Read Online Falafel Jones - The Kewpie Killer by Falafel Jones - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Falafel Jones
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point of seeing friends you haven’t seen in a while?”
“So, you remain close…”
“I had to include her in the rotation and do gal-pal things or she acted like she failed me. Then, when my Dad died, it got worse.”
“She thought she had to be both Mom and Dad?”
“Yeah, she felt guilty Dad died. She believed she should have been able to do something to save him.”
“Was she with him at the time?”
“No, that was the year Mom ran for City Council, Dad died in Florida working on a story. She thought she should have been with him, should have spent more time with him instead of campaigning… she dropped out of the race. He spent a lot of time alone then, what with me away at school and Mom trying to get elected.”
“Could she have saved him?”
“She’ll never know. He fell and hit his head.”
“That’s too bad. Even if she went with him, she might not have been with him at the right time.”
“And now, she’s my employer. You know, the result is instead of being a full time mom; mine spends our time together trying to be someone else… my girlfriend, my Dad and my Boss. There are only so many hours in a day. I already lost Dad. I guess I just want Mom to be my mom. I don’t want to share her.”
“Sure, that makes sense.” He seemed to get why I needed my mother to be just my mother and nothing else.
“I never realized this before. I guess I needed to talk it out. Thanks.”
“Glad to help. I often don’t know what I think until I say it.” He put his arm around me and I snuggled in.
My revelation led to more conversation about my Dad, a painful topic rarely discussed. When I rehashed the story of his funeral, how we had his body shipped back home, I started to cry. Eddie held me and stroked my hair until I stopped. Then, with a tissue in my hand, I shared memories of Dad, how much I loved him driving me in his restored ’65 MGB with the top down. When I talked about an interstate trip we planned but never got to take, I cried again.
We cuddled some more and after a while, we got around to his family and he told me about his folks. They lived an hour or so from Eddie where they retired to a barrier island off the east coast. I didn’t hear too much more of what he said because I kept dozing off. It wasn’t due to lack of interest and I hoped he didn’t notice.
When the sun rose, the light through the one big apartment window woke me. My hands went to my head to smooth out my hair and I saw we both fell asleep on the couch. Eddie stirred, looked at his watch and said, “Geez, I’ve got to leave for the airport in a few hours.”
“So now what?”
“Tomorrow, actually today, I go back to Florida and serve justice. You?”
“I go to the office and inform the public.”
“About what?”
“All the news that fits.”
“Would it be ok if I called you from time to time?”
“Sure. I’d like that.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
Later that morning, Uncle Bill assigned me a new story. He wanted a feature for the Sunday edition about the effect of city construction projects on downtown businesses. Morty’s Dry Cleaning store wasn’t the only place that suffered when the city and contractors had a dispute.
The story seemed dull but he was right. Local business people and city management folks would probably read it. I wanted to seek a link between the victims in the Kewpie killings, but this new story gave me an excuse to talk to Morty again. I wanted to ask him more about Burke.
Once the city finished the sewer project in his neighborhood, business improved. Finding a parking space was hard before due to the construction. Now, it was hard due to the increase in business. Some folks would call that progress. After a couple of turns around the block, a spot opened up near Morty’s store.
When I entered, the little bell on the door rang and Morty looked up from his cash register. It only took a moment for him to recognize me and wave. His customer pocketed some change, took
“So, you remain close…”
“I had to include her in the rotation and do gal-pal things or she acted like she failed me. Then, when my Dad died, it got worse.”
“She thought she had to be both Mom and Dad?”
“Yeah, she felt guilty Dad died. She believed she should have been able to do something to save him.”
“Was she with him at the time?”
“No, that was the year Mom ran for City Council, Dad died in Florida working on a story. She thought she should have been with him, should have spent more time with him instead of campaigning… she dropped out of the race. He spent a lot of time alone then, what with me away at school and Mom trying to get elected.”
“Could she have saved him?”
“She’ll never know. He fell and hit his head.”
“That’s too bad. Even if she went with him, she might not have been with him at the right time.”
“And now, she’s my employer. You know, the result is instead of being a full time mom; mine spends our time together trying to be someone else… my girlfriend, my Dad and my Boss. There are only so many hours in a day. I already lost Dad. I guess I just want Mom to be my mom. I don’t want to share her.”
“Sure, that makes sense.” He seemed to get why I needed my mother to be just my mother and nothing else.
“I never realized this before. I guess I needed to talk it out. Thanks.”
“Glad to help. I often don’t know what I think until I say it.” He put his arm around me and I snuggled in.
My revelation led to more conversation about my Dad, a painful topic rarely discussed. When I rehashed the story of his funeral, how we had his body shipped back home, I started to cry. Eddie held me and stroked my hair until I stopped. Then, with a tissue in my hand, I shared memories of Dad, how much I loved him driving me in his restored ’65 MGB with the top down. When I talked about an interstate trip we planned but never got to take, I cried again.
We cuddled some more and after a while, we got around to his family and he told me about his folks. They lived an hour or so from Eddie where they retired to a barrier island off the east coast. I didn’t hear too much more of what he said because I kept dozing off. It wasn’t due to lack of interest and I hoped he didn’t notice.
When the sun rose, the light through the one big apartment window woke me. My hands went to my head to smooth out my hair and I saw we both fell asleep on the couch. Eddie stirred, looked at his watch and said, “Geez, I’ve got to leave for the airport in a few hours.”
“So now what?”
“Tomorrow, actually today, I go back to Florida and serve justice. You?”
“I go to the office and inform the public.”
“About what?”
“All the news that fits.”
“Would it be ok if I called you from time to time?”
“Sure. I’d like that.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
Later that morning, Uncle Bill assigned me a new story. He wanted a feature for the Sunday edition about the effect of city construction projects on downtown businesses. Morty’s Dry Cleaning store wasn’t the only place that suffered when the city and contractors had a dispute.
The story seemed dull but he was right. Local business people and city management folks would probably read it. I wanted to seek a link between the victims in the Kewpie killings, but this new story gave me an excuse to talk to Morty again. I wanted to ask him more about Burke.
Once the city finished the sewer project in his neighborhood, business improved. Finding a parking space was hard before due to the construction. Now, it was hard due to the increase in business. Some folks would call that progress. After a couple of turns around the block, a spot opened up near Morty’s store.
When I entered, the little bell on the door rang and Morty looked up from his cash register. It only took a moment for him to recognize me and wave. His customer pocketed some change, took
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