Page 38 of Icy Heart, Empty Chest
“I remember asking him, in a childlike way, if there was something wrong. My father smiled and patted my shoulder, looking jubilant. No, nothing was wrong. Someone was mistaken about something but it was just a misunderstanding. I found it hard to believe him. As a child prone to worry, his friend’s expression was searing into my head. I vowed to stick with him no matter what.
“I mingled a bit before his presentation, looking at the other showing pieces but mainly staying by his side. A lot of introductions to people I don’t remember, half of which asked if I was going to be in art like him. Of course I smiled and said yes.
“Of course, then it came time for the presentations. The museum director gave a small speech about the importance of the arts, for culture and for society. He ended with a pitch for money but as it was a benefit, any proceeds would have alreadygone to the museum. They were under no financial strain as far as my father ever knew or let on to me. He was fidgeting with his bow tie. The museum director was a tall fae, charismatic, welcoming, younger. My father was not the definition of aging gracefully. He’d ever been plagued with heart problems, was prone to a nervous disposition and often enjoyed the company of books more than people. He’d always gladly explained what he knew but disliked the commotion of crowds.
“I had commented on that earlier. I asked him what he was going to do about the commotion. He gave me his half smile and said he’d just focus on me. Like he was teaching me an art lesson. I remember hugging him and saying I loved that.
“Now it was his turn to ascend the stage. He nearly tripped over the light and got feedback from the microphone at first. He introduced himself as Theo, one of the Fae Golden Age experts with his doctorate in the subjects. The painting was only a small thing, hardly bigger than most conventional computer monitors.
“He started with the subject, two nymphs in a field, one resting by a tree and another looking on by a nearby brook. He described the posing was of a specific age. The tree appeared to be ancient and imbued with magic. The painting’s magic itself had the breeze floating through the trees. You could see the ripples in the paint of the water and the flowing of the first nymph’s hair. The shadows were painted uniformly. The brushstrokes were clean and intentional. There was a softness to it.
“I think I remember almost every word that he said. At one point I thought I heard a commotion behind me.
“I ignored it. I knew not everyone was as appreciative of the arts as others.
“I just kept focused on him and he on me. After describing the authenticity of the frame, he opened it up to questions. It was at that time when I turned.
“Your father and two uniformed police officers were next to me.
“In his mild-mannered way, my father asked what their presence was for.
“Your father replied it was for him and that he was under arrest. The two officers of the Magical Force took to the stage and handcuffed him next to his painting.
“He was able to squeak out through his terror what the charges were.
“Your father, in his deep voice, told him that he was under arrest for suspicion of “fraud to the museum and theft.”
“My heart was pounding in my chest. I tried to push to his side but no one would let me through. I almost caught up to him when my father’s friend grabbed me by the arm.
“‘Don’t,’” he whispered. “‘Don’t let them see.’
“I didn’t pay attention to that and was shrieking after him.
“He took me back home later. I found the spare set of keys. I remember sitting in the shower with the heat on full blast. I couldn’t get warm. I couldn’t stop shaking. I was still a minor. No one would tell me anything. I had no other family but I knew what was expected of me.
“I got up for school, tired and alone. I made myself a lunch and forced myself to eat some breakfast. I’m certain I looked frightful. I rode my bike to school and chained it. And then the looks started. They’d stare at me for a second, turn away and talk. I hadn’t turned on the computer but I had no doubts that in a small town like ours, word had gotten out, onto the web. I reminded myself to cancel the newspaper. I wasn’t going to like to see my father on the front page or in the gossip columns. I had to steel myself in homeroom, the various classes.
“I remember being called to the principal’s office who stonily put a copy of today’s paper in front of me. My father’s back was to the camera and out of the corner of the shot was me.
“His message was perfunctory at least—is there anyone he could call or did I need anything.
“I shook my head, lied and said my aunt was coming to take care of me. I remember repeating that lie a few times. As long as there was an “adult.”
“Then, there was the mail. He got quite a few letters from old colleagues, friends. I opened some. They were a comfort. Then others came, ones that just decimated his character. I just put them in a box after that.
“Bills also came in the mail.
“I distinctly remember the day I sat before his computer with my hands shaking. I knew his password involved my name. After a few tries I got it. Annie and Cora. My mother and I.
“It took a month for me to get down what I needed to do. My mom had a trust for me, one of my accounts. She had made me promise not to use it before college but I couldn’t keep that promise. I still had to eat. I still had to live here. I still had to make the house OK for Dad when he came home. When he came home. I had to remind myself that with a good lawyer, he’d get through this. I had to think positive.
“I set up the mortgage to my trust, web access, the septic, the heating. Taxes. Everything was paid on time.
“I’d do my own food shopping, learning very soon the limitations to my own cooking knowledge. Sometimes I would cook just to cook, save it for leftovers. I just didn’t want to eat during that time. Water, juice, tea or I’d get headaches. I used to like the house quiet but I came to realize later that I liked knowing my dad was here doing his own thing and I was here doing mine. At some time in the night we’d have dinner and watch a movie, do a puzzle.
“I did a lot of cleaning during that time. A lot of his stuff I had to box and put away. My mother used to say he was notoriouslymessy. It was just the way his brain worked. Meticulous at work, scatterbrained at home.
“It was OK. I could do it myself.
