Chapter 2

Todd's wife, Janet, had done a marvelous job. There was nothing during the evening that reminded me of my late wife, Melody. Dinner was at a place that I'd never been to. It consisted of ethnic food that I'd never had before. The bar we ended up at was new, and the music ... well, while not exactly to my taste, was definitely something Melody wouldn't have gone for. All in all it occupied my senses and didn't cause me to relate anything to Melody. I'm sure distraction had been Janet's intent, and it was working.

I was going to have to thank Janet. I knew this was not Todd's doing. He was as clueless as I was ... well, until we were in the middle of it.

Eleven o'clock arrived too fast. Todd dropped me off at my house. Cynthia was waiting for me to return.

"Your little darlings are in bed, I'd love to stay and chat, but I need my beauty rest. School tomorrow."

'Beauty rest indeed!' I thought. "Here," I said reaching for my wallet.

"Nope, this one's on me," Cynthia said.

Then she gave me a quick hug, a kiss on the cheek, big smile, and was out the door.

I had things to do, and lingering on the way Cynthia's hug, kiss, scent ... was not in the cards. First thing, was checking on the kids.

I don't think there is any way to suppress a smile when looking on sleeping angels. Whether they needed it or not, I adjusted their blankets.

After closing up the house, I sat down in the living room. Janet could never take this part of the evening away, well unless she got me shit-faced drunk. I was home alone, on my anniversary, and would be going to an empty bed. Somewhere deep inside of me, I knew there must be a God. If I didn't have my two angels upstairs, I wouldn't have made it this far. They kept me going. But, on nights like this, even they couldn't hold things together for me. I cried for my wife, and the horrible waste of her wonderful life.

"So," Tim said, "how was the letch?"

Cynthia glared at her brother. He hadn't bothered to knock before opening the door.

"Today would have been their wedding anniversary. I don't think he was doing very well."

Tim looked at his sister, but had no idea what to say. He wanted to hate the guy, even though he knew he'd loved the stories ... before he knew who had written them. The kids were cute. He had always seemed like a nice guy ... before he knew. This was fucked up. Tim didn't know what to think, but even with his conflicting thoughts, he wasn't cold hearted. Hell, that would be worse than breaking up with a long-time girlfriend ... Tim's only real-life reference.

"How were the kids?" Tim said, trying to change the subject.

"Great, as always," Cynthia said with a smile. "I love them."

Tim knew it was a lost cause with his sister. What she'd just said was true. He knew it. She did love those kids. The best thing Tim could do was to watch and pay attention. If it came to it, he would say something to their parents. That thought made Tim cringe.

Just as suddenly as he had entered her room, he left.

Cynthia shook her head. Of course she thought, 'Jerk, ' but she also know her brother. He wanted to protect her, even if he was younger. It was a guy thing. She knew that. Caveman sort of mentality. Cynthia just hoped he would get over it soon.

She sat down in front of her computer, knowing she couldn't get to sleep without logging on to the website that held 'those' stories. She opened her library and looked at it again. There were seven authors who she liked. She'd written to all of them at times. Which one was it? In the past few nights, after Tim's confession, she'd been re-reading the stories of those authors. She'd been through four of them and had three to go. Cynthia was hoping something would jump out. Something would tell her, 'I'm Brad!' So far she was at a loss. She opened the 'next on her list' author and looked at his stories. Selecting a short one, she began reading.

When Friday rolled around, Cynthia and Tim were eating dinner together. On a Friday that was unusual. The parents ate at the normal time, but Tim and Cynthia were rarely there on a Friday. Tim was going to the game, but later, was to meet up with some friends. Cynthia had a babysitting gig that didn't start until seven thirty.

"Cynthia," her father said at the end of the meal, "you're spending the night at the Henderson's, right?"

"Yep. They won't get in till about two. They're taking a cab and said they weren't going to be fit to drive. Mom said it was better to spend the night than let them try, and I know you don't want to get up at that hour."

Her father just nodded to that statement. Then he spoke.

"When you get in, in the morning, I want to talk with you."

It was his tone that told her it was something important. She shot a glance over at her brother, who was studying his fork, very intently. She was pissed! How dare he!

"Cynthia, did you hear me?" her father asked.

"Yes, Dad," she said a bit too curtly. Stopping herself, she apologized. "Sorry, Dad, that didn't come out right. Are you going to be home all morning? I'm not sure when I'll get home."

"Don't worry. I'll be around. This is rather important."

Cynthia excused herself. After putting her dishes into the dishwasher, she went upstairs. On the way, her eyes filled with water.

She didn't want to go downstairs and see her brother again. In less than ten minutes she heard the front door. Looking outside, she saw her brother leave. Cynthia was so mad at that point, that she opened her window and flipped him off. Even if he couldn't see it, it made her feel better.

Babysitting had been miserable. It was one of those rare times that Cynthia had lost her temper and yelled at the Henderson's children. The two girls cried for a half hour straight, making Cynthia feel like a heel. As with most children, a short time later, all was forgotten. The ice cream might have helped some.

She had brought clothing and they had a guest room, near the children's rooms. It was past midnight. Two movies after she had put the girls down to sleep that Cynthia went off to bed. Sleep didn't come. She lay awake dreading the talk with her father in the morning. There were some things that were acceptable, others completely not. Cynthia didn't recognize it at the time, but she was forming the fundamental break away points from her parents' hold on her. She decided there were parts of her life her parents had no say in, any longer. Her neighbor across the street was one of them.

As they had told her, Cynthia heard the Henderson's come in about two in the morning. She wondered if she had been asleep, how she would have remained. It was almost comical how they were 'trying' to be quiet. It had also been a very prudent decision to spend the night. Neither of them were in any shape to walk a straight line, much less drive. It was some time during her listening to them bumbling around that Cynthia drifted off to sleep.

The next morning came much too early. It was bright and the two girls had come in and jumped on the bed. To keep them mollified, Cynthia got up and fixed the two some breakfast, then plopped them down in front of the television to watch cartoons.

It was an hour later when Mr. Henderson came out, looking the worse for wear, and told Cynthia he would take her home as soon as he got some coffee into his system.

The girls, upon seeing their father, started getting rambunctious. Cynthia quieted them.

On the way home, Mr. Henderson gave Cynthia a nice tip for taking care of the girls in the morning, knowing otherwise they would have ended up in their parent's room.

Entering the house, Cynthia wanted to get up to her room. Maybe she could fall asleep again and put off talking to her father until another day. No such luck.

He was waiting for her when she walked in. Sleep deprived, she knew she was not ready for this.

"Time for our talk," he said a bit too cheery.

"Can't it wait?"

"Could, but I arranged this time to talk with you."

Cynthia sighed, put her hands up to her face and tried to shake the sleep out of her, then said, "Fine."

"Come on into the living room."

They sat and her father started what sounded like a well-rehearsed speech.