INVICTUS MANEO
Part 11
 

Frateri et Sorora
 

FROHIKE:

I'm trembling. I haven't shaken like this...oh, since my last nightmare about 'Nam.

I'm not sure eschewing the J&B was such a wonderful idea.

This could be harsh, and a little lubrication might be welcome.

Too late. I open my door, one lock at a time, and a female figure, carrying a small duffel, standing in my doorway.

I'm frozen.

She speaks first.

"Well, are you going to let me in or what?"

Sounds just like her mother.

What do I want to say to her? I have so many things I want to say...so many things I have rehearsed.

All I can choke out is a faltering, "Hello, Leslie."

"Hello." She passes me and enters my living room. She examines the place, sniffs the air. "Not bad. You must be doing all right."

"Michael and I are getting by just fine, thank you," I tell her, and I'm annoyed as hell that I cannot keep the quaver out of my voice.

"Yes, where is the little twerp?"

I guess not much has changed in nineteen years. She called him that when she was a little girl.

"He...should be along any time now." Why am I acting like this?

I'm her father. This is my home. I should be in charge here.

Not a fucking chance.

She's sitting in my chair. Goddammit. Why does this bother me?

It is, of course, the most comfortable chair in the room. Which is why it's my chair.

But she is here...and sacrificing my chair for one night...well, that shouldn't matter much.

Dreadful how ingrained I've become in my habits.

"So Daddy? What do you have to drink?"

Saved by a task I can perform. But what does she mean?

But I did hear the 'Daddy' in there.

And I feel a little calmer.

She has not disavowed the fact that, however absent I might have been, I am her father.

This was more than Michael conceded for quite a long time.

Maybe there is hope.

"Uh...do you drink alcohol?"

She laughs, more of a scoff than a laugh. Much like Jan's when you've asked her something she considers ridiculous.

"Really, Daddy. I'm almost 28 years old. I'm legal in every state in the union." She rolls her eyes behind the round glasses, which look very much like mine.

"We have J&B and beer."

"What kind of beer?" She's finicky, just as she was as a child.

"I'm not sure...Michael made the last beer run..." I walk over to the refrigerator, and I'm appalled at how lightheaded I feel. I examine the contents of the refrigerator. "Icehouse."

"Do you have any chilled glasses?"

"No, not at the moment." It wouldn't take long to remedy the situation, though.

She follows me into the kitchen. "Do you have any clean ones?" She's looking at the dozens of dishes littering the sink. Michael and I are not the most fastidious of housekeepers. But we do have an adequate number of glasses and I find her a clean one in the cupboard. Chances are, she has better standards of cleanliness, but there's nothing stuck to this glass that is even remotely organic.

I pop a glass in the freezer for her.

"And J&B on the side, neat."

She drinks J&B neat. Oh my God.

I pour her two fingers and then two fingers for myself, after I wash out a glass for myself. She's getting the last two clean glasses.

We return to the living room, and this time she gravitates to the sofa. She's checking out the furniture.

I gaze at my daughter without speaking for a few moments.

She is only slightly over five feet tall, heavyset, with dark hair cut shoulder-length, round glasses not unlike my own, a heavy splash of Jan's freckles covering her face. She definitely has inherited my fashion sense-no one will ever accuse Leslie of being a trend setter. Dressed in jeans, a gray T-shirt with a plaid flannel shirt in yellow and green over it, and work boots, she looks...

Like a Frohike.

"So Daddy? What'd you want to talk to me so badly about?"

Just like her mother. Cut through the bullshit with a dagger.

What did I want to talk to her about?

How much I miss her? How sorry I am? How much I regret not being there to see her grow up? How horrible I felt about leaving her? How happy I am that she's here? How nervous she is making me?

What was it?

It was all that...and more. It's just a little hard to define it right now, though.

"I...miss you, Les."

She mulls this over, and bursts into her scoffing, harsh laugh.

"You miss me. Oh, God, Daddy, that's good." She's laughing harder now, trying not to pass J&B through her nose. (If it were Langly, there'd be a contest now to see who could do it first and fastest). She tips her head against the back of the sofa. "Gee, why now? Why not ten years ago? Fifteen years ago? What is it now, nineteen years? What was it that you didn't miss me then, Daddy?"

"Les...I don't know if you're aware of this, but I wasn't able to see you for many years."

She cackles again.

My heart is breaking.

"Oh, Michael told me that. But you've got Michael totally convinced of everything now, don't you, Daddy?"

Her voice is so frozen. Hard and inflexible as ice.

"Yes, you've got my brother convinced you are just so great, don't you, Daddy?" She's looking at me, and I see how clear, how cool, how...

Sorrowful those green eyes are. My eyes. She got them.

"Leslie, I just wanted to-"

She holds up her hand. "I want to see your divorce papers. The originals."

The originals are in the safe at the offices.

"Didn't your mother show you hers?"

"No, she didn't."

"Did you ever ask her?"

"No, why should I?"

"Then why are you asking me?"

"Because my jerkoff of a younger brother sends me them via e-mail, and we all know what Michael can do when he puts his mind to it. It'd be nice if he'd use some of his brains for productive things. I think he changed them so that I'd think you were okay, which apparently you have convinced him you are."

"I could go get them."

"Right now."

"Right now."

"You're serious."

Leslie, you don't know how serious. If I have to walk over hot coals and stand naked in an ice storm to prove my love and my credibility to you, I'll do it.

"Let me see if Michael is still...on the premises."

"That little jerk works for you?" She finds this to be amusing. "No. I don't trust the little twerp. You do it yourself. And take me with you."

She is certainly an untrusting little soul.

Seems to be genetic.

"So you want to do this right now." It's more of a statement than a question.

"Yes, I do. Because if I find out you're lying to me, and my jerkoff brother lied again, I am out of here, and you'll never see me again. Do you understand?"

That voice. It could cut diamonds.

But I do have the documents...and I will be vindicated.

Of course, this may destroy her relationship with her mother...and I don't want that. Whatever has transpired between the kids' mother and me, she is still their mother. And it breaks my heart that Michael is so alienated from her.

I don't want to be an instrument of pain between Leslie and Jan. They have been close most of their lives. At least it would seem to be that way.

But there's been so much dishonesty, so much anguish in her life...

Perhaps the truth is a good place to start.

I beckon her to come along.
 

The idea of taking my daughter to the offices makes me very uncomfortable. She does not know what we really do there.

Still, it is a publishing office, and I'll stand on that for now.

So much for the truth being a good place to start.

I am such a coward.

She opens her purse and pulls out a pack of Morleys-oh God.

"Les...I had a heart attack a year ago December. Would you mind...not smoking around me?"

I'm irritated that I'm begging her, instead of ordering her to simply put it away and not do it.

Which is what I should do. I'm her father.

Her green eyes turn to narrow slits. "You had a heart attack?"

"I did."

"Nobody told me."

I guess Michael really hasn't been communicating with her much.

"Goddammit, somebody should've told me!"

She's angry now. At me? At Michael? At herself? At her mother?

At all of us?

"I recovered, thankfully." As if this were no harm, no foul.

I can't tell her how much I wished to have heard from her during that time.

She shakes her head angrily. "Somebody you know couldn't have called me? You know where I am. You could've told someone to contact me!"

She is livid now. I detect a slight trembling in her hands. Probably from lack of nicotine.

The drive to the offices is only 3 and a half miles, and at this time of night, the streets are empty. Unlike DC, which never sleeps, Alexandria rolls up the sidewalks at 10 o'clock at night.

Ah, suburbia.

And I once was part of that suburban life. Back when this angry, hard young woman was a little girl.

My little girl. The little girl that would be thrilled to see me when I came home at night. The little girl who ran to me when she got an A on a test, just waiting for me to tell her how proud I was of her. And I was. The little girl that wouldn't go to bed until I'd kissed her goodnight and told her I loved her, at least twice, and then would demand at least one drink of water and another kiss goodnight.

I punch the security codes into the gate.

Michael's car is still here. I'm going to kill him when I see him. He deliberately disobeyed me, and he isn't going to get away with it.

Probably fucking like a rabbit in heat right now.

So I'm surprised when I key in the code and unlock the office locks to find Michael and Langly out there. It appears they have been talking and, for Langly at least, a little drinking.

"Hey, Dad---what the fuck?" Michael jumps out of his seat upon seeing who is accompanying me. "What the fuck'd you bring her here for?"

"Nice to see you, too, fuckrag." Leslie lashes back at her younger brother.

Why do my children have such foul mouths?

And so much for any hopes of civilized greetings.

I choke back on what I'd like to do with both of them, which is smack them and send them to their rooms.

Not particularly possible at this moment.   Their rooms are nowhere near. They're in their 20s. And they wouldn't listen to me anyway.

"Michael, I told you to come home right away!" I'm irritated at my son right now, and there's no way he's not going to know about it.

"Well, I'm sorry!" His tone indicates he's anything but.

Through all this, Langly has sat silent, miserable.

I introduce him to Leslie. He mumbles a 'hi' to her.

"Langly is one of my colleagues," I explain. "And a friend."

"I feel sorry for you," Leslie says sharply, and looks with those penetrating eyes at Langly.

"Fuck you, bitch," Michael starts in on her.

Oh God. What in the hell ever made me think this would work?

Next time I'll ask for something reasonable. Like world peace.

"And I'm supposed to spend the entire weekend with this useless piece of shit around?" Leslie points to Michael as she stares me down.

"'Scuse me, but I live here-"

Langly suddenly gets up, and I'm a little surprised by how harsh and angry he sounds.

"Look, you two fuckrags, you wanna fight each other, do it on your own time, okay? But you might do better to try and get it together, before it's too fucking LATE!" He storms out of the office, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Leslie's mouth is agape, and even Michael looks as if he's been sucker-punched.

I'm a bit confused myself. I'm tempted to run after Langly, but I don't dare leave these two miscreants to themselves. Not yet, anyway.

Michael sits down again at his workstation and places his feet on the desk. The weather is warm, so the Doc Martens have been replaced by Tevas.

"So what were you two discussing that was so important that you couldn't even come home to greet your sister?" I demand of my son.

Rather than his usual defiance, Michael's face takes on a wan quality. His eyes are soft, and I see him press his mouth together in the same way I do when I have something to say, that I would rather not.

"Langly's sister. She's not doing too good."

Well, her progress hasn't been spectacular...but we all at least thought she was holding her own.

"Well, at least HE's concerned about HIS sister," Leslie points out icily.

This gets Michael going. "Yeah, he is. A lot. He called her earlier today, just to say hi and she didn't sound too good. So he asks her if she's doing okay and she says, just fine."

I can guess what's coming. "And of course, he didn't believe her."

"He says she sounded real bad, almost like she was before she had the transplant."

Leslie would have to be deaf not to hear the compassion in her brother's voice. But to him, she may be.

I hope she's paying attention.

"So he hacked her medical records."

Michael nods in the affirmative.

Leslie is more puzzled than anything now. "What do you mean, 'hacked' her medical records?"

I didn't want to have to explain this to my daughter. I could with my son. He already knew the tricks of the trade, and even had a few of his own to add.

But Leslie lives in a different world.

Michael doesn't care to explain the fine points of what it is we do right now, though. He's got a friend, really more of an older brother, who's hurting very badly, and he's hurting right along with him.

"Joan's getting worse. She had bloodwork done Tuesday. Looks bad, he says."

Leslie is silent. She seems ill at ease with this side of the brother she remembers as being a monster and a brat.

"What's his sister ill with?" Leslie asks.

"She has a virulent form of leukemia that's not very treatable," I explain. "Her best chance was a marrow transplant from a sibling. And Langly was the sibling who was the donor. He was a good match, but apparently her disease is more than a match for mere flesh and blood."

"She lied to him." Leslie's voice is mildly accusing.

"She doesn't want him to worry," I explain.

"And he worries anyway. What is it about people, they think if they lie to you, you won't worry about things? Is that it?" She's particularly looking at me this time.

Her voice is like a thousand icicles crawling down my back.

"You know, Daddy, if you want any kind of relationship with me, you have to stop lying to me. Right now."

She means it.

I want to say I never have lied to her, but that in itself would be a lie, wouldn't it now?

Her glance travels to her younger brother. "I'm sorry about your friend, Michael."

Michael looks up in disbelief. "'S'okay. I was with Kelly, and I was getting ready to leave, and I left some stuff, and the lights weren't even on, and so when I came in I just about passed out finding Langly here in the dark. So we sat and talked for a while. I think he just wanted someone to listen to him. He's pretty stressed."

I explain to Leslie that in addition to a seriously ill sister, he also has a pregnant wife and a teenage stepdaughter.

Leslie makes a face. "No, thank you."

"He's pretty okay. He's been there for me when I wasn't doing so good," Michael explains to Leslie.

Leslie blinks her clear eyes behind her glasses. "Where is my younger brother the asshole, and what have you done with him?"

And I finally hear Michael laugh. Which is music to me.

"Hey, I can still be an asshole if you want." He's kidding with her now, and I see her soften up a little.

She bites her lower lip. "I don't know. I'm not sure I can get used to the idea that my kid brother might be a human being." Now she's teasing him, gently though.

"So what'd you come over here for, besides to check up on me?" Michael's feet are still on the desk, and he's looking a bit more smart-assed now.

"Well..." Leslie starts, slightly uneasy. "I want Daddy to show me his divorce papers from Mom. The originals. He says he has them."

"He's got 'em. They're in the safe."

"I see." I sense a flare of jealousy on her part for her younger brother. He is privy to things she is not, and Leslie would not tolerate that well.

I hesitate. I know that this may very well harm her bond with her mother. When I showed Michael, the bond had already been strained, possibly past the point where repair was possible.

And sometimes I still wonder if it is.

But Leslie has had a relationship with her mother. I don't want to be a party to its destruction.

But I have to do this. This is my license to be her father again.

Which I so desperately need to do.

I dial the combination on the safe, and in its familiar spot, covered in a blueback, is the thick wad of papers that ended my marriage and cut me off for so many years from my children.

Two children who are no longer children.

And I chastise myself for allowing a ream of paper to hold more power over my life than the two individuals who are waiting for me to return to their reality.

I won't keep them waiting anymore.

END OF PART 11