The Bad Lady (Novel) (20 page)

Or should there?

What if my biological father, who nowadays, would be in his early forties, wanted nothing to do with me?

What if metaphorically speaking, he slammed the door in my face, to the idea of wanting to meet?

Or what if he denied knowing my mother, denied that he had ever even been to Ohio, let alone to Cleveland, twenty years before?

If that were to happen, I would be distraught. No doubt.

While taking a deep, deep breath, I tried to convince myself, that if my dad Hugh Sandusky wanted nothing to do with me, at least I would finally have closure on that part of my life.

With that reassuring thought in mind, and another small sip of beer in my belly, I maneuvered the computer mouse and then bravely clicked the ‘friend request’ button.

To my surprise, the next day he accepted the Facebook request. We exchanged numbers and spoke on the phone, for about an hour.

As you could well imagine, my long lost father was completely shocked, after twenty years, to connect, with a son that he never knew he had. Hugh Sandusky informed me, as I suspected would be the case, that he barely remembered my mother from their one night stand in Cleveland back in the late 1980‘s.

He had also said that he was profoundly saddened (I could hear the emotion in his voice) that my mom had elected not to notify him that he had gotten her pregnant. I could tell that he meant that too. He said that if she had told him about the baby, he would have been there for her. If not in a loving relationship sense, he would have at least offered financial support.

I believed him.

***

For me talking to my dad was mind-blowing. The fact that he seemed to be very kind, open, and honest, made me both happy and relieved.

Out of curiosity, I questioned him as to what he did for a living, since I wanted to try to get more of a clear, visual impression of what he might be like as a person. In a humble way, he expressed that he was no one important, no one famous; he was just your friendly neighborhood electrician.

That was okay. I had no dreams of grandeur, thinking that he might turn out to be some disgustingly rich oil tycoon from Texas, or whatever. I would never become anyone important or famous either. I was majoring in business administration, and would likely one day end up becoming just another suit. Another uptight, stuffed shirt in an office somewhere.

My dad Hugh let me know that he had a daughter, named Cindy, who had been born, there in St. Louis, a few years after I had been conceived. I asked if I could meet her, he said, sure, that my half-sister Cindy would probably like that very much, and that, when I had some time off from college, he would make the arrangements.

“What about spring break?” I asked.

“Sounds like that would be the ideal time,” my biological father said cheerfully.

“So you think your daughter Cindy will be surprised to find out that she has a brother from Indiana?”

“Yes Bill. However, as I said, I don’t think she’ll have much of a problem accepting you into the family.”

“I can’t wait to meet you guys.”

“I feel the same way. I bet you’re a chip off the old block. And based on your Facebook photos you look exactly like me.”

“That‘s true,” I agreed. “I do. We have the same eyes, nose and brown hair.”

He chuckled. “That we do. You have the Sandusky Polish nose.”

I laughed along with him.

We resolved that, on spring break, I would be the one to drive down to Kirkland, Missouri. Hugh had to work so there was no way he could commute to Indiana. That worked out fine though, because I wanted to meet him and his daughter Cindy first before I introduced them to my grandparents.

I did not want to rush things.

PART FOURTEEN

SET ME FREE

CHAPTER 26

Now, before I conclude this story, you might be wondering how I planned to go about telling my biological father that my mom was dead. To be honest with you, I did not know.

All I knew was that spring break was only a week away and I decided that I would rather tell him about the way she had died and why, on my vacation, than to get into the issue over the phone.

It has been many years since I had discussed, with anyone, what had happened to me, inside that Good Humor truck, back in Hampton, Ohio. As a matter of fact, other than my grandparents, the last person I had spoken to about it would have been Dr. Sedevic.

Beginning in my first year of high school, I had dated a bunch of different girls, both cheerleaders and bookworms, and, including my present day girlfriend Scarlett, had not told any of them that I had once been the victim of a pedophile.

The reason why I had not revealed to any of my girlfriends that I had been sexually abused was because I did not think they would understand.

Or that they might, when they learned of this, start to feel rather uncomfortable being in a relationship with me, and would ultimately want to break up.

Nevertheless, I intend to exorcise the ghost of Nancy.

In fact, tonight I plan to spill my heart to Scarlett, who I think I might be in love with, and let her know everything. I hope she sticks around.

It has taken me a long time to realize that until I’m honest about what had happened to me, until I let the people close to me, especially my love interests, know about Nancy, my mom, and also the bad lady, I will always remain a victim.

I do not want that anymore.

I am tired.

I want to be set free.