“That was you? The man on the horse Mark kept seeing?” Mother asked. Evidently Father didn’t know she knew for he had a surprised look on his face and looked to Mark.
“Dad, I had to tell her. When you’re gone, she needs to know if there’s anything dangerous, and he looked dangerous sitting up on that horse, watching us.”
I took that in the stomach. Me? Dangerous? Well, perhaps I was because I wanted to punch Mark’s perfect white teeth down his throat at that moment.
“Mark, I hardly think that’s fair. I know you didn’t know who it was but Ford, Hawk, never did anything to indicate he intended you or this family harm. That was your imagination.” Father put him in his place, and Mother nodded, but the act was less than convincing.
Why was I seeing all their reactions with such a black suspicion? I knew why. I had been picturing this moment for the last decade. Every time I went without, had to sleep on a floor or be approached by a pimp to become a toy, I hated this family, and most particularly the perfect brother. He was the good brother, and I was the trash they’d taken out.
“When are you getting married?” Mother asked, not as if she cared about Liane, but because she wanted to know whether it would fit into her social calendar.
“Don’t worry, Mother. You won’t be expected to come. Liane and I will be married privately by her father, and then we’re leaving immediately on an extended honeymoon.”
“Oh.” Her face was the definition of disappointed.
On one hand, I knew she was disappointed that she wouldn’t have a chance to reign supreme over her friends with a fabulously extravagant wedding. On the other hand, she was probably relieved she wouldn’t have to explain the scar-faced son who had been institutionalized and then wanted by the authorities after murdering his uncle. It would be so much easier, so much cleaner to begin her weddings by creating lavish events for Marga and the perfect Master Mark.
I stood. “Well, we’ll be going now. I agreed, at Liane’s request, to make myself known and now we’ll be leaving. We have a life to live.”
“Wait!” Mother’s voice was ragged. “You can’t mean that. You can’t just reappear after all these years and then leave after ten minutes, especially so angry!”
“Oh, yes, Mother, I can do exactly that. Goodbye.” With that, I took Liane’s hand and left the house, putting her in the car and sliding into the driver’s seat. We drove through the development, and I had a good look at all that I wouldn’t be inheriting. We circled about and left the development, and I could see Mother standing on the porch of their white farmhouse, dabbing at her face with a tissue. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see her again. I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to see her again.
I got onto the expressway and headed south.
“Where are we going?” Liane asked.
“One parent down, one to go,” I said, and she was about to protest, but thought better of it and let me drive. She gave me directions once we got into town and soon we were pulling up before an old, stone church and its rectory that stood to the rear, next to the cemetery. It was obvious by the exterior and stone construction that the building was very, very old. It probably pre-dated the Civil War, and I noticed there were some Confederate white headstones in the corner of the small cemetery.
Liane let herself out of the car and came around to take my hand. She led me to the door of the rectory and opened it. “Dad?” she called out, and a stooped old man with white hair came through the doorway and into the small, eclectic parlor. I’d seen him several times from the back of the church, but up close, his presence created an enormous impact. It was as though I’d stepped back in time. He looked every bit the fabled British vicar and the leather-bound books and leather wing-back chairs could have been straight out of a black and white movie.
“Dad, this is Hawk. You know, I’ve told you about him.”
I reached out my hand, and his glasses slid down his nose as he squinted at me, returning the gesture. He had a firm grip, a fact that surprised me for a man his age. “Won’t you sit down, Hawk?” he offered, pointing to a chair. He looked at Liane and said, “Daughter, you’ll leave us for a bit?”
She nodded and winked at me as she went through the doorway and out to the garden beneath an ancient tree that seemed to crawl toward the sky. Through a thick glassed window, I saw an old swing tied there and she settled into it with a certainty born of years of having done so.
“Do you mind?” asked Vicar Coventry, holding out a pipe.
“No, sir, of course not,” I said respectfully. I truly meant it when I thought of him in a respectful manner. He was soft-spoken and yet completely in control of his environment. He had a peace about him and it occurred to me that I felt that same way when I was around his daughter.
“I’ve heard a good deal about you, my boy,” the vicar began and although I cringed internally at being called a boy, from him it somehow didn’t sound condescending.
“And I, you, sir,” I returned. “You have raised a wonderful daughter. You and the late Mrs. Coventry, sir.”
“Thank you, Hawk. Hawk, that’s an unusual name.”
“Yes, sir, it’s a nickname. My birth name is Worthington LaViere, IV. I was born just east of town and my family was and still is, in the equine industry.”
“Yes, I know,” he said, and I looked at him quizzically.
“I knew your paternal grandfather,” he said cautiously, and I felt my stomach turn over.
There was no way this could be good.
“Yes, sir. Unfortunately, I don’t remember him. He died before I was born, sir.”
“Yes, I know. I actually know quite a bit about your family, Hawk. I also happen to know why you go by the name you do. You see, I’ve been here many years, and your family is well-known throughout the community. Your grandfather was, shall we say, a character? Your father, I believe, is also a highly successful and prominent psychologist?”
I would let him tell me what he knew rather than filling in the ghastly pieces of the puzzle for him. I heard myself think the word “ghastly” and realized that Liane was having an effect on me. I looked through the window to where she sat on the swing, and she smiled and waved. She knew what was being said and was feeding thoughts to me. I would have to talk to her about that little hobby once we were married. It was fascinating to be sure, but it was also an invasion of privacy, and as much as I loved her, we needed our individual space.
“Yes, sir, that’s true.”
He tamped his pipe and peered at me over those glasses. The room swam in the scent of cherry tobacco and if anything, the leather chairs seemed to soften as though they were familiar and comforting to them. I wondered what was coming next.
“I understood there was a bit of a rift between you and your family. Have you resolved that?”