about his father. Was he good at sports? Did he prefer baseball to football? Was he funny and outgoing or shy and introverted? What did he do? Was he successful? Did people like him?
Archie also wanted to know if he looked like his father. I could barely remember Gary, and I certainly did not see him in my son.
I didn’t want to say anything bad. I wouldn’t let Archie grow up thinking someone horrible was a part of him. As faras he knows, Gary was kind and loving, and he wanted to be a father more than anything. When Archie asked for a picture, I found him one. It was inside an old frame at a garage sale, and I bet he still carries it in his wallet. It wouldn’t surprise me if he scanned it into his phone.
Throughout high school and college and his early twenties, Archie didn’t mention his father at all. Not until Stephanie was pregnant with their first child.
When they called to tell me, Stephanie was so excited she blurted it out before Archie could say a word. The next day, I called my son so we could speak alone.
“You’re happy, aren’t you?” I said.
“I am. I’m really happy.”
“Are you sure?”
After a long pause and a dramatic sigh, he blurted it out. “I wish Dad was here for this.”
Archie hadn’t mentioned his dad in years. But when he was on the brink of becoming a father, he brought up his own. Like his dad was the only person who mattered.
That hurt more than I could put into words.
“Your father would be so proud of you right now,” I finally said.
“You think?”
Archie sounded like a little boy searching for approval. I took a deep breath, and once again, I lied.
“I know he’d be proud.”
No other option. It would’ve been worse to tell Archie his father was a horrible man who’d said cruel things to me in the shower. Plus, he was terrible in bed.
I chose to keep my mouth shut. And to make myself feel bad, instead of Archie.
—
Norma’s phone stays in her hotel room. Since I couldn’t bring it back to my house, I took dozens of pictures of her call and text history. It was the only way I could do any research, though the small screen on my prepaid doesn’t make it easy.
I settle down at the kitchen table with my laptop and a cup of coffee. Another long night ahead, making sure everyone thinks Norma is alive. Later tonight, I have to deal with what’s left of her body. My fireplace is going to get quite a workout.
One by one, I go through all the local calls and look up the numbers online. She called the police department nonemergency line several times. She also ordered food, called the airlines and her friend Tammy. That’s exactly what I would have expected to see.
Norma and Plum had not texted or spoken for at least two weeks before Plum showed up at my house. Their earlier texts were short and perfunctory.
Norma:How’s everything?
Plum:Good. Hope you’re doing well.
Norma:Are you free tonight for a call?
Plum:No, tomorrow would be better.
Norma:Okay. Talk soon. Love you.
