Page 80 of A Master's Destiny
“Does it even matter?” she asks, then adds in a childish voice, “Alonzo’s precious violin is priceless…”
I despise her condescending tone. “I hate you.”
“Oh, sweetheart…” she laughs disdainfully. “What makes you think I care? Just sign the damn paper and let’s be done with this.”
I could care less about the money she wants. I know where I am headed, and I am confident that whatever the amount is, I will be making that on a yearly basis in the near future. Still, I don’t trust her.
“Give me the violin first.”
She sets down the pen and gets up, walking across the floor with the gait of a supermodel. Picking up the violin case, she waltzes back and hands it to me with a dramatic flair.
The moment I touch it, I’m flooded with a rush of cherished memories. Undoing the latches, I open it up and stare down at the instrument. Even the smell of it reminds me of him.
Papa…
Thrusting the pen in my face, she barks, “Sign it.”
I slowly close the case, keeping it on my lap as I sign her fucking document. Handing the paper to her, I growl, “Are we done now?”
Looking extremely pleased with herself, she grins. “I hope that violin is worth the quarter of a million you just signed away, baby boy.”
I stand up, unwilling to spend another second in the beast’s presence.
She glides over to her boy toy. “Mama’s bringing home the bacon, just like I promised.”
The man grasps her by the waist, planting a kiss on her lips.
I look away, sickened by the sight of them together.
“There’s just one thing,” she tells me.
“I’m done, here,” I announce, heading for the door to leave. As I go to open it, she pulls out a photograph from her purse and hands it to me.
I glance down at the photo and cringe. The picture is of the three of us—my parents and me—taken the same year my father died. My mother and I are smiling in it, but the beast has scratched out my father’s face.
“It’s a shame you remind me too much of your father,” she tells me.
I glance up to see her nod.
I suddenly realize I’ve been set up when the man jabs me with a needle. It only takes seconds for the drug to start taking effect. Time crawls to a standstill as I stare blankly at my mother.
The last thing I remember is feeling the violin slip from my hands.
Power of Will
Floating in a sea of darkness, I call out to my father. “Papa…”
“I’m sorry, son.” His voice floods my mind when he says the last words he spoke before he died.
My heart constricts. Those three words have haunted me ever since that day. They speak to the rashness of the violent act itself—and his regret afterward.
Knowing my father died regretting his suicide adds to the pain.
“I’m sorry too, Papa.”
I never told him about the affairs my mother was having while he was out providing for his family—a brilliant violinist playing in crowded venues all over the world. My mother insisted that I keep her affairs a secret, making me her accomplice at the young age of thirteen. I have lived with that guilt ever since.
“I love you, son.” Papa’s warm voice sounds as real to me now as if he was standing beside me.
