Read Online Enigma by Lloyd A. Meeker - Free Book Online Page B

expect to ask for more, but you never know. I’ll be happiest, though, if I don’t.”
    James turned to Kommen. “Speaking of money, have you paid Mr. Morgan yet? If not, that should happen now.”
    Andrew Kommen made his pissy face, but said nothing. He pulled out an envelope and gave it to me. Feeling cynical, I opened it and checked. Right instrument, right amount.
    “What about the children?” Howard was whining again. “They’ll grow up without a father.”
    James barked out a short laugh. “What do I have to say to make this sink in? They will grow up with their father, and you’ll take good care of them. Leigh will no doubt make me out to be the villain, but while I’m genuinely fond of the kids, they’re not mine. They’re yours and Leigh’s, you take care of them. Be decent to them. And to my mom, too. I’ll know if you’re not. You don’t want that to happen, believe me.”
    James stood up, took the bags and hoisted one in salute, as if he were getting on a plane. Maybe he was. He’d had plenty of time to make reservations. “Don’t try to come after me, Howard. If you do, you’ll lose everything.”
    James smiled. No, he was gloating. “See, you’re the one in the closet now. One mistake from you is all it will take. One email from me to a particular attorney somewhere in this great country, and your sordid story—complete with proof—comes blazing out of the closet to be splashed over every Christian network station there is.”
    He winked at me and then he was gone. Nobody moved or spoke for what seemed a very long time. I was the first to leave.
    * * * *
    I drove home slowly, so sad my chest hurt. For an empath, it’s never easy witnessing a family, no matter how dysfunctional, tearing itself apart. The pain goes so deep, the wounds are so grievous. Pain is pain, and even with practice you can’t always keep a wall between your own and what belongs to others.
    Worst of all, it’s usually the innocents who get ground up in battles that never should have injured them in the first place. The sins of the fathers. If this scandal became public, the three Richardson kids would be exposed horribly. At best, they would simply suffer abandonment by the man they believed to be their father.
    Later, hopefully when they were strong enough to bear it, they’d probably discover the grotesque truth that their real father and grandfather was the same man, that both he and their mother had lied to them, just as James had. Children may fib, but it takes an adult lying to a child to do real damage.
    On the other hand, I believe deeply that at least once, maybe twice in a man’s life, he has to choose between his own truth and all the stories the rest of the world tells him about what he owes others.
    James Richardson had faced a terrible choice. He could be true to himself, or be what others wanted him to be. He’d been brave enough to take the path of authenticity, and I couldn’t fault him for that, no matter how many people got hurt. Maybe he should have made the choice earlier, but I’m in no position to judge, given my own story with the bottle.
    That was what Mary Oliver’s poem, the one I’d given him yesterday, was all about. Save the only life you can save.
    I was tempted to rescue the kids myself somehow, although I knew as rough as this was going to be for them, their wounds weren’t mine to heal. Someone else would have to do that. Someday.
    From what I’d seen of the Richardson adults, it wasn’t likely to be them, either. Howard wouldn’t have a clue about where to start. Maybe Ann, one day, if she could find her way back to Earth. But not Leigh. She was still too certain of her own righteousness to acknowledge her part in this mess. The kids’ suffering would forever be James’ fault, not hers.
    I parked behind my house and got out. I imagined making a placard saying, “Be good to your child today!” and marching up Colfax Avenue with it. That made me cringe. I was getting