Wishful Thinking (25 page)

I looked up at her, “About the accident."

She took off her glasses and placed them on the small table next to her chair, “Do I know what accident you’re talking about?"

“Of course you do. The car that hit me when I was four. The one my father conveniently forgot to tell me about, the one I can’t remember." I looked up to meet her eyes, “You knew didn’t you?”
 

She shook her head, “No. If your father didn’t tell you then how, how did you find this out?"

"A friend who also happened to be the other victim," I said getting up to pace again.
 

I pulled the article from my pocket, handed it to her, and then continued pacing. She put her glasses back on and read the snippet before turning her attention back to me. “Wow that’s—and you haven’t talked to your father about this?"

“No.” I sat back down, got back up, "I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I’m beyond freaked. I’ve snapped at all my friends and it feels like I’m losing my mind. I thought, fuck I don’t know what I thought."

I sat down again, rubbing at my eyes, trying to keep the burn of tears threatening to fall back. Dr. Patterson got up and sat down next to me. She put a hand on my back patting it, “James I understand how this is—frightening, but it’s not the end of the world, and it doesn’t change who you are today.”

“There’s something else,” I paused unsure whether to tell Dr. Patterson everything.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said in an encouraging voice.

“It’s hard to explain, but it feels like there’s more to the story than just a hit and run. See …” and from there I spilled everything to Dr. Patterson. I told her about the break-in, my dad carrying a gun, the little girl with pigtails, the black charger, the photo album with no pictures of me before four years old and finished with the paternity petition I found with the last name Franklin which happened to be my grandpa Jojo’s last name, “But it’s not my dad’s last name. What if I’m adopted or stolen?”

Dr. Patterson sat back, scratched her head, “Hmm.”

I sat back too.

She tapped her chin with her fist while she stared at the ground. “Well,” she finally said, “I think, I think phew, that’s a lot to take in. I’m …” she sighed, put her hands together and put them in her lap, “first did you talk to your doctors about the hallucinations?”

“Not exactly.”

“Oh James, you must, with the amount of trauma your head—”

“Trust me they ran every test known to man, and I’m fine.”

“Promise me then, if you have anymore blackouts or hallucinations you’ll see a doctor.”

I nodded, even though I probably wouldn’t see a doctor.
 

“Good. And you’ve talked to the police?”

“Yeah and they’re investigating it, but I don’t think it’s high on their to-solve list. I didn’t even mention the Charger because …” I was completely overreacting.
 

“Okay, well let’s talk about the one thing I’m certain has you the most confused, angry, and certainly scared, whether you’re adopted. I’m going to guess that you’re thinking that it would explain your mother’s behavior better to you. Am I right?”

Dr. Patterson touched on my worst fear, that I was the reason my mother took her life. No matter how I tried I just couldn’t let go of the idea if I’d done a little more, tri-quarter folded my towels I could have prevented her death. Rationally, it didn’t make a damn bit of sense, but neither did her suicide.
 

“I know it’s not true,” I said into my hands.
 

“Do you?”

“Well, yeah,” I said meeting her eye, “it’s just, sometimes I wonder, you know?”

Dr. Patterson placed her hand over mine, “I know your anger at your mother is a diversionary tactic to keep you from acknowledging the guilt you feel,” she gave my hand a squeeze, “but your mother was sick and it doesn’t matter what you did or didn’t do, her illness was not something you could have prevented or changed. Okay?”

I nodded.
 

“Forgive yourself and then go home and talk to your father. Really talk to him because he has your answers.”

My elbows rested on my knees and my chin rested on my clasped hands. I turned my head so I was looking at Dr. patterson. “Why am I so scared?”

She continued patting my back, “Because, you’ve built your walls to keep you safe from heartache and loss. Those walls, however, keep you isolated and isolation forges fear, fear that no one will be there for you when we need them, that nobody will be there to catch you when you fall. But your dad loves you, he wants to be there for you. Talk to him.”

I left Dr. Patterson’s with a renewed sense of calm. I was going to talk to my dad as she said to do. Who knew what in the world I’d say, but I figured the words would come to me—eventually. It came as no shock when I got home and my dad wasn’t there, after all it was only two o’clock. I sat down on the living room couch and waited.
 

By five o’clock I hadn’t received a text or call back from my dad and each time I tried calling his number it went straight to voicemail. I’d never been on the receiving end of ignored calls with my dad and I didn’t like it. I got up, walked across the living room to the window and watched the street.
 

A weird buzzing sound pulled my attention away from the window to the hallway. Where was it coming from? I got up
 
and walked to the hallway. My steps slowed and I tilted my head certain the buzzing was coming from my father’s den. Three feet outside my father’s den the buzzing stopped.
 

It was probably nothing. And I wasn’t exactly in the right state of mind to deal with it anyway. I made my way to the kitchen and decided to get a drink. I drank the apple juice straight from the container not bothering to dirty another glass. It was my week to do dishes. In the fridge there was nothing to snack on besides Chinese takeout leftovers, and enough condiments to satisfy a small city. My stomach grumbled. I hadn’t eaten since … since, I couldn’t remember. Dad wasn’t home so I grabbed my keys figuring I’d go out for a burger.
 

As the garage door rolled up, I bent down to tie my shoe noticing broken glass beneath my feet. A garage window had been broken and glass was everywhere. I walked to the window, glass crunching beneath my feet with each step. It had been shattered and only pointy shards remained along the edges.
 

Was it vandalism? An accident? Didn’t matter which it was, after the break-in, my first thought was to run. I didn’t think twice about where to go, and ran straight across the street to the Kingsly’s door. I pounded as hard as I could.
 

Within seconds an exasperated Mr. Kingsly answered the door, but the sight of my panicked face diminished his anger into worry, "What is it?" his voice still quite gruff.

"Broken," I stammered suddenly unable to catch my breath.
 

Ben looked from me to my house and back again, he hollered over his shoulder, "Bea, I’m running across the street." He turned back to me, "What happened?"
 

“I was going to get dinner and the window in the garage is broken."

“Dammit, Doug is supposed to be taking care of this," he muttered and started tapping his foot, probably debating whether to check it out himself or call in the cavalry.

 
A frazzled looking Maureen appeared from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. "What’s that dear?"

"I’m running across the street." Ben headed upstairs, having made up his mind and left me and Maureen alone.
 

Maureen took one look at me, "Is everything all right?"

I continued to stare at carpet, my voice lost to me at the moment. I couldn’t admit to myself let alone a woman how scared I was. How the break-in last week, and this awful story Claudia gave me, had all but rendered me a coward. My toes wiggled inside my shoes as I rocked back and fourth on my heels.

“Did you call your father?"

All I could do was nod. Had I become a mute too? I would never make it as a man if a broken window froze me up this bad. Ben reappeared, his off-duty weapon in hand. "Can you call all the numbers you have for Richard?”
 

Maureen exited the room. I heard her voice, even, calm, as she talked to the 911 operator. I wish I could have sounded like her, instead of a hysterical little child.
 

"You stay here," Ben said.

 
I nodded afraid to speak, worried my voice would betray my false calm. The Kingsly’s were probably sick of me always running to their house at the first sign of trouble like a baby.
 

I watched Ben’s form cross the street through their living room window, and worried as he crept through my garage and into my house. I couldn’t swallow the lump sitting in my throat choking me. What if someone was in there while I was there? My thoughts flew to the buzzing sound coming from the den.
 

A minute later Ben reappeared shaking his head, cell phone pressed to his ear. I was out the front door and to his side within seconds. I caught the tail end of his conversation, "… make sure officer Fields comes with you,” and hung up his phone.
 

"Have you noticed anything strange in the last couple of days, anything at all?"

I scratched my head buying time, thinking about whether I should or shouldn’t talk about the black Charger. Lucky for me I got a momentary timeout as sirens came whirring down the street. Great the spotlight would be shining on me again. Two patrol cars and an unmarked car pulled up to my house. Officer Hogue stepped out of one of the patrol cars and approached me and Ben.

"Hey Ben.”

“Doug.” The two men shook hands but very little warmth radiated between them. Officer Hogue adjusted his shoulder radio and pulled out his notebook. The officer I believe her name was Fields sidled up to Hogue’s left a large black case in her hands. She gave me a sad smile before addressing her superiors, "Sir where should I start?"

"First secure the scene."

“Already did Doug. Question, were there any broken windows in your initial investigation?"

Hogue read over his notes but officer Fields chimed in, “No there weren’t sir."

“Then have you figured out how he gained access?"

"No, no sign of forced entry."

Ben rubbed at his jaw, “Doug a word.”

Officer Hogue nodded and the two men moved several yards away. I wanted to know what they were whispering to each other but officer Fields stepped in front of me blocking my view of the two men. She asked all sorts of superfluous questions like how I was feeling, and what time I arrived home. I didn’t answer her barrage of questions not because I was catatonic or anything, but because I was straining to hear Ben and officer Hogue. I’d heard my father’s name but couldn’t make out what had preceded it.
 

"Maybe we should get you examined," officer Fields said pulling a walkie-talkie from her hip. Why couldn’t she shut up, her voice all but extinguished theirs? Officer Hogue and Ben continued to talk animatedly but I turned my attention to her giving up my eavesdropping figuring I’d better say something or she might follow through on what I saw as a threat.
 

"I’m fine. I didn’t see anyone in the house or anything just the damage to the window. I mean my dad could have done it for all I know. It’s the first time I’ve gone through the garage. I usually park in the driveway.”

“Do you think that’s what happened?"

I shrugged, mute again.
 

Officer Hogue was nodding along with Ben their mouths pressed in grim lines. My stomach sank, why couldn’t I reach my dad? Where the hell was he and why had he left this morning without saying goodbye and carrying his gun. Now both men were heading back over to us.

"Have you been in touch with your father?" Officer Hogue asked me but Ben answered.

“No, Bea’s trying all his numbers now."

Officer Hogue shook his head, "When was the last time you spoke to your father?"

“Last night, he was in his office working late."

“Did you see him when you woke up?"

“No,” my voice croaked, I spilled everything right then about the black Charger, and conveyed to them how I’d seen it on more than one occasion and that I thought it was following me. I told them all about my dad carrying a gun recently, and that he wasn’t particularly trying to hide the fact he was packing. Ben didn’t seem surprised by any of my story, and I had a suspicion he helped my dad get the gun. And then, after a long, deep breath I tossed in the recent article I’d found about me as a kid. Neither Ben nor officer Hogue seemed interested in my hit and run story. As a matter of fact they appeared to stop listening to me after I mentioned the gun.
 

Whatever.
 

Ben’s face remained impassive and officer Hogue nodded and wrote. Only once during my whole relay of events did officer Hogue get excited and that was when I mentioned my dad’s gun, but nothing else, not even the Charger worked him up. Apparently, it’d be written off as delusions of a traumatized teenager. Couldn’t argue it either, I was delusional, paranoid, panicked, small and insignificant at the moment.

Their reaction made me feel better about everything. Maybe it was a giant coincidence and not a big deal, just something I needed to hash out with my dad.

The grim line of officer Hogue’s mouth twisted like he was thinking hard. He ran a hand through his hair asking for details I didn’t have. I never got a plate number. I never saw the driver.
 

Officer Hogue closed up his notebook and tucked it inside his pants pocket, “Officer Fields can you dust in the garage first, it may be random vandalism but until we can reach Mr. Castle I don’t want to leave anything to chance."

At that moment Dean's Prius pulled into his driveway. He got out of his car and so did Claudia.
 

“Excuse me," I said to no one in particular and crossed the street.

“What’s going on?” Dean asked when I reached him.
 

"You need to tell them about the Charger," I said to Claudia completely ignoring Dean, "they don’t believe me."