The Fury - Jason Pinter [16]
The Fury
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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
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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
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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