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The Fury - Jason Pinter [16]

By Root 418 0
I wasn't quite sure

The Fury

51

what to expect. I hadn't set foot in Bend in nearly ten

years. The same amount of time had passed since I'd

last seen my parents. And while some children might

find a hole in their heart, in their soul, due to this

absence, mine was finally able to fill up.

I wondered if coming back here was a good idea,

whether it was best to let dead dogs lie. Yet that image

of Stephen Gaines lying on an examining table, his

head nearly blown apart, made this trip a necessity.

Anger had driven me away from my home. Now the

same was leading me back.

As we approached the city limits, I could immedi

ately tell that the last eight years had changed my

hometown a great deal. And all the changes looked to

be for the better.

To the west, the spectacular beauty of the Cascade

Mountain Range. The lush green foliage was tipped

with hints of snow from winter. I could make out the

magnificent peak of Mount Bachelor, rising to a snowcapped point. I rolled down the window to breathe in

the fresh air. It was warm, dry and clean. For a moment

I considered what I'd given up. Part of me missed the

air, the scenery. Being able to see for miles, the horizons

rising blue and bold above the skyline. For everything

I loved about New York--the hustle and bustle, the

thriving heart of media and business, the diversity of its

inhabitants--I missed the open world.

By seven-thirty, we were approaching Eastview

Drive, the street in the northeast section of Bend where

James and Eve Parker had lived for nearly thirty years.

I still didn't have the timeline sketched out completely,

so I wondered if my father had had his affair with Helen

52

Jason Pinter

Gaines in the very house I'd grown up in. Perhaps a

quickie in the room that later became my bedroom.

Every moment spent thinking about it made me more

angry. I'd have to restrain myself once I saw him in

person.

I turned the car onto Eastview Drive tentatively,

slowing the car down as my old house came into view.

The first eighteen years of my life forgotten and now

remembered. A bad dream interrupting a peaceful sleep.

The dark green paint hadn't been refreshed in years.

The two-car garage was still surely filled with old

records, antiques my parents had grown weary of and

empty photo albums. A black 1994 Chevy C/K 1500

flatbed truck was parked outside the left garage. The

paint was scratched and faded, but I had no doubt the

old truck still purred like a kitten. The grass was fairly

short, so as least they cared about some sense of

decorum, and the cobblestone walkway leading up to

the front door was still there like the day I left. Much

had changed in Bend over the last decade, and it seemed

as if my parents had resisted that change as much as

possible.

I steered the car into the driveway, parking next to the

flatbed, then turned off the engine and sat there in

silence. Amanda did as well. Neither of us said a word

for a long time. Finally Amanda said, "Henry, do you

want to do this? We can go to a hotel, wait until you're

ready."

"I'm ready," I said. "Or at least I need to be."

I opened the car door, cautiously stepped out as

though expecting the driveway to swallow me whole.

Amanda climbed out, and we walked up the cobble

The Fury

53

stone path to the front door. A faded yellow button

popped out like a pimple to the right of the front door.

I could see a faint glow from inside one of the windows.

Somebody was definitely home.

I looked at Amanda, smiled weakly, tried to gather

my strength and rang the doorbell. The bell startled me

for some reason, like I wasn't ready to accept that there

was actually a person who lived here.

I hadn't phoned ahead because I didn't want him to

know I was coming. Didn't want to give him a chance

to think, to make up excuses. I wanted him face-to

face. To see how he reacted. If he did at all.

I heard footsteps, someone mumbling under his

breath. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, trying to

forget the resentment I had toward this man. Knowing

the pain he'd put us all

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