Chapter 16: Scotch and Skellingtons

[pascal_curious]

 

I was lazing about, a few hours before having to leave for work. Sprawled across my bed, staring at the ceiling, I tried to decide how to get the hero of my novel out of a particularly sticky situation. I had put Andy down for her nap and the house was quiet. It was the perfect time for such a mental excursion. I finally decided that what my hero really needed was a tattoo of a great red dragon across his chest. I was contriving a way in which hero could acquire such a tattoo (and bust some heads in the process) when the phone rang. I lunged for the handset on the bed side table and caught it after the first ring. 

 

“Hello?”

 

I looked in on Andy to make sure that her sleep had not been disturbed. She looked up when I entered the room but quickly lost all interest and went back to sleep.

 

“Hi Pascal, It’s Amber,” said the voice on the other end.

 

“Hey, what’s up?”

 

“I was wondering, I know you don’t have to be at work for a while yet and I wanted to know if I could come over a bit early.  I have a few things I need to give to you.”

 

“Really?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine what she might have that she would need to give to me.

 

“Uh, sure, that’s not a problem” I told her. “Do you wanna come over for some lunch? I was just about whip up some bachelor chow.”

 

“That would be great.” 

I could tell she was excited but, for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. 

 

 

 “Give me about 20 minutes, okay?”

 

“Okay. See you in a bit, then.”

 

“Bye,” I said and hung up the phone. I rolled myself out of bed and put on my work clothes so I wouldn’t have to change later.

 

I had just dumped the powdered imitation cheese into the pot of macaroni ( I always think that adding more butter than the directions call for might make it taste something like cheese, but it never works) when the doorbell rang. I took the pot off the heat and took a peek at the fish sticks in the oven before I went to answer the door.

 

“You didn’t have to ring the bell,” I began to admonish her, until I realized she was looking at me over the top of a very large cardboard box.   She couldn’t have possibly opened the door while holding the box. “Oh,” I chuckled “I guess you did have to.”

 

“Thanks,” she said smartly. “Could you please take this? It’s a little heavy”

 

“Sorry.” I said as I took the box from her. It was heavy.   There were several somethings rolling around inside the top the box, making it very difficult to balance. I backed up, pushing the door open behind me.

 

“Thanks.,” she said, flexing her fingers and massaging her wrists. “My hands were starting to go numb.”

 

I allowed her to close the door and then followed her into the kitchen. I put the box on the island, next to where I usually sat to eat. I circled the island and went to the stove.

 

“I hope you like fish sticks and mac-and-cheese.”

 

“I love anything that’s not Rice-a-Roni or ramen noodles,” she informed me , settling herself into the chair next to mine.

 

I quickly served up our meals and poured us each a glass of cola. I circled back around the island, sat down, and wasted no time shoving food into my face. I was hungrier than I had realized. I had downed 3 fish sticks when I realized that Amber hadn’t touched her plate. She was just sitting there staring at me expectantly.

 

“What,” I asked, wondering if I had dripped tartar sauce onto my work shirt. A quick examination revealed my shirt to be tartar sauce free.

 

“Aren’t you at all curious?” She asked, glancing at the box beside me. I had completely forgotten about it in my rush to cram food in my hole.

 

“Well, yeah,” I said through a mouth full of fish. “I thought you might be hungry though.”

 

She smiled. “I am hungry, but I am more curious than hungry. I want to know what all is in that box.”

 

“You mean you don’t know?” I asked, incredulous.

 

“I just took the tiniest of peeks,” she explained. I saw your Dad’s name on a paper inside, so I thought should bring it over to you.”

 

“Dad’s name? Are you sure?” I was sure we had gotten everything out of the house before we put it on the market.

 

“Yep. I was renovating one of the bedrooms and found it stuffed above some ceiling tiles in the closet.”

 

I was confused. I couldn’t understand why dad would have hidden anything above the ceiling tiles. “Which room was it?”

 

“I think it was the one he must have used as an office. It’s the one with the cork tiles on the walls and smells like cigar smoke.”

 

“Yeah, he made that room into an office after I moved out.”

 

I put my fork down and took a big gulp of soda. I was feeling a bit conflicted. I really wanted to know what was in the box, especially if it had been Dad’s, but I wasn’t sure why he would have felt the need to hide anything. I know it was a bit childish, but I didn’t want to know if my dad had any deep, dark secrets. I didn’t want to remember him in any way different than I did now. He had been my mentor, my friend, and my hero. I didn’t want anything to change that.

 

I took a deep breath and pulled open the flaps on the top of the box. I hesitated, as if I expected something inside to bite me, and then finally stuck my hand in.

 

In the top of the box were two bottles of my dad’s favorite brand of scotch whiskey. Those were what had been shifting around making the box so hard to hold on to. I pulled them out and sat them on the counter before me. They were identical bottles of Glensimmich 1969.

 

“Wow.” I exclaimed. “These are probably worth a small fortune.”

 

“There are five more bottles over at the house,” she explained, “they were too heavy for me to bring them all over.”

 

“Are all of them just like this?”

 

“I think they might have been bottled in different years, but they are all the same brand.”

 

“Hmm,” I muttered to myself. I wondered why dad would have hidden a stockpile of Scotch bottles. Mom never begrudged him his whiskey and we kids knew never to touch it. It didn’t make sense.

 

I pushed the bottles aside and left that mystery for later in favor of delving further into the box. I pulled out a couple of bundles of what looked like old letters and greeting cards held together with stretched out, dried up rubber bands. Two of the bands broke as I sat the bundles down on the counter. The bands, too deteriorated to snap, fell limply on to the counter. Thinking that there was nothing unusual about saving old letters, probably letters from when he and mom were dating, I pushed them aside for perusal later, when I had more time.

 

I reached again into the mysterious box. This expedition produced a yellow clasp envelope with dad’s hand writing on the front. “Important” is what it read. I undid the clasp and pulled out a stack of papers and envelopes. On the top, I recognized immediately, a life insurance policy.

“I hope this isn’t one we missed, “I said. “We closed the estate months ago.” 

 

I opened the folder that held the policy and looked to see if it was one of the ones we had already claimed. On the front page my father’s name was listed as the insured. Directly below this were listed the beneficiaries; Chloe and Lola Curious. I furrowed my brows in puzzlement.

 

“What is it?” Amber asked, having noticed my confused expression. She was spooning more tartar sauce on to her plate.

 

“It lists the beneficiaries as Lola and Chloe Curious, but I don’t remember anyone in the family with those names. Dad was an only child and Gramma and her sister died long before this policy was taken out in 1974.

 

I flipped through the pages of the policy seeking further enlightenment, but found none.

 

“I’ll have to ask Jenny. Maybe she knows.”

 

I put the policy aside and went to the next paper in the stack of stuff. I saw the words “Certificate of Marriage” on the top and set it aside. No mystery there.

 

I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach as I read the next piece of paper. It had the words “Divorce Decree” in huge black lettering at the top of the page. I felt a bit light headed as I scanned the contents of the document.

 

“Are you okay?” Amber asked, putting a steadying hand on my arm.

 

“Dad was married,” I mumbled, unable to take my eyes off of the document.

 

“Of course he was, to your mother. That’s the way it’s supposed to work anyway.” She seemed surprised that I was so disturbed by the revelation that my father had been a married man.

 

“No,” I told her. “He was married…. before mom.” Saying the thing made it painfully more real. “This divorce decree was filed in 1970 by someone named Glabe Singleton,” I explained, waving the decree in front of her. I grabbed the Marriage Certificate that I had put aside earlier. I looked it over more carefully this time “This is their marriage certificate dated 1968.”

 

 

I let the papers fall on to the counter.  I really wished that I hadn’t opened that box. I couldn’t believe that Dad could have been married to someone before Mom, and I couldn’t understand why it would have been a secret. Unless, maybe, Mom hadn’t known. No, I told myself. He worshipped Mom; He wouldn’t have kept anything this important from her.

 

I stared at the stack of papers that had come from the envelope. I was unwilling to go any further.

 

“Pascal?” Amber said tentatively, trying to get my attention. She was holding the decree in her hand. “Look.”

 

Whatever it was, I really didn’t want to know.

 

She pointed to a line toward the bottom of the page and read it to me. “The parties have two minor children.”
 

I almost puked on my plate of fish sticks.

 

Comments

[madame-ugly.livejournal.com]

Thank you.

This was just the thing I needed this evening. I'm so happy you're still working on this story. And new layers being added? YES, please.

[pascal-curious.livejournal.com]

You're very welcome.

Yes, many new layers to come. I have had a few new brain waves in the last few months, one of which I am trying very hard with, but Loki Beaker just won't cooperate.