Calling Card Read online

  “Mr. Flannery, can you please hold these rooms? I’m going to run into town and see if I can speak with my uncles before the walls get torn down. I need to see if I can try to save it.”

  “Of course, lad. I’ll be here when you get back.”

  Turning quickly, I nearly knock into Nicholas who was standing on my heels the entire time. Slapping him on the shoulder, I rush out of the building and toward the car. Jumping in the driver’s seat, Nicholas looks at me, questioning my motives. The entire time Nicholas has been driving for me, I’ve never once taken the wheel. This time, however, I know exactly where I’m going and need to get there fast.

  When Nicholas is in the car, I speed off down a winding, dirt road until I see the turn that will take me to my uncle’s house. Rounding the bend, almost going off the road, I punch the accelerator until the white clapboard house comes into view. The moment the tires screech to a stop, dust flies all around me as I run toward the front door. Knocking with purpose, Ivy, my uncle’s wife, answers almost immediately.

  “Whadoya think you’re doing, bendin’ the road like ya don’t have any sense,” she screams before she knows who I am.

  “Sorry, Ivy. Is Conner in? I need to speak with him.”

  “Oh my, Dexter? Is that you? Let me grab Conner.” She runs back into the house, returning seconds later with my uncle, who’s aged quite a bit in the last decade, right behind her.

  Conner and Ivy invite us into their home, where we sit around a small dining table. Ivy fixes a few mugs of tea and excuses herself to check on the children. Unsure of how he’ll perceive me wanting to help, I decide to jump right in and not waste any time, as there’s no need to be bashful with my family. Connor runs down the exact same spiel that Mr. Flannery gave me, but with a little more detail—like how much money they’d need to save the business and how bad things had really gotten.

  Not wanting to just offer to throw money at the problem, I simply ask how I can help.

  “I’m not sure, Dexter. Things really took a turn for the worse when your da died. He was the glue that held all of us together. I know we could make it good again if we had the resources. I just don’t know where to come up with that kinda money.”

  Seizing my golden opportunity, I jump in. “I have the money, that’s not a problem. I’m more concerned how you know you can turn a profit again. You’ll need a PR firm to back you. I have that as well. You say the word, uncle, and I’ll handle everything. I’ll only take a marginal piece of the company, leaving you and Matthew the majority holders.” Conner’s jaw drops in disbelief.

  “Are ya sure? That’s a lotta money to be throwin’ at a problem you didn’t create. I’m grateful, but need ta know you’re serious before I call off the crews.”

  “I’m more than serious. The MacFadden name will not go down like this. My father was the only exception and shouldn’t even bear the MacFadden headstone on his grave.” The thought of what my father did has my blood boiling, but I try to rein myself in, reminding myself that he wasn’t just my dad, he was their brother—someone they’d known their entire lives.

  “Why don’t ya go sleep on this, Dex. I’m not sure if the Inn has any rooms, but you can sleep at your old house. None of us have touched it since ya left, so it’s probably a little rough, but that is your home.” I haven’t stepped foot back in that house since the day my grandparents took me back to the states. I’m not sure how I feel about it, but I’ll have Nicholas drive me by there to see if something strikes me as off. If so, we’ll just go back to the inn.

  A quick hug from Conner, the key to the house, and a kiss to my cheek from Ivy and we’re out the door, traveling the few miles to my childhood home—the home where my father killed my mother and then himself. The first place that I ever knew I belonged. The last place I thought I’d ever end up.

  *****

  Pulling up in front of my old home, my blood grows colder and an involuntary shiver wracks my body.

  “You sure about this, man?” Nicholas asks, putting the car in park.

  “Nope, but I gotta do this. No time like the present.” Opening my door, I step out into the weeds that are overgrown around the entire property, along with the grass. The stone walkway may still be here, but it’s carefully disguised by nearly five feet tall grass. The overgrowth is almost too much to tread through, but somehow, we make it to the front door.

  Pushing the key in the rusted lock, it’s hard to turn, but after a few wiggles, I hear the bolt unlatching and the wood creak open. It takes a few times for me to successfully pry the door open and make my way into the living room. Surprisingly, the power is still on, and when I flick the switch, the front part of the house illuminates, giving me a glimpse into the past.

  The furniture is exactly the same as I remember it, as well as the placement of everything else. Connor wasn’t lying when he said they haven’t touched the place since that horrific day. I was only allowed back inside after the bodies were removed to grab some of my things before being carted to the hotel with my grandparents, where I stayed until it was time to catch a flight to the states.

  Looking around, the pictures on the walls make my knees tremble. Out of everything I grabbed to take with me, I didn’t think to take a single photograph. Nothing to help me remember my life before becoming a US citizen. I had forgotten what my parents looked like—well my mom, anyway, since I’m a spitting image of my father. On the wall, directly in front of me, a dusty picture hangs in a frame. With the sleeve of my jacket, I wipe away the dust and stare into my mother’s eyes, the sadness too much to bear.

  My knees give out and I’m headed right for the floor, but Nicholas is there to help me back to my feet and give me a reassuring pat on the back. “We don’t have to do this, Dex. We can head back to the Inn and act like this place doesn’t exist. I know what happened here and nobody should have to relive that. I know you’re a grown man now, but I can only imagine how difficult this is for you.”

  “I’m good, I swear. It’s just … I don’t know what it is, but it feels right. I have this crazy feeling that this is where I need to be to get my shit straight. I’ve been fucking up for years under the guise of being this wealthy, hardass. That’s not who I am and I know it. I just need to find out who I really am.”

  “I’m here, bro. Tell me what you need from me.” Thinking over his question, I know in my gut what I need and I can’t bring myself to tell him. I need Briar. I need my best friend to walk through this with me, but she’s not here, because like everything else good in my life, it gets fucked up.

  “Can you bring my bag inside? I’m gonna stay here and sort through some of my parents’ things. Maybe get the house in better condition. One of my uncles or cousins might want to live here or something. You head on back to the Inn and swing by tomorrow to make sure I haven’t drank myself to death,” I joke, but I’m sure he thinks I’m serious. This is some difficult shit to dive into, but it’s the right thing to do. I couldn’t do it when I was ten, I was too young, but at twenty-eight, it’s time. I need to be the man I was raised to be. Even though I hate my father for what he did to our family, he wanted me to be a good man. Don’t even get me started on my grandfather. He’d kick my ass just for thinking about acting like a pussy, let alone being one.

  “I’ll just say…it looks like this is a job for two guys,” Nicholas offers, looking around the living room, “or maybe an entire team of men, but I’m sure we can get it knocked out in no time.”

  “I appreciate it. Really, I do, but I need to do this alone. I’ve got a lot of skeletons in my closet because of what happened here. A lot of what made me who I am today is because of this home and the ghosts that live here. I’ll call you if I need you,” I compromise and see him out the door.

  He walks to the car, almost unwillingly and skeptical, but grabs my bag from the trunk and tosses it halfway up the walk so he doesn’t have to traipse through the jungle again.

  “Seriously, Dex, call me if you need me.”

&nbs
p; “You’ve got my word,” I respond, turning my back and walking inside. Closing the door behind me, I place my bag on the inch thick dust on the coffee table and squat down, bracing my elbows on my knees.

  “Alright, Da, I’m back and I’m gonna fix everything ya broke. I’m the man of this house.”

  I pull the handheld vacuum cleaner from the hall closet where Ma always kept it, and cleared the appearance of aging from the couch. I figure I’ll start out here in the living room and save the bedrooms for when it’s daytime. Not that I’m scared of the boogeyman, but I already know that it’s going to take me a long time and I don’t have that kind of energy just yet.

  Taking a flat sheet from the linen closet, I shake it loose of anything living inside and spread it across the sofa and do the same with a matching quilt. Even though nobody’s been in this house going on eighteen years, the scent of my mother still lingers on everything. It’s probably just my imagination working on overtime, but it’s nice to think.

  Choosing a simple path, I pull the small amount of furniture out of the dining room and decide to use that for gathering the items that should be donated to the church and I’ll keep everything I’m going to keep in the living room. It takes me no longer than an hour to have gone through everything and separated it accordingly.

  Needing to use the restroom, I walk down the hall, which just happens to take me past my parents’ bedroom. Stopping just outside the closed door, my heart races and stomach churns. I want to open the door and be able to walk inside; I just don’t think I’ll have the strength to do it. Testing the limitations of my mind, I push the door open and tears immediately spring to my eyes.

  I was right; I can’t do it, yet. I’m going to need a lot of whiskey and courage to battle those demons. Continuing down my path to the bathroom, I stop by my childhood bedroom and don’t get the same uneasy feelings I did a moment ago. An almost calming feeling takes over me and I’m able to pass over the threshold with ease.

  Sitting on the edge of my bed, I stroke the quilt laid over top. The night my parents died, I didn’t sleep at home; I was having a sleep over with my cousin Thomas. I had come home to see this. Thankfully my aunt was the first one through the door and was able to save me from seeing the aftermath of my father’s rage. I’ll forever be grateful to her for that.

  Grabbing my pillow and shaking the dust off, I bring it to my nose to see if I can smell my mother, but I can’t. It makes sense, seeing as this was my room, but I was hoping for a small memory. Just before I place the pillow back in its place, I notice my father’s old hunting knife resting where my pillow had just been. Strange, since I was always taught to not touch his weapons, and I don’t remember ever having it in my possession.

  Grabbing it, I take it back out to the living room after relieving myself and sit on my makeshift bed for the night. Judging its weight in my hand, I examine it, remembering the time that my father took me hunting for the first time. The knife, I recall, was fairly large with serrated teeth on one side, and smooth on the other. The sheath’s an old worn leather, something my father said was handed down to him from generations before. Withdrawing the knife from its holster, a piece of paper falls out.

  Unfolding the piece of paper, the first thing I notice is blood stains on the outer edges and my father’s handwriting covering the rest of the sheet. I nearly pass out when I see that the note is addressed to me.

  My Loving Son Dexter,

  Whatever this obsession is with me receiving notes from people who’ve hurt me, it needs to stop. I don’t think I’ll make it through another one.

  I fold the letter and try to put it back in the holster, but something won’t let me. I’m intrigued and want nothing more than to know what he would have to say to me after doing something so horrific. Taking a few deep breaths, I step into the kitchen and grab the bottle of whiskey my father always kept in the cupboard above the fridge. Not bothering to get a glass, I take the nearly full bottle back to the couch, get comfortable and open the note, prepared to have my world rocked and my past thrown back in my face.

  Here goes nothing.

  My Loving Son Dexter,

  I take an extra long pull from the bottle, hoping the whiskey kicks in quickly, or I’m not going to be able to make it through this. For good measure, I take another swig and continue reading.

  If you’re reading this letter, I know you’re being well taken care of. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t strong enough to not do this. I didn’t know what else to do. You’re mother was the reason that I lived and now that’s she’s gone, I don’t know how to keep going.

  She’s gone because you killed her, asshole, I think to myself. This better not be some kind of sympathy note, because he deserves none.

  I’m so sorry, son. Your mother never wanted you to know. She was scared for herself, for me, for you. She thought she could beat the cancer, but it was too much. When they said she’d only have a few more months to live, she decided that she didn’t want you to see her that way. She loved you so much, Son. More than she’s ever loved anything else.

  Cancer? My mother didn’t have cancer. Well, I guess it’s possible since I was only ten when she passed, that she could have been sick but didn’t want to tell me. I mean, who would want to tell their young child they were going to die? Wracking my brain, trying to remember any detail that would lead me to believe she wasn’t well, I do remember something. It was that summer…her and Da were always having me sleep at my cousin’s house because they had things to do. I never questioned why I couldn’t go, but it kind of makes sense.

  She begged me to end her life, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t strong enough to rip her out of our lives. I prayed every night for a miracle and she would wake the next day and be whole, but that time never came. You’re with Thomas tonight and I’m so happy for that. I want you to know that your ma is the strongest woman I’ve ever known in my life. She did this for you. You’re only a wee lad and won’t understand until you’re much older, but everything she did, it was for you.

  She did this? She did what? Taking another long pull of whiskey, I let it burn the entire way down before I continue.

  When I found her, I wanted to call for help so badly, but I didn’t want to leave her. I could still see something left in her eyes, she hadn’t gone yet, but I couldn’t make myself move. I sat there, praying that this was all a nightmare. I tried to stop the bleeding Dexter, but it was no use. She had hit an artery and it wasn’t more than a few minutes and she was dead. I held her, prayed for God to accept her soul and let her rest in peace. I shouldn’t have made her do it … I should have been stronger for her.

  Tears unashamedly fall from my eyes, landing on the letter, mixing with what I assume to be my mother’s blood. He didn’t kill her. She had shot herself. Suicide. For me.

  As I’m writing this letter, I’m in so much pain, Son. Your mother is the great love of my life. I’ll never know any kind of happiness with her gone. She gave me reason to wake up in the morning and purpose to keep living. I love you so much, Dexter, but I know I’m not going to be any good for you in this state. I’m missing a piece of my soul. She’s taken it with her and I have to get it back. The only way to do that is to join her.

  I don’t even know what to think. The way he’s speaking about her in this letter is what I always saw when I looked at them—him so deeply in love with her and vice versa. Even when they would get in disagreements, he would always come home with flowers for her and they’d spend the evening dancing in the kitchen when they thought I had gone to bed for the night. My parents had been in so deeply in love.

  A few pieces of advice that my father told me when I became a man, that I need to tell you … always be honest. Your word is your bond.

  My father was a man of his word; his word being the only type of currency that meant anything to him. He wouldn’t lie to me, especially not in a letter this loaded. My mother killed herself and he followed her because he couldn’t bear a single day without her.

/>   Work hard toward your goals. I’ve put a letter in the post to your grandparents in the United States. I want them to take care of you until you’re old enough to take care of yourself. Your mother loved her parents and never had an ill word to say about them. I’m praying you’ll get the same childhood and adolescence that she did. You deserve the absolute best and you’ll get that in America. It always baffled me that your mother chose a life in Ireland instead of The United States, but I think she loved me and wanted you to have a simple life. She always wanted the best for you.

  I never knew about that letter. My grandparents said nothing to me and it probably would have helped me grieve the loss of both of my parents knowing the cause of their death. I might not have been so angry and ended up the way I am, especially in relationships. I’m not sure, but it couldn’t have been easy taking on a child at their age. They probably did what they thought was best for me.

  Finally, my son, find love. Find the greatest love you’ll ever know. I can’t tell you when it will be or where. I was barely a man when I fell for your mother and she was just a lass, but we knew. When you finally find your lass, cherish her. The pain that I’m feeling without your mother is unbearable. I never want this for you. Shite, I don’t want this for my worst enemy. Hold on to the girl that gives you purpose and makes you want to be the best man you can be. Only then will you be truly happy.

  Briar. The first thing that pops into my head. I need to get to her and tell her how I feel. Life’s too short to ignore the signs in front of you. For whatever reason, I wasn’t supposed to find this letter from my father until now, and it’s all the confirmation that I need to chase after her. Pride is nothing when love knocks at your door. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I finish the letter.

  You’re going to make me a very proud Da one day, Dexter. I’m honored to call you my lad and my only regret is not being able to watch you grow up. One day, you’ll understand why this was the only option for me. Please, forgive your ma and me. You’re loved even if we’re not physically here. We’ll all be together again, Son.