Sins of the Father

The letter arrived simply enough. Just another standard, white, legal-sized envelope folded among bills and flyers advertising the new grocery store in the center of town. Noah picked up the mail as he always did, eager to bid the stresses of work goodbye for the day and spend the evening with his wife and daughters.

              The smell of baked chicken greeted Noah as he walked in the door. Toys and craft supplies littered the living room floor, and the laughter of young children mingled with the low sounds of the latest Disney movie on the living room TV. 

           The mail sat, innocuous, on the kitchen counter all through dinner. There’d been no reason to sort through it – not now, when the enticing smells of dinner and the sound of children’s laughter proved a much stronger appeal.

             It wasn’t until hours later that Julia sorted through it.

           “Honey, what’s this?”

           Noah looked up from the story he was reading to his youngest daughter. Two-year-old Lucy glared up from her father’s lap with indignant eyes and pushed an insistent hand to the page, which depicted a large cartoon bear yawning as he prepared for hibernation.

           “What’s what?” he squinted at the plain-looking envelope in his wife’s hand. While his eyesight wasn’t what it used to be, he could tell the address was handwritten.

           Julia shrugged and stepped forth, holding out the envelope. Lucy squirmed in her father’s lap. “Book!” she shouted.

           Noah was about to tuck the envelope into the front pocket of his work uniform, eager to put off reading it until he’d gotten Lucy to bed, but the handwriting caught his eye.

           As he held the envelope in his hand, the realization caught deep in his consciousness like a fishhook, tearing and ripping through the years layered above the memories. His stomach curdled, and sweat prickled along his hairline.

           Lucy shrieked and slapped the book with her little hands. Julia was saying something, but the sounds were distant, as though he were floating underwater. His hands shook as he held the envelope.

           Julia lifted Lucy from Noah’s lap. “Here,” she said. “I’ll finish up story time.”

*  *  *

           Noah zipped the last duffel bag and stole another glimpse out the worn blinds of his bedroom window, his heart hammering as he tried to spot his dad’s Chevy pickup beyond the tall weeds around their single-wide trailer.

           He didn’t have much time. He’d left the goodbye note on the fold-out kitchen table, weighed down by his dad’s revered Iron Cross beer stein he’d received from the Brotherhood the day he’d got out of prison.

           The linoleum crackled underfoot as Noah pulled his meager belongings out of the house. His dad wouldn’t be home until late, unless he got fired again for his short temper. Noah took in the disheveled home he’d grown up in – dirty dishes piled high in the sink, the cheap yellow counters freckled with cigarette burns, the linoleum curling underfoot.

           He was eighteen years old today. Not that the old man remembered – but honestly, forgetting was the best gift he could’ve given Noah. Eighteen was the age of initiation, and Noah wanted no part of whatever festivities his dad and skinhead buddies had planned. The old man bragged about killing his first black person on his own eighteenth birthday.

           Of course, he’d used a different word.

           Noah hoisted his bags into the trunk of the car and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Mosquitos buzzed, drunk on Alabama summer heat, dancing a hungry halo around him. On his dashboard, tucked into the unused ashtray, was a folded photo of his mother.

           As he unfolded the picture and looked at the smiling young woman in a summer dress, he’d felt bad about taking the photo from his father’s sock drawer. The old man loved her more than life itself. He’d been almost normal when his wife was alive – even had the swastika on his upper arm removed.

           But it all went downhill once she got sick.

              “It’s the damn doctor’s fault,” his dad would fume, chain-smoking as he rolled a hand-made cigarette with yellowed fingers. “Every fuckin’ doctor in Birmingham is either a –”

           Noah had blocked out the words his father had used. He was six when his mom died. The funeral was a simple affair, with some flowers and a pot-luck wake put together by the local Baptist church. They must’ve felt bad for Noah and his dad – though they probably regretted their charity once the old man and the rest of his skinhead gang showed up.

           Noah shook his head and folded the photo back up, carefully placing it in the ashtray. He was sure his dad had other pictures. Noah deserved at least one.

*  *  *

Julia’s eyes widened as she entered the kitchen, dressed in her fuzzy bathrobe and her long dark hair drying in a towel stacked atop her head. She took in the Scotch glass in her husband’s hand, and the handwritten letter on the table.

Noah smiled at his wife. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Julia crossed her arms over her chest. “Want to tell me what this is all about?”

Noah sighed. The alcohol did little to numb his feelings. In fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect. “I should’ve told you.”

Squeezing her hand for courage, Noah said it outright. “Do you remember when we first met?”

Julia smiled. “Of course. We were students together at the University of Tennessee. According to you, I’m the reason you passed your calculus class.”

Despite the weight in his stomach, Noah managed a small smile. Those days had been the first taste of freedom he’d ever had. A fresh start, surrounded by more people he’d ever seen in one place at a time, all united by a single purpose.

“Do you remember I told you that I’d gotten a full scholarship for foster youth?”

Julia nodded. “You told me you had to live with a foster family for a while your dad served time in prison.”

Noah was surprised Julia remembered this detail. He’d cut his father out of his life so precisely, as though cutting faces from photos, that he was surprised he’d even revealed this tidbit of knowledge to Julia.

Noah sighed and took another swig from his Scotch. It burned his throat, a stream of fire all the way down into his belly. He coughed.

“Did I ever tell you why?”

Julia frowned. “No.”

“He’d bombed a synagogue in Birmingham. He threw pipe bombs through the windows in the middle of service. Seven people died.”

Julia’s jaw dropped. “Why didn’t they put him away for life?”

“They charged him with accessory. They couldn’t prove he was the one who threw the pipe bombs in, so he managed to make a deal with the DA.” Noah considered taking another drink of Scotch but thought better of it. 

“Noah, I’m…I’m so sorry.” Julia turned her troubled gaze to the letter. “So…is the letter from him?”

Flattening the rumpled yellow office paper with his palms, Noah nodded. The handwriting was sloppy and barely legible, undoubtedly scrawled with a dull pencil. But it was his father’s handwriting, nonetheless.

“He’s in prison again. Same crime, but this time, they have video footage of him throwing the pipe bombs through the windows. He also shot several people with an AK-47 as they fled from the building. He’s going away for life.”

Julia scoffed and leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. “What a monster.” She then tossed a glance at Noah and looked guilty. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say that. He’s your father, after all.”

Noah shrugged and stood up, dumping the rest of the Scotch in the kitchen sink. “Go ahead and say it – it’s true. The day I turned eighteen, I fled that hellhole and never looked back. My life is perfect now. I won’t let him ruin it.”

“What does he want you to do?”

“To visit him with the kids.” Noah snorted. “I’ll be damned if I’m about to put the girls through that.”

Noah looked at Julia, and from her face, he could tell she understood. Her warm brown skin, dark hair, and eyes revealed her mixed heritage. The girls took after their mother. His stomach curdled at the horrible names his own father would call his children if he ever saw them.

“I agree with you, honey. But…”

Noah turned around, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “But what?”

Julia gingerly picked up the letter. Her dark eyes moved across the page as she read, line by line. “It says here he was something important to tell you.”

“That’s just a way to lure me in.”

Julia stood up and approached her husband, taking both his hands in hers. She smelled of cinnamon and honey, her favorite body wash. Noah closed his eyes, wishing all of this would melt away, wanting nothing more than to go upstairs and lose himself in her warm embrace.

“Noah…you need to see him. He’s your father. It might actually be important.” She paused. “Have you ever considered that he might be dying?”

Noah frowned. “If all the cigarettes and booze didn’t kill him, neither will anything else. The man has a liver of steel.”

But he saw in her eyes that she was right. Noah took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll go.”

Julia smiled and kissed him, and the worries melted away – if just for a little while.

*   *   *

Julia was right. As soon as the armed guards escorted Noah into the hospital wing of the Tuscaloosa County Jail, the old man’s familiar coughs echoed through the hallway.

The man who lay handcuffed to the hospital bed was a far cry from the man Noah had left in the weed-ridden Mobile trailer park. The old man’s strong body had become subject to soft decay, sinewy arms now flabby and pale, the ghostly flesh patterned with black and red Aryan Nation tattoos. The old man’s bloated belly stretched the prison scrubs taut across his middle.

When the guards introduced Noah, the old man’s head turned to look at him, and the bright blue eyes of Noah’s youth jolted him like an electric shock. The old man smiled. A few lonely yellow teeth clung to the man’s red, swollen gums like broken piano keys.

“Look who decided to condescend from his throne and come to mingle with the commoners.”

 Noah pulled up a chair from the small desk area and sat down.

“Fancy words, Dad. You been reading?”

The old man coughed into his one free hand, his left wrist handcuffed securely to his hospital bed. “A little. Not that there’s much else to do in this shithole.”

Noah exhaled through his nose. A TV bolted to the uppermost corner of the room depicted an old Wheel of Fortune rerun. “How did you find my address?”

The old man laughed, but it turned into another cough. He held up one yellowed finger as he coughed into the crook of his arm, spittle flying. When he stopped, blood flecked the corners of his mouth.

“Lung cancer,” the old man explained. “Same thing that killed your momma. I guess she’d find it romantic, what do you think?”

Noah gritted his teeth. He didn’t come here to talk about his mother. “Please answer my question. How did you find out where I lived?”

The old man laughed. It was a short, dry sound, like a dog's bark. “A fine welcome, indeed. You run away in the middle of the night, tail between your legs like a dog that’s pissed himself, and I haven’t seen you again for almost twenty years. And the only thing you have to say is, how’d you find out where I live?” He shook his head.

Noah was about to repeat himself when the old man waved a spindly arm. “All right, all right. I saw your name in the Times. Not that I usually read such garbage – it’s run by Jews, you know – but the Price Is Right was giving me such a damn headache that I had to read something. And there you were.”

Noah instantly regretted not changing his name when he moved out.

“You were given a prestigious award.” The old man’s lips fumbled with the monosyllabic words. “Something to do with being a scientist at Oak Ridge. I bet you make a lot of money.”

“I can support my family, if that’s what you mean.”

The old man grinned. “Yes, the article mentioned that, too. You were a married man with two children, that’s it.”

“Three, now.” The words came out before Noah could stop them. He didn’t want to speak about his little girls. They were too precious to be in the thoughts of a killer like his dad.

The old man’s eyes widened. “Three! Wow, that’s quite a handful. I’m assuming they’re with their mother today – unless they’re hiding behind you. As I requested in my letter, I wanted to see them.”

Noah narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Just to make sure you’re following what I’d taught you.”

The old man knew. He had to. Noah stood, hands balled into fists at his sides. “We’re not here to discuss my family. You said you had something important to say. The ONLY reason I’m here is that my wife convinced me to see you, and if you’re not going to tell me what you need to tell me, I’ll walk away right now, and you’ll never see me again.”

The old man sighed. “All right, all right. It’s not like it’s worth keeping secret from you.” He eyed the guard who was sitting beside the cell, nodding off in his chair.

“He won’t bug us. I’m sure of it.” The old man leaned forward. Noah reluctantly took his seat and leaned in close to hear his father’s words.

“I needed to tell someone. I’ve done some other things before, Noah – terrible things.”

“More terrible than burning down two synagogues and shooting people as they tried to flee?”

The old man waved his hand, as though his crimes were as inconsequential as batting at flies. “Those were publicity stunts. Trying to get our movement known. But…” the old man’s eyes looked troubled and he turned away. His bottom lip trembled.

For one alarming moment, the old man looked as helpless as a child. His blue eyes welled up with tears and he hung his head. “I did something bad. Real bad. After I got out of prison, when you were still living at home. I never told the guys.”

Noah’s mouth went dry. “Dad, what is it?”

“Do you remember your friend who lived in the trailer park with her mom? You and her went to school together.”

“Yes.” Noah didn’t like to think about it. He was thirteen when his dad was released from prison, and he wasted no time releasing his pent-up sexual tension. The old man started a relationship with Maggie, while Noah made friends with Bonnie. He’d never told anyone, but Bonnie was his first crush. After so many years, though, his memory of what the girl looked like faded from his mind.

“They moved to Florida.” Noah remembered his heartbreak when Bonnie and her mom moved. It had happened so suddenly – they’d been evicted. Noah remembered begging his dad to give them some money so they could stay, but it was already over.

“No. They didn’t.” The old man’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Noah’s blood ran cold. “But…they were gone.”

When the old man looked up, tears streamed from bloodshot eyes. When he spoke, the words came out in shuddering gasps. “Maggie wanted to break up with me. I was angry. I…I didn’t know what I was doing. I always had a revolver in my holster, and I guess I lost control…”

He was sobbing so hard the guard, snoring in his chair, started to stir. “Bonnie heard the gunshot and came running. I couldn’t let her send me to jail. I buried them both that night, under the house.”

Noah’s mouth went dry. Black specks buzzed at the corners of his vision, threatening to dissolve the world entirely. His heart hammered, and sweat stuck his palms to the metal armrests. “No.”

With his one good arm, the old man reached for Noah, clasping his hand in a vice-like grip. “Forgive me, son. Please, please forgive me!”

*  *  *

Like the one for Noah’s mother, the funeral for Bonnie and Margeret McKeen was a small one. Too many years had passed for the mother and daughter to be remembered. Whatever family they had was small and had moved on, scattered throughout the south like leaves on the wind.

The girls had grown bored quickly and were now playing in the cemetery, counting the flowers laid on each granite headstone. Lucy was curled up against Noah’s shoulder as she napped.

“I’m glad we came,” Julia whispered as the final mourners dispersed, squeezing her husband’s hand.

Noah nodded.

“How’s it looking for your father?”

Noah spoke quietly so as not to wake Lucy. He patted his youngest child’s back and rocked back and forth. “He’s been charged with their murders, as well as the bombing in Tuscaloosa. But the doctors don’t think he’ll live to see trial – his lungs are so bad, they only gave him a few more weeks to live.”

Julia nodded and looked back at the grave. Her hand was warm in Noah’s.

Noah looked at the graves. They were simple, but once the headstones Noah had ordered came in, it would look like a proper burial plot.

It had been the right thing to do.

Noah kissed his sleeping daughter’s head and turned in the direction of the parking lot. “Let’s go home.”