Meg knelt beside the hospital bed her father had recently died in and said a prayer, “Lord, I hope you can forgive the motherfucker for what he did to us, because I sure as hell can’t.” Not a tear was shed and her mouth was set in a firm straight line as she got up and crossed the hall to where her mother, brother and sister waited in a tiny ‘grieving room’. But contrary to the purpose of the room, none of the rest of her family were grieving either.

Their father was dead, weren’t they supposed to be sad? Meg quickly dismissed that notion as absurd. All the miserable bastard had done for them, throughout their entire lives, was treat them like shit. Not even their mother, who’d wasted over twenty-five years of her life and bore him three kids, had a drop of moisture in her eyes.

As she stood there, Meg tried in vain to recall one thing about her father that was good, but couldn’t. She had no clear memory of her life before ten years old, just flashes and images that floated around, things that might have been happy and fun; a golden retriever whose tongue was in constant contact with her face, a big birthday party for her brother in which all the neighborhood kids attended. Sunday drives with their mother, that would conclude with streamside picnic lunches. She recalled how Jay had taught her and Lisa survival techniques, just in case they ever got lost in the woods and how he’d even shown them how to build a lean-to. Most of Meg’s best memories revolved around the times spent with her siblings or her mother.

But, the good times were overshadowed by the bad. Meg remembered how time after time they would run, hearts pounding and at their mother’s hysterical urging, to their secret lean-to in the woods. It was the only place they had to escape their father’s fury. It was there that they'd commiserate about their rotten luck in getting the father they'd gotten. How they all hated living in a constant state of fear, of tiptoeing around on eggshells, of pretending her family was normal and the absolute loneliness of hiding a fucked-up life.

She shook off her anger like a wet raincoat and thought how she never would’ve even bothered to come back to this crappy little town if he hadn’t have died. She had fled from it nine years ago and only thought about it once a year, on Kate’s birthday. Other than that, she never gave this shithole another thought. Her new life was good, better than anything she’d left behind. She had money, a nice home, men who showered her with gifts and good times, everything she’d ever dreamed about. The only thing missing was her daughter. And her own father dying had been the excuse she needed to return here; to try and find a way to bring the child she’d left behind, back into her life.

That’s what frightened her most of all, how to let her little girl know how much she really did love her and how much she’d missed her, despite the fact that she’d walked out on her when she was only eight years old. She worried how her daughter was going to react. In her fantasies she liked to imagine a tearful, happy reunion filled with love. But, Meg wasn’t stupid, if her daughter had any of her personality traits, she was sure to be good and pissed. She certainly had every right.
(c)djc2008