Never said Goodbye

I always found making friends a chore. Being an only child raised on what had once been a dairy farm there was little opportunity to socialize. By the time my parents had it, both cows and farmers were long gone. The house itself was on its knees begging for a lick of paint and some tiles to stop the rain pouring in. There was an outhouse where we'd keep chickens. They never arrived.  

So much for a fresh start! Ever the optimist, Daddy bought paint and allowed me to help brighten the place up

"We'll take the truck into town tomorrow. Myra," he addressed my mom, who was sitting at the kitchen table rolling a cigarette. We might find some nice material. You could sew up curtains and a nice cover for our Chloe's cot."

She looked at him like he'd completely lost his mod, then continued to roll. Daddy and I went off to shop leaving Myra with her beer and cigarettes. I wasn't used to crowds or large groups of people so I hung on to my daddy's hand. He was my hero, and I knew as long as he had me I'd always be safe.  

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In his own ways, Steve reminded me of my daddy. When we were together he made me feel like I was the only only one in the world he cared about. He kept me safe, just like daddy did.   

Steven was my first and only serious relationship. We dated for two years, got married, and purchased our forever home. Neither of us wanted a family, so I continued to work part-time until our company downsized, and I was made redundant. I didn't mind. I loved my home and garden and was thrilled to have more time to spend there. Around that time I joined a book club and to this day it remains my one and only social activity.  

I don't need anything I don't already have. I love my husband and over the years I've grown to like my own company. 

To be honest, until Steve came along I'd resigned myself to living a singular life, but for once, I got lucky.  

My first real job was at the reception desk of an advertising agency where Steve was the manager. Neither of us was in our first flush of youth. Steve had been married before, and as I said I'd never taken the leap -- or met anybody willing to take it with me.  

We hit it off immediately and started to eat lunch together. This progressed slowly to after-work visits to wine bars. Eventually, our relationship groaned toward dinners and intimate nights at his home or mine. 

I remember the first time Steve kissed me. It was magical. I was like a love-struck teenager for days.   

We'd been together for about eighteen months when he introduced me to his family. I knew I was head over heels in love by then, and I took this as a sign he felt the same.  

The one cloud on my horizon was the idea of Steve asking to meet my folk. I'd never mentioned my upbringing or what family I had back home, and thankfully he never pried.

In my heart I knew before we could move on I would have to tell him the story of my past.  

And just like that, it happened.  We were snuggled up in his apartment sipping wine when he looked at me. There was no trace of a smile on his face and for one horrible moment I thought he was going to dump me, then he said. 

"Chloe, I'd like to meet your folks." Even though I knew it had to happen I felt like he dumped a bucket of ice water over me, and I shivered. "What's wrong, honey? he asked. 

"Why do you want to meet them?"

"Well, you've met my lot. You never mention them, so I thought maybe we could drive down at the weekend and say hello."

"I'm not that close to my family," I stuttered. "I mean, there's only my mom. I told you I've no siblings."

 "Well, maybe your dad...?"   

I shook my head cutting him off mid-sentence. "Steve I haven't seen him since I was six years old." I took a deep breath and tried to stop my voice from becoming high-pitched. "Mom says he's dead somewhere."

"It's alright, honey. Maybe that's even more of a reason to introduce myself to your mom. She must be worried about who is keeping her little girl company in the big bad city."

I rolled my eyes. "Not my mom!"

His face broke into a grin, and he held me close. I tried to relax, but the old nightmares bubbled up in my belly, and I was scared they'd spill over onto his carpet.

"I'll talk to her," I promised, and drained my glass.  

I told Steve I had a migraine, and although we were supposed to spend the night together, he offered to drive me home.

The second I closed the door behind me, I dashed to the bathroom and vomited the contents of my stomach into the toilet.  

"Oh no! Oh no! Oh God no!" I whimpered, wiping my mouth with a tissue. Sitting on the cold tiles I hugged my knees to my chest and lowered my head.  

I'd known this day would come, This is why I remained single. This is why I never got involved with groups or made friends.   

"All because of you," I hissed into the empty room.

I pulled a soft towel from the warming rail and wrapped it tightly around my trembling body.  

I was six years old again, standing outside the school gates waiting for my daddy to pick me up.  

When the car pulled in beside me I saw it was my mom at the wheel. 

"Where's dad? I asked climbing inside. She kept her eyes fixed on the road and didn't answer. I wanted to ask the question again, but instead, I sank into the seat and watched out the window.  

When we got home his truck was in the driveway. I whooped, and leaped from the car to find him. The house was empty. Mom followed me inside and pulled a bottle of beer from the fridge.  

"Where's my daddy?"  

She sat at the table popped the lid and drank long before replying. "Your daddy's gone. Never mention him again!" 

"Gone?" I shook my head. My book bag was still on my back and my shoulders were aching, but I stood like a statue and stared at her. She chugged the beer and looked at me. Her cold grey eyes were full of anger, and I shivered.

"Police took your daddy to jail," she told me. "He's dead to you now."

She stood and walked to her bedroom slamming the door behind her. I sank to my knees, tears streaming silently down my cheeks. My daddy. My kind gentle daddy, who'd loved me and cared for me as far back as I could remember. Why was he in Jail? "What was he supposed to have done? 

I threw my bag to the floor and walked to the closed bedroom door. I threw it open without knocking.  

Mom was lying on her back on the bed. Her eyes were closed, and I thought she'd fallen asleep.

"Mom?" I whispered. "Please tell me." My question hung in the air while she lay there. When I turned to leave she spoke.

"You think your Daddy is all that don't ya? Let me tell you Miss Chloe you're not the only little girl he likes to play nice with"

"I don't understand."

She swung her legs off the bed and rested her hands on her knees.

"Daddy likes little girls Chloe, not just you, other little girls, lots of them."

At six years old I assumed she meant he liked to tell them stories or sing while playing his guitar.

"Did your daddy ever touch you?" she asked, and before I could answer she gripped me by the arm.  "Here," she yanked down my panties and tried to shove her fingers inside me. I screamed and ran for the door. "Well maybe you weren't special enough," she called out after me. "He's gone, Chloe. Don't let me hear you say his name again ...do ya hear me?

It had always been us -- me, daddy, and then mom, My parents were like day and night,. Even at a young age, I wondered why he'd lumbered himself with such a cold-headed, angry woman. She drank beer, smoked cigarettes, and never had a kind word to say to either of us.  

I was left with her when dad went to work. Sometimes she'd sit out on the porch with the radio up high to drown out my cries for attention.   I'd stay in my pajamas all day, often wet, cold, and hungry until my daddy returned. 

"You need to take care of her, Myra," I'd hear him shout. "If  someone reports the child's being neglected, we'll lose her."

"I never wanted her in the first place," was the cold reply. "Why should I be cooped up here all day with the screaming brat? I had a life once too."

"I have to work," my daddy pleaded. "We have to eat and pay rent."

"I'll work, you stay home. See how you like it."

That's exactly what happened. My dad stayed home with me and Myra found a job in a factory. She barely made enough to keep us fed. Sometimes she'd come home drunk and ready to fight.  

"We're hardly keeping our heads above water," Daddy would tell her. "You're drinking away what little money we have."

"I don't need to spend money on beer," she'd gloat. "I've got friends and admirers who like my company.

If the row continued dad would put a thin mattress beside my cot and lie there all night.  

It was a struggle to get her out of bed each morning, and she always left the house in a bad temper.

Things got a little easier when I was old enough for school. Daddy drove me there every morning. He found himself a job and worked while I was in class. He was always waiting to pick me up afterward... until...

I had no siblings and as far as I could tell we had no extended family. From then on it was Myra and me. I hated her. She never showed one scrap of love or compassion during the long years we spent together. 

I watched for the post every morning praying there would be a letter or a card from my daddy, saying that he was safe and asking me to join him. But there never was.

Everybody at school knew my daddy was in prison, and I was bullied because of it. They teased and taunted me calling my daddy horrible names. Our teacher was either blind or deaf or both because she never stood up for me during my time there. 

Myra consistently refused to discuss daddy with me. When I turned sixteen I approached her for the last time.

"Tell me why my daddy left?" She was sitting on the porch smoking. and made a small cackling sound. "Is he dead?"

"Yeah. He's dead."

"Was he sick?"

"Yeah, he was sick alright!".

"Where did he die?"

"Not important," she said lfting a bottle to her lips.

"It is to me.I need to know. Where is his grave?"

She squinted at me through the smoke and shook her head. "I never wanted you," she said. "I never loved him. I would have gotten rid of you if I'd known about you in time."

I knew she was trying to hurt me, trying to get a reaction, but I was beyond caring.  

"Daddy loved me."

"Get lost," she said turning away.  

I did. A few days later while she was sleeping off another drunken binge I packed my meager belongings. I found a ten-dollar bill tucked in her purse and pocketed it without a second thought.

"You owe me this," I said, leaving that house for the last time.

It was rough being young and alone in a strange city, but I'd cared for myself most of my life, so I was prepared. After a series of dead-end jobs, I went to work at the advertising agency, and as they say, the rest was history.

The telephone rang dragging me back to the now icy cold bathroom floor. I got to my feet and went to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Chloe." Steve's voice was warm and comforting, like a hot chocolate drink. "Honey are you alright? I'm worried about you. Did I do something to upset you?"

I pressed the phone against my ear and let the tears fall. 

"Sweetheart, what's wrong? I'm coming back. Will you let me in?"

I nodded, then realized he couldn't see me said, "Of course, I will. Please hurry."

We never slept that night. I told Steve everything about my past and he held me while I cried.  

"I've not seen my mom in fourteen years," I hiccuped. "My daddy has to be dead. He's been gone twenty-four years now. He wouldn't leave me this long if he had a way back. He never even said goodbye." 

"Is your mom still alive?"

"I don't know and I don't care."

"So you don't want her at our wedding?" Steve asked with a twinkle in his eye. That was his proposal and I accepted without hesitation. I told Steve I didn't want children. I was thirty years old and didn't have the skills it would take to raise a baby, but when he asked how I felt about a puppy I squealed with delight. 

We had a very small wedding six months later. Steve's family came, and a handful of friends. It was intimate and it was perfect. 

We bought this house, and I joined the book club.  

"Where have the years gone?" I ask myself as I sign Steve's name on a 'Happy 10th Wedding Anniversary card. 

"Let's go out?" I suggested. "We can dress up and spoil ourselves."

"How do you feel about a table for two at home?" Steve asked. "I'd like to spoil you in private."

"Sounds perfect!" I was slightly miffed by the fact that I'd be doing the cooking, but Steve promised to wash up, so we shook on it.

The night arrived and the scene was set. I laid the table with our best china, glass, and silverware. Candles were placed on small side tables around the room and they bathed everything in a warm golden glow. The music was soft and sexy and I shivered at the thought of being in my husband's arms. I poured myself a tall glass of wine before putting the rest to chill and sat down to wait.

At exactly six thirty the car pulled up our gravel drive and I smiled. I heard two doors close, and guessed Steve was retrieving my present from the boot. He walked in carrying a huge bunch of flowers.

"Happy anniversary, my lovely wife," he said taking me into his arms. "This looks finer than any restaurant and smells delicious."

"Glass of wine?" I asked, and he nodded.

"Just one little thing honey. Could you set the table for a third party? I've brought home a guest."

I spun around, a look of annoyance creasing my brow "So much for just the two of us," I hissed.

Then, I saw him.

His dark hair was pure white and he was a lot thinner than I remembered. His skin was pale and a criss-cross of lines around his eyes and mouth told of the hardships endured while he'd been gone. My legs turned to jelly, and I reached for Steve's hand to steady me, but my Daddy got there first.

"Easy there darlin'," he said in the voice I'd dreamed of hearing a million times over the last quarter of a century.  

Steve steered us into our front room and after pouring wine left without a word.

"Daddy?" I was still unsure. "It is you, isn't it?"

He smiled. "It's me alright, Chlo. Been a long time honey."

"Oh my God! What happened? Where did you go? Where have you been?

Daddy took a sip of wine and said. "Your mama didn't like me much Chloe. She fixed it that I'd be out of your lives forever."

"Were you arrested? Were you in prison?"

"If Myra had her way that's where I would have lived, and where I would have died. She told the police some pretty tall stories about my relationship with you."

"With me?" Chloe asked, her eyes growing wide. "I loved you!"

"Yep. And a bunch of other kids I'd never laid eyes on. You know I loved you, sweetie pie. Your mama told the cops I'd been loving little girls way too much. I spent seven years behind bars before my lawyer was able to clear my name." 

"Where have you been since then? Why didn't you come get me?"

 "I was told it would be best if I didn't contact you. I always hoped you'd come searching for me, when you turned eighteen."

"I thought you were dead. Myra never explained. I don't understand... Did Steve find you?"

"You got yourself a good guy in Steve honey." My daddy sipped his wine, took my hand in his, and said. "Let me start at the beginning..."