The Phone Call
A story of reconciliation and hope
Copyright  © 2009 Carla Ann, All Rights Reserved

You've worked hard and reached the pinnacle of success. Now you have lost everything but the trappings of that success. You're presented with one last opportunity to reclaim that which means the most to you. If you do everything correctly, things just might turn out okay. But if you botch the opportunity, it could permanently set a course for final ruination. The risk is high. What would you do? Would you hesitate before doing it? This is what Thomas did.

Warning, there are a couple intense memories here.

This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to real people, places or events is coincidental and unintentional. This work may be printed for personal use but not otherwise reproduced in part or in whole to any other site or medium without express permission of the author.

And lest we forget, pleeeez leave a comment. :-)

---

The man in booth three was on his way down. He was doing a good job of hiding it but she'd seen it enough times to know the spiral had already started. She wondered if it was financial or family, or both. Perhaps he could pull it together, whatever it was. She'd seen him a few times at lunch over the years, and he was strong, this one. Sometimes they conquered their problems, but more often the strongest and highest flying ones crashed the hardest. She hated to see people suffer, and hoped he'd succeed. She'd seen too much suffering working the evening shift at the hospital cafeteria, which is why she worked for her cousin Benny now. At least the suffering here in the financial district wasn't usually fatal.

"Here's your check, Hon. Just pay up front. More coffee?" She was slightly overweight but motherly and smiled tiredly, as if it did matter to her if he'd met his caffeine desires. Not wasting motion, she picked up his empty plate while waiting for his answer.

Tom smiled politely, though he wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. He wasn't sure what he was in the mood for, but he was sure it wasn't sitting around the half empty coffee shop near his office at 8:30PM. He was only here because he had been driven here by hunger, and most of the restaurants people would expect to see him frequent were not places where you would go by yourself, especially in the evening. At any rate, he couldn't justify staying in the office any longer today.

"No thanks, Angie is it?" He'd picked up the name from her name tag out of habit. Always make eye contact, always remember their name. Essential in business and life. "I should be getting on home." 'Though I have absolutely no idea why,' he thought to himself. He took in her simple uniform, stained from hours of delivering greasy fare to the masses of nameless and uncaring customers and thought back to his own humble beginnings. He knew he could never be unkind to someone because of their station. Not everyone escapes like he had. She looked as exhausted as he felt.

"Well you have a pleasant night, then. And a good weekend. I'm sure whatever it is you're so deep in thought over will work out," Angie smiled again, a bit bigger and even more genuine this time, as she turned toward the kitchen and other duties. He'd actually said her name! 'Yes,' she thought as she walked away, 'I really hope he finds his way.'

'Pleasant night. Not very likely,' he idly thought as he removed himself from the booth, and dropped an obscenely oversized tip on the table. Perhaps she could get some new shoes at least. 'Great, it's drizzling again, perfect,' he thought as he walked to his car. He thought briefly of stepping into the tavern on the corner knowing booze would help dull things, but caught himself before even changing direction. 'No. Never again,' he thought. He hadn't been there since that night.

He completely missed his own driveway, he was so deep in thought. As he drove to the end of the block to turn around he remembered his shock and anger today when his arch nemesis Steven Jacobs, the only other man in the City he considered his equal in the business world, flatly refused to continue the meeting with him until he got his life together and could concentrate on business. He'd said that Tom was so unfocused he was afraid he'd be accused of taking advantage of him! Were his personal issues affecting him so badly that others had noticed? What was it that waitress had said again?

Pulling into the circular driveway at home he saw the the automatic lights were out of whack again so the house and grounds were completely dark save for the big chandelier over the front entry. 'Looks like nobody lives here anymore. How appropriate.'

He parked in the four car garage under the tennis court and shut off the car. As the door was going down he looked across the empty space and saw his old Harley sitting under a tarp in the far stall. The custom fairings and pipes just peeked under the green material of the tarp. 'How long since that's seen the light of day?' he wondered. 'Not since that last club ride with Carol', he decided as he turned toward the door. 'I wonder if I'm even still a member.' He dragged his briefcase off the passenger seat of the little German two seater and punched his code into the alarm pad.

As he entered the house and hung up his damp trench coat, he was disturbed by the eery quiet; only the muffled ticking of the grandfather clock down the hall broke the silence. Tom sighed, tossed the mail on the kitchen bar atop the previous accumulation, and continued on to the bedroom. Just being in the empty house was like taking an elevator ride to a dank and dreary basement. He felt his mood changing from depressed to hopeless.

He sat on the edge of the bed and removed his shoes and socks, putting them away more out of habit rather than any sense of order. Looking around, the place was neat but dusty. As he loosened and removed his tie he decided he was too tired for a shower, so he just changed from his suit into his old cotton pajamas, again, out of habit. 'Funny,' he thought to himself. 'You'd think I'd just revert to the slob I was in college, now that I'm alone again. Carol taught me too well.'

He looked casually around the room. Even after two years, it still had her feel. From the bedspread and shams, to the lampshades and the doily on the nightstand she was still very much present. Well why not? He hadn't changed a thing. Her clothes were even still in the closet and dresser. It had taken over a year before he could even face getting rid of any of her things, then after delivering the half-filled bag of discards she'd set aside herself to the Goodwill, he'd just kind of forgotten about it.

After a few minutes of just looking around the room, seeing it for the first time in a long time, he turned and walked back to the dresser carrying the pocket junk he'd dropped on the bed. He dropped it into the box she'd provided him so long ago. He picked up the frame with their photo, the one taken by the hotel photographer in Waikiki on their 15th anniversary. They looked so happy then, their love indestructible and able to conquer anything life could throw at them. 'Anything but cancer,' he bitterly thought. 'At least she didn't suffer long.'

The picture frame was covered in dust, as was the dresser. Carol would never have permitted a speck of dust to survive in her home. The queen of their home, she had ruled her domicile with quiet grace and elegance. But when it came to cleanliness, "nazi" would have been a better description. Dust was simply verboten.

He went into the master bath and emerged shortly with a dust cloth and spray, dusting all the furniture in the room. He saved the photo for last then placed it tenderly on the dresser. On the opposite end of the dresser he dusted the studio portrait of her, identical to the one on his desk at work. Well, now it was in a drawer so he wouldn't have to look at it when he was trying to work. Returning the photo to the dresser, he noticed once again the contented look the photographer had captured. It almost exuded her presence.

"Feel better, dear? I'm sorry I haven't been more attentive. I feel like I haven't been much of anything since you left." Realizing he was talking to the photograph, he sat on the edge of the bed again, and buried his face in his hands. After a minute or so, he heaved a great sob as tears poured down his face. 'God I miss her! I feel so lost; she always knew what to say, what to do. And now...'

He got control of himself after a few minutes, then went into the den and slumped down into his big leather recliner, the one Andy had convinced Carol to get him for Christmas so long ago. Out of habit he hit a button on the custom remote. The big HDTV lowered from the ceiling and the sound system came to life as the lights dimmed to a comfortable viewing brightness. Had the shades been up they would have come down. Anyone observing would think he was actually watching the boxing match, but he was lost to it, just letting the light and sound wash over him. All he wanted right now was to not feel, and to not think. Sometimes the background noise helped. Had he even noticed the program, he would have changed channels. Fighting was the last thing he wanted to see or remember.

After a time he got up and walked into the large kitchen. He reflexively opened the big Sub-Zero refrigerator to grab a beer, though he wasn't thirsty. Aside from some beer and bologna and a few cheese snacks the wire shelves were empty. He'd tossed all the accidental chemistry experiments into the trash weeks ago. He wasn't hungry but he opened the freezer to retrieve some chicken wings he'd bought last week.

He noticed for the first time in weeks the dozen or so divided Tupperware containers with various pre-prepared meals in them. He hadn't eaten them, so they were still here. Experience told him each one would be different but containing something tasty and well suited to freezing and reheating, complete with at least two vegetables each. Smaller containers contained re-heatable desserts, all of it in reasonable but healthy portions. 'Andrea,' he noted to himself. She had kept a supply handy for those nights when he'd work late, which had gottten to be more and more frequent leading up to that night. 'God, Andrea, even after all that, you made sure I would still have meals, didn't you?' Vaguely angry and frustrated, he grabbed the box of wings and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the bottles in the refrigerator. He just tossed the whole box into the microwave and set it to cook.

He looked at the even coating of dust on the kitchen counters. 'God this place is getting dirty, Carol would kill me.' Opening the undersink cabinet he extracted the spray cleaner, then pulled a kitchen towel from a drawer. As he started to clean, he noticed the cute froggie embroidered into the towel. He was wearing a chef's apron and holding a spatula. 'This is Andrea's work, she was always into the cutesy stuff. Why she spent so much time decorating things that will just get dirty, I'll never understand.' Seeing the dirt build up on the towel, Tom dropped it into the laundry chute and switched over to paper towels. 'Even if it is silly there's no sense ruining it' he thought. Just as he finished cleaning the sink tops, stove and kitchen dining table, the microwave signaled with a beep. He looked at the dust on the array of hanging pots and utensils over the island. 'Later,' he thought. Grabbing a plate, he dumped the contents of the box onto it, picked up his beer and carried it to the table.

He walked back to the bar and picked up at least six weeks accumulation of mail and began to sort through it. He knew there wouldn't be any bills. Sal had taken care of all that stuff for years. Almost all the mail was round-file fodder, but he began looking through it, remembering the enjoyment Carol and Andrea used to get from doing so.

He thumbed through the sale papers trying to see what they had found so interesting but was only stopped for a moment when he opened the one from the home improvement place and read through the tool section. He wasn't into that kind of stuff, but it was mildly interesting to look at the pictures. Having exhausted the larger pieces, he started going through all those endless credit card offers that just seemed to come from nowhere. Buried in the bunch he found an envelope addressed to Andrea.

'That's funny, she isn't old enough for her own credit cards,' he thought to himself as he opened it. Inside, he was surprised to find, not a credit card offer, but the first statement from a cell phone provider. He knew she'd carried a cell for years, as all kids do, but until now she'd always used one of those pay as you go phones, preferring to spend her sizable allowance on material and craft supplies. This was an honest to god 'real' cell phone, with what appeared to be a modest bundle of services. He didn't even look for a call history, it wasn't that kind of statement. Feeling a little guilty for opening her mail, he folded the statement, returned it to the envelope and put it back on the bar in case she returned. "if only she would," he muttered to no one in particular.

Returning to the kitchen, he gathered up all the paper and tossed it into the recycling bin. He sat again at the table and tried to eat a couple wings, but as spicy as they were they just seemed tasteless. At any rate, he wasn't hungry, having just left the diner so it all ended up in the trash. He dropped the plate into the dishwasher and started it, rewashing everything else that was in there. Some of the dishes must have been washed repeatedly a couple dozen times by now. 'Maybe I'll empty it tomorrow,' he thought to himself. 'It'll be my big Saturday project.' He grabbed his beer and started back to the den but changed his mind.

Having noticed by now the state of the house, he picked up the cleaner and paper towels, deciding that cleaning was better than TV anyway. At least it was something. TV allowed you to think. As he was about to set his beer on the coffee table in the formal living room, he imagined hearing Carol's voice reminding him to use a coaster. She'd really been death on him until he learned, how could he forget? Reaching into the coaster caddy, he pulled out the little white crocheted circle on top and started to set the beer onto it. He stopped to examine it. It was handmade, with a cute repeating design around the outside edge, in light purple. 'Andrea. She loves lavender,' he said to himself. A vision of a pretty girl in a lavender room happily sewing under a bright breezy window formed in his mind. After a few seconds he shook his head as if to clear it, and began to dust in earnest.

As he dusted he continued to discover things he hadn't noticed before in the room, little feminine touches that make a house a home. The antique looking tatted doily on black velvet framed on the wall. The handmade quilted table runner on the entry hall table. The family pictures of the Paris trip, arranged in a collage the shape of the Eiffel Tower on the wall. The crocheted afghan on the back of the love seat. The embroidered accent pillows on the couch. The combined effect of it all was to give the place a homey, comfortable feel. Inviting. Lived in.

None of this was Carol's doing. Carol was a most feminine woman and a superb decorator, but her style was more using wallpaper or tapestries, or a well placed vase on an antique table. Area rugs were a big item with her. She'd loved little homey touches like these but had no talent for them. No, this was not Carol's room. It could only be Andrea's work. Looking around, everywhere he looked he saw handmade accents or adornments, most of them at least with a hint of pink or lavender. 'Definitely Andrea,' he concluded. 'When did she make all this stuff, and why am I just now seeing it?' He decided he'd have to try to avoid this room too. There were too many reminders in here. Instead of a sense of satisfaction at the now clean room, he just felt worse.

He detoured through the kitchen to dispose of the dirty paper towels and his empty beer bottle. He continuing on to the den, the only other room of the huge house he'd been in for months. He continued dusting the den but it took less time, as it was furnished much more sparse. He almost ruined the pool table before he stopped himself from spraying it with cleaner. 'Oh duh. The vacuum,' he remembered. Opening a cupboard and pulling out the hose the unit activated. Tom realized he didn't actually know where the machine was located, only that every room had outlets for it.

Eventually he returned to his easy chair and clicked over to a movie. He saw it was one of Carol's favorite romantic chick flicks. It was painful to watch but he didn't change it. It just seemed to be too much trouble. Everything was beginning to seem like too much trouble. 'What's the point of all this,' he wondered, 'if there's no one to share it with?'

...

He'd been sitting there for a while when he began to feel a chill. He looked at his watch and saw that it was after ten. 'Yeah, the thermostat went to night setting,' he remembered. The temperature controls were accessible from his universal remote too, but instead he reached under the table next to his chair for his old lap blanket. He pulled it out only to realize it had been replaced with a quilt.

He'd never seen this before. Surprised, he examinined it. It was exquisite, obviously handmade. It had all kinds of outdoor images in the prints of the fabric. In tans and browns and greens, the piecing was arranged so it formed an uncanny, almost photographic image of a deer sampling the grass at the edge of an alpine meadow. He'd seen this image before! Where?

He turned it over to examine it and found no clues, noting only the intricate decorative stitching that held it together. Plainly evident on the lighter fabric of the back, the stitching formed outlines of fish, deer, howling coyotes, bears and other mountain animals. It was a real piece of art, this quilt. Whoever had made it had put a lot of time and love into it. It was also made specifically to be a lap quilt, being rather too large for a baby quilt and too small for a bed. He turned it over again so the 'deer side' was on top, and pulled it over his legs. He suddenly realized that the deer scene in the quilt looked a lot like a picture he and Andy had brought home from an Idaho camping trip when he was nine. 'Happier times,' he thought.

Looking up at the wall, the photo was still hanging there, confirming his thoughts. He stood and took the quilt over to the pool table and laid it out so he could see the entire image at once. It was uncanny. The little streaks and animals and flowers in the various prints of the fabric melded together at a distance to form patterns in the bark of the trees, or shading in the ground, or even grass. He noticed a small label in the corner. Looking closer, he saw it wasn't a label at all, but simple, elegant hand embroidery.

To Daddy, Happy Fathers Day 2007. Andrea

Tom reacted as if he'd been slapped. He stumbled back a step as the significance of that label took hold in his brain. Andrea had made this for him, put it in 'his' room, and he'd never even acknowledged its presence until now, over two years later. Shocked beyond words he turned and began to take in the room, a single tear starting to run down his cheek.

This was his room, and it was all masculine. From the pool table to his elliptical machine and weight bench, to the huge HDTV and sound system there was nothing even remotely feminine in it. Yet, when he began to look around he noticed feminine influences everywhere.

Aside from the quilt, the coaster caddy on the table contained hand painted ceramic circles bearing images of various animal paw prints. There was a painted picture of geese on the wall in their trademark delta pattern. The frame had hand-painted Native American symbols around the border that inset the picture. On another wall hung a large cross-stitched picture of two gray wolves at night. 'How many thousand stitches must be in that?,' he marvelled. The liquor cabinet in the corner had a quilted runner atop it, sporting some kind of sewn-in image of a smiling bartender in an Irish pub drawing a pint of Guinness. He noticed the hand towel hanging from the pool cue rack had outdoorsy accents. There was a crocheted cover for the cue chalk so it wouldn't mark the table. Someone had added a fringe to the stained glass shade over the pool table, making the whole corner of the room kind of old-timey. There were candid shots of him on his last 5k race, next to the treadmill. Even his golf bag in the corner had knitted booties on each of the clubs. Looking closer, he saw that each one had a little golfing leprechaun stitched into the fabric.

Some woman had decorated this room to perfectly suit his tastes, but it wasn't the least bit feminine. It couldn't have been Carol, some of this stuff wasn't here when she died. Tom plopped heavily down in his chair again, looking around in amazement. The only answer was that Andrea had done all this. And he hadn't even noticed, not even a few minutes ago when he had dusted. What HAD he noticed? This obviously had taken her a long time to do, and she had no reasons of her own to have done it. Did she? She had spent all her time in the kitchen or her bedroom, so when HAD she done all this, and why?

Again, he got up from his chair, and walked down the hallway to her room. He opened the door. It hadn't been opened for over two months, not since the day after that awful night, when he'd discovered she'd left. He entered the room and ignoring the slightly musty smell, looked around. It looked neat, but it clearly wasn't her room any longer.

Gone were the curtains and sheers around the window. There were no stuffed animals on the bed, now it was covered with a plain forest green bedspread instead of the flouncy pink one, incongruent with the lavender walls. The bedside table and dresser tops were bare. Her reading lamp and doilies were all gone. There were faint outlines on the wall where her pictures had once hung. It was a large room, big enough to accommodate a separate sitting area, but she'd had a large cutting table and no less than three different sewing machines there with a big work light. It was all gone too, replaced by a faint echo on the hardwood floor.

He looked in the closet, and found only two empty hangers in there, a single green plastic crochet hook on the floor near the back, and a little boy's baseball cap on the shelf. He remembered the cap-he'd bought it for Andy at a Mets game even though he hadn't wanted it, then made him wear it all day. No wonder she left it behind. What hurt the most was the realization that the only things missing were things she had bought herself. All her furniture was still here except for the small makeup table she had bought. A blank area along the wall attested to that. There was an air of finality that came from being in this room, as if by leaving her furniture she had abandoned and left behind everything their small family had ever been. It felt very empty in here. His eyes started to fill again as the significance of it hit home yet again.

"God Andrea!! Why did you have to go?" he suddenly cried out. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried for a minute to imagine all her things back in the room, as if by imagining it he could make it come to pass. He knew, of course why she had gone, and he knew she wasn't going to return. He finally turned, switched off the light and closed the door quietly behind him. Feeling very old and completely defeated, he slowly returned to the den, pausing only to lay the crochet hook next to the cell phone statement as he walked through. He grabbed the quilt and scrunched it to his chest, and slumped into his chair. He just stared as the credits scrolled up the screen, seeing nothing, hearing nothing.

...

He realized the short guy in the green sport coat hawking knives wasn't the movie, so he switched it off. He spread the quilt over himself and reclined the chair, knowing that going to bed wouldn't be any more restful. Looking back up, he switched the entertainment center back on and pressed the button labeled "Music" on the remote.

When the menu of playlists appeared on the TV, he scrolled down until he saw one labeled "Eclectic Jazz - Easy Listening." 'Ah, yeah. Dad's old stuff. That should be okay.' He selected it, set it to shuffle and turn off after an hour. He didn't need to turn off the lights, they would dim automatically over the next hour. In a moment something soft and soothing started to emanate from the speakers. Soon he was just alone in the semi-dark with his thoughts, the soft jazz providing some relief for his pain. He let the music wash over him while the tears leaked slowly from his eyes and down his face. To the world he may be one of the most successful men in America, but he just felt lost, defeated, totally alone.

'Can this get any worse?' he wondered.

As if in answer to his nonverbal question he heard the sustained sounds of a vibraphone set on slow tremolo begin a sad intro. Four bars later Chet Baker's trumpet was heard sorrowfully playing. Tom didn't remember the song, only that it was old, from the be-bop era. This had been his dad's favorite stuff, and it was almost like he was speaking to him. The trouble began on the second verse, with the sound of Baker's velvet voice. It only took a second before Tom remembered that Baker had been a master of the hopeless torch song, and this was one of his most desperate. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, hoping he could endure it:

"What'll I do, when you are far away,
And I am blue, what'll I do-o-o?
What'll I do, when I am wond'ring who,
Is kissing you, what'll I d-o-o-o?
What'll I do, with just a photograph,
To turn my troubles" <CLICK>

Tom had almost broken his finger on the remote. The next song was a soft instrumental. "God, Carol! If you're looking down, please help me," he cried openly, eventually fading into silence as the music played on quietly. He was about to fade off into unconscious nothingness when another vocal began, this time it was Mel Torme.

"She was too good to me,
How can I get along now-----
So close she stood to me,
Everything seems all wrong now----
She would have brought me the sun----,
Making me smile, that was her fun-----"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Tom shouted as he leaped from the chair. Looking to the ceiling he continued, "LIKE I DIDN'T ALREADY GET THE POINT!" He threw the remote at the TV, which had no effect at all.

"When I was mean to her,
She'd never say go away now----" <SNAP!><POP!>

When throwing the remote hadn't stopped the music, he'd lunged for the wall, yanking the cords out with great ferocity. There had been an unsatisfying snap and a flash of light as one cord shorted out before losing its connection. He picked up his crystal Rotary Club Man of The Year award and threw it as hard as he could, shattering it into the dart board and knocking it to the floor with a loud crash. Stumbling out of the room as fast as his legs would work, he headed anywhere to get away. He found himself in a guest bedroom before reorienting himself and aiming again for own room.

As he passed the dresser he turned his head to the photo of Carol, and wailed loudly, "I'm sorry I failed you. I tried, I really did! Please forgive me, but this time I don't know how to fix it!" He ended up atop the bed in a fetal position hugging Andrea's quilt, wracked with sobs and wishing dearly that he was four again, when Mommie could come in and comfort him and make everything right. Exhaustion finally overtook him and he fell into a fitful sleep while his mind replayed the events of the last two months over and over. It was the lowest moment of his life, even lower than the night the angels took his beloved Carol from him.

-O-

Sometime later, consciousness returned. Tom wondered what had woken him. He felt something was different. Something had clicked in his mind while he was asleep. He didn't feel quite as hopeless, though nothing had changed. But there was something. What was it? He struggled to identify it. Something about the mail. Suddenly inspiration hit, and he sat bolt upright.

Rushing back to the kitchen bar, he picked up Andrea's cell phone statement. He looked at the date, and saw it was over two months old. Dumping the recycling bin onto the table, he used use both hands to feverishly rummage through the mess of paper. He verified there was no other correspondence from the company. 'That can only mean one thing,' he thought. 'She must have paid it and changed the billing address or there would be a dunning letter by now. If she'd cancelled the service, there would be a final statement.' Going back to the counter he studied the statement intently, finally decoding a phone number buried in a long string of numbers.

Leaving the mess, he rushed into the bedroom to get the cordless phone. As he punched in the numbers, he looked at Carol's picture and pleaded to it, "Please don't let me screw this up too."

Tom heard ringing, then a click and silence. A few seconds later, he heard a sleepy "Hello?"

"Andrea? Is that you? It's me, D.."

"Yes, I know who it is, I have caller ID," she spat, now fully awake. "How did you get this number?...What do you want?"

"Andrea, I.."

She cut him off. "Do you have any idea what time it is? Have you been drinking again?" The last part stung bitterly. He almost never drank, but he was very drunk that night, the night before she left, and it was the only reason those words had been exchanged.

"Andrea, I'm sorry. I know it's late, honey but I have to talk to you."

"Can't it wait until morning? It's 2AM for cryin' out loud, and I have to work in the morning. Besides, the last time we 'talked' you did almost all of it and you said enough to last me a lifetime."

"Andi, please!"

"Andi? Oh so now it's Andi? Only my two closest friends call me Andi, and only after asking me permission. And I don't remember you ever asking me, so let me ask you. Is that Andi with an "I" or Andy with a "Y"?

"Please, honey, I only made that mistake once. Of course I meant with an 'i'. Let's try to get beyond all that for a while. I've been worried sick about you! When you left you didn't leave me any way to get hold of you, and you're too young to be out on your own. You're only seventeen."

"I'm almost eighteen... Listen. Please hear this because I only want to say it once. You yourself signed my emancipation papers almost two years ago when I graduated high school. You yourself said I might need to look out for myself when you were out of town and couldn't be there for me. I know the school graduated me early so they wouldn't have to deal with me but the fact is, I had a 4.0 average and enough credits so they couldn't stop me anyway. And I've been at the university a whole year now. I have.."

"Wait! I checked, you haven't touched your trust fund, and the university doesn't have a student named Andrea Billings. So where"

"I filed a legal alias and I'm registered as Andrea Sellers, Grandma's maiden name. Mom wanted me to protect myself from any bigots from my high school that might try to track me down. And I'm using my scholarship and working. Turned out to be handy when it came to cutting ties didn't it?" He gritted his teeth as the full horror of how permanent her leaving might be. He hadn't considered she might have even abandoned his name.

"Andrea, I looked everywhere for you. I couldn't.."

"Let me continue. I have a scholarship, grants, and a job at the research lab. I'm quite capable of being on my own. And I don't need you complicating my life by trying to make me something I'm not."

"Andrea, are you living somewhere safe? Because if"

"I'm fine. It's none of your business, but I'm sharing an apartment with another student. And no, you can't come visit. She's recovering from a sexually abusive father, and she can't deal with men. In fact, all six of the apartments are all girls. The lady who owns the place only rents to girls, and most of them are lesbians and/or recovering from some kind of abuse. Men aren't allowed here."

"Are you..."

"No! ... I'm not... Either... Though some terms don't apply very well to people like me. I'm just here because it's cheap and safe. And I can ride a bike to class and work. The landlady took pity on me. Says I remind her of her niece."

"Andrea, I'm really sorry about how everything went to hell. About that night..."

"Look, don't start! You said some really awful things to me. How I'd killed your son. How you can't stand to look at me. How my presence in the house is disruptive. How you can't ever relax when I'm around and"

"Andrea!! Please, PLEASE!! I know EXACTLY what I said that night! That conversation is etched in my memory like stone and I can't believe those words ever escaped my mouth. I was drunk! And I was in pain..That wasn't me talking, it was the booze."

"But you must have been thinking them or you couldn't have said them! And don't get me started on pain! I've known who I am since I was four and all I ever got from you when I tried to be me was pain, until Mom put her foot down. And I was fourteen by then! And just when things were starting to...were starting...she got sick...and *sniff*...and..."

"Andrea." Tom said softly, trying to keep the tremors from his voice too. "...I miss her too. Remember we were married over twenty years. It's like a part of me is gone...I can't stand to think I've lost you too, it feels like my heart's been ripped out, especially since you've gone. Please come back, I know we can work things out."

"Look, my cell phone is going dead. *sniff*... I have to get off now."

"Andrea WAIT!" Tom winced and clinched his teeth waiting for the dreaded click but after a few seconds he realized he'd bought a tiny bit of time. He started to continue but decided on a different approach.

"...Honey, I know you don't want me to know where you are and I don't blame you. But we can't leave things this way. If your cell is really going dead, please call me back from a regular phone. Go through the operator and reverse the charges--she can block the caller ID so I won't know your number. And I promise I won't try to track you down later. Please? We really have to talk...I really need to talk. Please?"

"*Sigh*...I'll think about it. Goodbye." The click that followed sounded like a cannon in Tom's ear. He just looked pleadingly at Carol's picture.

"You always told me to give her some space, to let her have the ball. Well, it's in her court now, honey... Please make her call back...please...," he trailed off in a whisper. He looked at the illuminated clock on the bed stand, then closed his eyes and tried to collect his thoughts.

...

He looked at the clock. Five minutes. He looked pleadingly at Carol's picture, then off into space again.

...

The clock. Nine minutes now. He sighed heavily and just closed his eyes.

...

Eleven minutes. The tears were starting down his cheeks, but he was determined not to call her. He wouldn't try to badger her, not any more. 'Oh god, I've blown it and she hates me,' he thought. He began to wonder if it was worth trying to go on at all now.

...

**Brrrrii...** Tom snatched it before the first ring finished, grabbing it so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Andrea? OH thank..."

"I have a person to person call from an Andrea Billings, will you..."

"YES! YES! Thank you OPERATOR!" He said a little too emphatically. He heard some clicking then the quiet background hiss of a normal phone call.

"...Andrea, are you there?"

"Yeah... Sorry, I didn't want to wake Kelly, and it took a while to find the long cord and string it out to the balcony in the dark. Then I had to get some clothes on and get my jacket. So what did you need to say that was so important that it can't wait until morning?" Thankfully, Tom noted, the anger had seemed to lessen in her, leaving a sort of resigned tone to her voice. Her voice suddenly changed to one of fear and concern. "You're not sick are you?"

"No no I'm okay. Andrea, I just found your number a few minutes ago and I couldn't wait a second longer. I had to tell you one more time that for better or worse, you are my child--no scratch that. You are my daughter, and I am your father. And I love you more than life, and we're all each other has now that your Mom is no longer with us. I know that whatever is in the past is done and can't be changed, and I hope we don't ever have to revisit it ever again. I know I don't want to. Come back home, please?...Please?"

"...I can't...I have a new life now. I've moved on, and I'm away from all the baggage I left there. And I don't mean just at home. You know that no one new would guess I was ever a boy, so it's better for me. After that last year in school," (Tom could hear the shudder in her voice) "...well let's just say this is a clean break for me. And besides. From what you just told me, it sounds like you want me to be a substitute for Mom. Well I'm not her, and I won't pretend to be." Tom didn't say anything for a moment as her statement sunk in. He heard sniffling on the other end. After a minute or so of silence she whispered, "God how I miss her."

"Me too," Tom whispered after a few seconds. "...Andrea,...can I tell you a little about your Mom? Maybe if I tell you some things you won't hate me so much, and we won't have to be enemies. Your Mom loved us both very much, and this thing between us would tear her apart. We have to end this fighting. It doesn't honor her memory. Besides, the very last thing she asked me to do the day she died, is to take care of you and keep you safe, and try to make you happy. I made her that promise willingly and gladly and I meant it. I still do. I love you honey, I always have and I want you to come back. At least back into my life, even if you can't come back home. Christ, how can I do any of that when you didn't even leave me a way to find you?"

"But if you love me so much, why did you say those things? They hurt so bad I felt like I'd been put through a meat grinder for weeks. Sometimes I still..."

"Andrea, please... hear me out...." Tom paused to collect his thoughts, and having nothing good come to mind, he finally whispered, "You said some pretty hurtful things that night too. Just because I'm a guy and don't show my feelings well, it still hurts the same... can we just start over? Please?" Hearing only silence, Tom took that as a sign to continue.

"Your Mom and I married in college, as you know. We were on a very tight budget, but we were smart and I was lucky and got fast-tracked right away. Before long, your Mom was able to quit her job and become a fulltime housewife, something she'd always dreamed of. Soon, I was earning more than we ever dreamed and it was apparent that we could easily start a family. Your Mom wanted three kids, a girl, another girl, and a boy, in that order. I didn't care, I just wanted her to be happy. My main fear was that I could learn to be an effective father, given the schedule my job required. I know I was lousy, but I did try."

"You were always at my plays and concerts," Andrea noted. "I think you did a pretty good job, considering..." she wondered to herself why she had said that. She had always resented how much time he spent away from home.

"Let me continue, honey. I want to explain. It took us several years and thousands of dollars paid to specialists before your Mom became pregnant. We had almost given up hope by the time you were conceived. We were of course ecstatic! Your Mom was so sure you were a girl, she had me paint the nursery pink, and started buying all kinds of girly baby things. Back then, predicting the sex of the baby was still a bit iffy. But she insisted you were a girl, she just knew that you felt like one in her belly, and no one told us different. Imagine our surprise then when you were born and were male. I got good-natured ribbing from the guys at work for weeks over it. Your mom, however still never believed it.

But there were other problems. It turns out that the reason it was so hard for her to conceive is because of an abnormality in her uterus, one that had escaped detection until after she was pregnant. Had the doctors known, they would have advised her never to have children at all. In fact, our first doctor advised an abortion right away as soon as they detected the problem. Carol was so mad she fired him on the spot and found another doctor. But the strain of pregnancy did prove too much, and her uterus was damaged, resulting in your premature birth. It's probably why you're so little. She had a bad infection and they had to do an emergency hysterectomy immediately after you were born. She was on the critical list for several days--we weren't sure she would even live. Since she couldn't nurse, that's why you were bottle-fed. She was really disappointed by that. Of course we couldn't have any more children."

"I never knew that," Andrea softly declared. She had never heard any of this before. Sitting outside her apartment in the predawn, the stars shone still in the cold night sky, clear now that the storm had moved on. She pulled the zip up on her jacket, and wrapped the afghan tighter around her legs. She needed to hear the rest of this.

"We never told you because we didn't want you to think it was your fault. Your mother was disappointed of course, but just told me that you were such a precious gift it was fine. She said we'd just be that much closer, since there would be fewer of us it would concentrate the love. I told her we could adopt more children but she wouldn't hear of it."

"I'm so sorry! I blamed you all those years because I didn't have any brothers or sisters. I thought you were selfish, just wanting a trophy wife and a trophy kid, without a real family! I didn't know."

"It's okay, I know I deserved that. Anyway, when your Mom recovered, we set out to become the family we had wanted. But your Mom became a little despondent knowing she wasn't going to have the daughter she'd always dreamed of. She knew in her heart what you have always maintained but the physical evidence couldn't be denied. What happened sounds kind of incredible, but it did happen. She began to dress you in all that girly baby stuff she had accumulated, and soon she was even going into town with you dressed like that. Other times she would have you dressed as a boy, and eventually the ladies in the stores around town just assumed you were your own twin. One day they'd see Andy, and the other days "Ann". I didn't like it but I went along with it, reasoning to myself that your mom was just working out her own extreme disappointment over not getting a daughter, and knowing a baby doesn't know the difference anyway."

"Your Mom continued to do this until you were almost two. You didn't seem to care one way or the other between dresses and pants but others were beginning to ask questions so I finally had to talk to her and she stopped. Later, when you were in elementary school, and wanted to play with the girls, and you snuck your dollies to school in your backpack, and kept telling everyone you were a girl, I got the idea that it was because Mom had conditioned you to be one. I've since learned how preposterous that notion was, but then I didn't know any different. So I embarked on a mission to toughen you up and make you into a boy. I'd take you on camping and fishing trips, car shows and ball games, anything to keep you away from home and her influence. Because as soon as I would turn my back you'd be in your room playing house with all those stuffed animals."

"I remember that. I had to play with my animals because you took away all my dollies."

"Yes I did. Mom kept insisting you were a girl but I just couldn't see it. Looking back, you never did a boyish thing in your life. I'd take you to a game and you'd be more interested in the entertainment on the scoreboard and doing the chicken dance than the game. I'd take you camping and you fried cookie dough over the fire. I'd fish while you picked wildflowers. But I was just so uptight and concerned I never connected the dots. It completely escaped me. Your Mom knew. I think you were probably about ten when I started to get concerned with how it looked to my business partners. I was afraid for my image. God, what an ass I was!"

"I remember when Mama bought me a sewing machine for my tenth birthday. I was so proud of it but you went ballistic!" she chuckled.

"Yeah. I did. I was so ashamed. But I wasn't sure what I was ashamed of."

"Mom told me later she'd promised not to buy me dresses anymore, but she knew I was a girl. So she got me that sewing machine and took me to the dealer and paid for lessons. And she took me to the fabric store and let me buy anything I wanted. As soon as I made a few craft things and mastered basic sewing, I started making my own clothes. So all the dresses you found when you raided my closet? I had made them all myself. I had to, Mom didn't know how to sew."

"I really hated you when you blamed Mom for them, and I hated you even worse when you grabbed my scissors and cut them to shreds. You don't know how many hours I had put into them, cutting and fitting and sewing. I know now that you just saw those clothes as a broken promise, but you were wrong and to me you were shredding my identity. Mommie hadn't broken her promise, we had just pulled an end run around your game. If it hadn't been so awful at the time, it would be kinda funny now, wouldn't it?"

Tom was appalled by the memories, so different now that he could see beyond his stupid motivations of the time. He had been nothing short of abusive to his daughter and hadn't even realized it. She had every right to hate him thoroughly and completely, but she was merely explaining it away as if it were a series of misunderstandings! He resolved that somehow he would make things right for her.

The conversation continued from there, each confiding things previously hidden from the other, exploring past events in their lives from each other's perspective.

...

"...Yes, dear. I really screwed up. After I grabbed you and hauled you down to the barber and had your beautiful hair turned into a buzz cut, your Mom wouldn't speak to me for a week. When she finally did, she warned me that I would lose you if I didn't wise up..." Tom paused as the horror of his past actions caught up to him. He whispered, "She was so right, and I was so wrong...I'm so sorry it took so long to see the real you."

"Oh that haircut! I was so hurt and humiliated, I couldn't go to school for a week. I just stayed in my room for two days crying. The only thing I could do was sew, and it was hard with my vision so blurry...Dad, I have a confession to make. You were out of town the whole week after that, but I immediately set out to replace my wardrobe. I started that very night making things from material I already had, and later, when I ran out of that, I started making clothes for my girlfriends.

They all got into the act, and always made sure there was enough leftover material from their projects for me to make something for myself as well. Before long I had an even bigger wardrobe, and this time, Mom could safely say she hadn't even bought the material, because my friends paid me in material. Before long, I was hanging out in town with them in my new wardrobe. Until my hair grew back, I wore an old wig of Mom's. She took me to the salon and had them refit it for me and cut it. They wanted to order one made for a kid my age but she said no because she couldn't buy it and keep her promise. And she made me pay for having it cut and styled from my savings."

"You want to know the funny part though? It didn't even matter. With that buzz cut, even when I wore boy clothes somewhere besides school everyone still assumed I was a girl and my hair had fallen out. One lady saw me at the mall after school and even stuffed twenty dollars into my hand and told me to go buy a pretty scarf. She said she admired my bravery and that she just knew I would recover!"

"Oh no! What did you do?"

"Well, I couldn't hurt her feelings, could I? So I thanked her and then did just as she asked! Suze and Lexi and I each got a new scarf, and we wore them out of the store. Later that day, we walked right by that Lenny jerk, and he didn't even recognize me."

"...Andrea, I have to confess something too. When you were thirteen, I was away in Ohio for a couple weeks to open a new plant. Things went well, and I came back a couple days early. I wanted to get home and take you fishing that weekend for a real guys only outing. But as I drove through town that afternoon I saw three girls walking down the sidewalk carrying grocery bags, and laughing and cutting up as they do. I instantly recognized that the girl in the center was you. That's when I realized you were never a boy, and your mom was right from day one."

"Really? You saw me on the street and recognized me? Everyone, even Mom always insisted that I looked completely different than when I was trying to be Andy, even before I started to develop. What gave me away?"

"Andrea, a parent can spot their own kid from 200 yards in a crowd. I don't know what it is. Vibes or something. Maybe it's all those subtle things like how you hold your head, or walk or move your arms. It doesn't matter. But I was so shocked I pulled over and just watched for a couple minutes. There was nothing, and I mean nothing about you that even suggested boy. All I could see was a pretty young teen girl with her friends. I realized then that when you were dressed as Andy, I only saw a boy because of the clothes and what I wanted to see. Funny, even then, people called you Miss even when dressed as Andy. I just couldn't figure out why until then."

"I knew there was no point being home that weekend. It would only spoil things. So I got a room in town and called your mother. I asked her to join me for dinner, and it was then I told her what I had seen, and that she'd been right all along, and to get you into therapy so you could begin the journey to become the beautiful young lady you are today. Two weeks later Mom started to take you to Dr. Ardenne. I wasn't really happy about it, but I knew it was the right course of action. Dr. Ardenne must have too, because she started you on pills after just a few weeks. But I guess after all those years of fighting for a son, I just couldn't break out of the habit. Even though I encouraged your mom to help you then, I continued to fight it. I had a real battle going inside myself, and I let you get caught in the crossfire."

Silence. An occasion sniff on both ends of the line. Finally,

"Daddy? Please don't be mad? I started seeing Jessica when I was barely twelve. She had already sent me to an endocrinologist and put me on blockers a long time before you saw me on the street. The pills she put me on then were my hormones. She wouldn't put me on them until you both signed. We just didn't tell you about all the previous visits. Mom told me that breaking her promise to you was the absolute hardest thing she'd ever done in her life, so be sure that you never found out. She said if you knew it would kill her. But she told me that she knew in her heart that if I was forced to be a boy for much longer something terrible was going to happen to me, and losing me would kill you both. She made me fully understand that love sometimes forces you to make terrible choices." Soft sniffling followed, turning into soft sobs.

"Andrea?...Andrea, I know. I know. And it's alright."

"H- H- How do you know?" she softly blubbered.

"Remember the last couple weeks in the hospital, when I wouldn't leave your mother? Nearly every time you came to see her she was asleep, but there were times when she was awake. I wanted her to know I was at her side all the way. She was very weak but she had a lot on her mind she wanted to tell me, and almost all of it was about you. It was painful for her to talk but she told me everything. Made me understand. And I got it. All of it. And I promised her to take care of you, and I will if you'll let me. Always. Or at least until I'm too old, and then I still want you in my life, if not to take care of me, at least to come see me..."

"...Daddy?.....Thank you for telling me. I'm glad Mom told you. It hurt her terribly to keep that secret from you. She told me that you and I were the only things in her life that were important."

...

Tom chuckled to himself. Andrea asked, "What?"

"Well, it's just this. In the business world, I'm feared, my instincts are pretty well known. None of my business associates ever dared try to pull anything on me because they knew that I would find out, and they didn't want to risk what I might do in retaliation. Nobody wants to be in my gunsights. What I've never been able to figure out is how you pulled that off. Did you pay for your therapy yourself?" Laughing could be heard from the phone.

"No," *giggle* "That was so easy! Remember Mom's housekeeper and cook, Consuelo? There never was a housekeeper, or a cook either for that matter!"

"But who cooked for all those parties and"

"Catered!" she laughed.

"But there were all those cancelled checks written to Consuelo Flores! Are you saying Consuelo was your therapist? The one time I met your therapist, she looked decidedly European, and I know her name wasn't Consuelo!" Tom said rather exasperated.

"Daddy, Jessica's mom lived in Mexico when she was born. Jessica's middle name is Consuelo, like her Godmother. Her mom remarried later, and her new husband adopted Jessica. Hence, her maiden name, Jessica Consuelo Flores. Later, Jessica met and married a french guy, Jacques Ardenne. They both did their postgraduate studies in France, and that's where she picked up the slight accent. She may look and sound French, but she is most decidedly American, with dual citizenship in Mexico."

"Andrea, how do you know so much about her?" he asked.

"Daddy, I've been seeing her for six years. After all this time, we’re friends too. And friends talk."

"Okay, so those years, your mom paid for your therapy and disguised it as housekeeping? Who did the cleaning and cooking?" he wondered.

"Oooooh, Daddy," an excited voice bubbled. "It's such a shame you were so clueless! We did the housework together, but for us it was just fun! Every day when I'd get home from school, I'd change, finish my homework as quick as I could, then join Mom. You should have seen us! We'd put on our short shorts, tie our blouses above our belly buttons, put a scarf in our hair, and start cleaning. I swear, we looked like an old I Love Lucy episode! We'd take that sound system of yours, put on some oldies and crank it up, and just rock all other the house! It was so much fun boppin' around, backing up Elvis or Buddy Holly, using our mops and brooms for guitars, or our spray cleaner for mikes! Sometimes my girlfriends would come over and join in. It got so silly sometimes, we'd all just collapse on the floor in a tangle laughing our guts out! I even made Mom and me poodle skirts for our impromptu sock hops. She found some of those old fifties pointed bras and some angora sweaters somewhere. Other days, we'd spend the whole afternoon in the kitchen trying out new recipes. Sometimes Mom spent all morning at the gourmet grocery collecting stuff for us to cook!" She stopped rather abruptly, then tried to continue, "It was so much fun," she choked. "...but that was...that...was before she got sick..." *sniff*

...

"Well, it's nice. Most of them are two bedrooms, but Kelly's and mine has three. We're on top of the landlady, she has three also. I have my sewing machines in one bedroom so I pay more rent. But girls all over campus come and pay me to use them, so it almost covers the extra I have to pay. If I run short I can always make scads of money putting quilts together. The lady at the quilt shop in town could keep me busy day and night if I wanted to do that. I just can't use the big quilting machine after six oclock because the landlady hears the vibrations and can't hear her TV *giggle*"

"You took that huge machine and put it in your apartment? How did you even move it?"

"Daddy! It comes apart, y'know! I did have to put it in storage for a couple weeks until I found this apartment though. I'm even teaching Kelly how to do it. She told me she really likes it, but not to tell her friends. It seems that lesbians don't like people knowing that they enjoy doing domestic things, haha."

"Heh. Sometimes I wonder why you're majoring in Pre-Med. Maybe you would be happier studying art."

"No, Daddy. Crafts and sewing are what I do for enjoyment. My destiny is in physical therapy. It always was. I want to help kids with cerebral palsy and MS. I want to make a difference."

...

"..."I know, Andrea...I miss her too. It's like, when she left, all the life went out of me....Andrea, about that terrible night? Can I explain something?" Tom waited until she spoke.

"...Please Daddy, I don't want to talk about that. I have to put it all behind us. Please don't try to defend any of what you said. I have to end that hurt once and for all. With or without you, but I can't take any more of it. Please, okay?"

"Andrea, I said a whole lot of terrible things that night. But the ones that hurt you the most, I think you misunderstood what I meant. It doesn't excuse it, but you need to know. If you can't accept me after I tell you, well I'll just have to live with that. But you have the right to know. So please hear me out?" Hearing only silence, he continued.

"Sweety, I accused you of a lot of things that night. I want you to know a deep dark secret I've held and never told anyone before. I'm so ashamed. Almost from the day you were born, I was jealous of you. Your mom loved me deeply, but it was nothing like what she shared with you. And every time I saw you together, it was palpable how close the two of you were. It's silly I know, I never felt like I had to compete for you mom's affections, but when you and her were together, I felt less important to her somehow. And now that you're grown, you are the spitting image of your mom when we first started to date. You look like her, you think and act like her, and you even have her terrible temper! That night when I said I couldn't look at you, it was because every time I did, I saw your mother...You've forgotten but that awful night was the anniversary of the night I asked her to marry me."

"I missed her so much that day and the pain was so great, I went to the bar across from my office and I got as drunk as I could, hoping I'd just pass out...or at least dull the pain until that day was over. I was so 'way beyond driving, I took a taxi home. It took me several minutes just to unlock and open the door I was so messed up. Then the first thing I saw inside was you standing there in a dress very much like the one your mother was wearing the night I asked her for her hand. It almost caused me to have a flashback right then."

"I walked into the room and you got onto me for being drunk, and late for dinner and not even calling, and before I could start to explain, I just snapped. All those years I had tried to make you into something you weren't crashed into the image standing before me, and while I knew in my heart I was looking at my daughter, part of my brain had me standing there in front of your mother. The next thing, I was yelling at her for going away and leaving me here all alone, and I was yelling at you for being yourself, and for being a daily reminder of your mother, and I even accused you of killing off Andy."

"Of course you killed off Andy. Andy was just a mirage that existed in my tiny brain, and you knew that until I could see past it I'd never be able to see Andrea clearly. But alcohol does weird things to your senses, and I couldn't keep any of it straight. To tell the truth, I did mean all those things, but it's not what you thought. And I said them all in a very hurtful way, but I was really just trying to hurt the hurt. I never wanted to hurt you. Please believe me, my little Andrea..." Tom collapsed into sobs, repeating softly, "please believe me..."

Soon his sobs were echoed from the other end of the line.

After a minute or so Andrea softly said, "I believe you...Thank you...*sniff*...I know you never ever did anything intentionally to hurt me...I'm sorry I couldn't be your little boy...I really am. But I sucked at boy."

In spite of himself, Tom had to laugh. Smiling through his tears he said, "Yeah, you really did. You really sucked as a boy. Especially that time we went quail hunting and when the guide and I turned our backs you took his shotgun off the tailgate and unloaded it, then threw our ammo bag in the creek!" Hearing laughter on the other end, he allowed himself to laugh harder.

"Hey, it wasn't a complete waste! We had a nice picnic and we got some really great pictures! We would never have gotten back in there without his four by four. Besides, the guide wasn't even mad at me after he tasted my pita sandwiches. Of course he had to get over the sprouts instead of lettuce, but he liked them."

"Well if I'd known what you were going to do, I'd have just hired a photographer with a Jeep!"

"Sorry, Daddy, all the way up that mountain I was thinking how those poor birds hadn't done anything to us, why should we shoot them? You know Mom wouldn't have let us bring wild game home anyway. You remember what she did when your partner gave you that venison roast!"

"Don't remind me," Tom laughed. Boy was she mad that Fred killed Bambi, and expected us to enjoy eating her!

Tom and Andrea continued to replay their times together, this time not with hurt and anger, but with laughter at the charade it had been.

"What about the time I dumped all our fish out of the live well back into the lake? We had to drive 20 miles back to town so we could eat that night!" she replied between giggles. "And when we got back all our gear was wet from the tent collapsing in the thunderstorm while we were gone. We shivered all night, haha!"

He countered, "Or the time we went swimming at that hotel and I made you take off your shirt, then I stormed off with it and left you at the pool by yourself when I saw your tan lines? I still remember that angry woman that brought you to the room wrapped in a blanket, threatening to call the cops for leaving my daughter by herself! She said she found you crying because you lost your top!"

"I had forgotten that! Boy was she mad! I couldn't believe how mad she was. I didn't tell her I was so mad at you I kicked the planter and stubbed my toe, and that's why I was crying! I didn't dare try to tell her I was supposed to be a boy. I'm just glad I was able to convince her my friend ran off to get me a shirt."

"Yeah, otherwise, I'd have wound up in jail! Then you put on that lavender T shirt so she could have her blanket back, and I was soo embarrassed later taking you to the restaurant, and all we got was smiles," he chuckled. "Your Uncle Jake is right. You may have looked like a boy then but as soon as you moved the game was over. Everyone just assumed you were a tomboy. How could I not see it?"

...

"...Daddy quit beating yourself up over that. I really enjoyed every one of those trips we took together. Each and every family vacation was wonderful, but when it was just the two of us, well that was really special in its own way. I know that most of the time I embarrassed you and you and I argued over petty and stupid stuff. But never once did I ever think that you didn't love me or didn't want to be with me. Gosh! You have no idea how proud I was when we got to go somewhere for a couple days, and you'd take me halfway across the country in that corporate jet. How many kids can say their dad took them to the ballgame yesterday, only it was four states away? Most guys that could even do that would take a customer instead of their own kid."

"Well, I did my share of that too, Andrea. I just can't help feeling so guilty about being away so much."

"Daddy, st-o-o-o-o-p! Thanks to you I got to hike the Grand Canyon rim to rim, and get chased by a bear in Alaska, see the caribou migration in Canada, a volcano in Hawaii, gosh I can't even remember all the neat things we did. And every time you were there right beside me to show me what it was all about. You might have been gone a lot on business, but you more than made up for it when you were home. But of all the things we ever did together do you know what was the most fun?"

"What's that dear?"

"It's when the three of us would go to the mall and skate at the ice rink! I think I was the only kid in town whose parents both regularly made a family day there. I was so proud! Even when you'd flinch at my white skates and leggings, haha."

"Yeah, me too. Your mom loved to skate. Those were fun times."

...

"Oh, Andrea. What would I ever do without those memories? I really miss you."

"I miss you too Daddy." Silence followed, but it wasn't an uncomfortable one. Andrea finally asked, "Are you eating okay?"

"Yes, dear,...well no. The food you left me is still in the freezer. I haven't been home much since you left and I've been eating at all the greasy spoons close to work. The quiet gets to me at home....Hey wait a minute! Aren't I the one that's supposed to be asking that question? Although I already know the answer, you're the one that can turn a can of soup into a gourmet meal."

"I guess. But it's really hard to cook for just one, and Kelly, my roomate? Well she doesn't eat much. I'm helping her get over an eating disorder. Still, I'm always throwing away stuff."

...

"No, there isn't a boy. Not yet anyway. I'm still trying to figure out how I feel about all that. I mean, I'm a girl, but I just don't go all wobbly in the knees every time a hunky guy walks by. Considering my past, I'm a little afraid of guys anyway. Jessica and I are still working on that. But I'm okay with things as they are. Besides, until I get my surgery next year, I still feel a bit uneasy about it all. The girls in the other apartments have tried to get me interested in girls like them, but that's just not my thing either. Maybe I'll just join a convent after college!"

"Well honey, I'm sure things will work out for you. I think you'd make a great mom. And the guys just all go gaga over you. I've seen it time and again. Have you at least dated?"

"Well, a couple times in a group. The real problem is that compared to the other kids here I look like I'm twelve. And college guys are used to taking a girl to bed by their second date. So things don't get far, ever. We do go to this dance club once in a while though on Friday nights. A lot of the kids there just want to dance, so that's pretty fun."

...

"...Oh, I don't know. After your Mom left us, it seemed that I just didn't have any life left in me. I was completely numb, and I was just going through the motions. I had already stopped all the travel, your mom had wanted me to be close so I could help when there were problems with your school or others in the community. But since I seemed to always be picking a fight with you, I just started working more and more hours. I made sure that by the time I got home I'd be too tired to do anything but eat a little and go to bed. I even quit watching TV. That last night when I told you I couldn't relax around you is because I always found myself using you as a punching bag to work out my own problems. Guys need a sparring partner once in a while, and you are anything but a fighter. I'm so sorry, Andrea, as tough as it was for me when your mom left, I know it was even tougher for you. I should have been there for you. You've been even more alone than me."

"No Daddy, I should have tried a little harder to understand. I've had to grow up a lot this year, and I realize now that the world doesn't revolve around li'l ol' Andrea. It's hard to realize that when you're in the middle though, you know? And there's something else..."

"What's that, hon?"

"That awful night, when I screamed at you and told you you'd made my life a Steven King movie and you should wear a mask because you were the Freddy Krueger of fathers? Well, I couldn't believe I even said that. I just wanted to say the most hurtful thing I could think of. I wanted to stick the knife in and twist it, and I did. I was horrified when I saw the look on your face. I knew we couldn't continue like that, and if I stayed I was afraid I would do it again. I couldn't bear to see that look on your face again. That's why I left."

"The stupid thing is, I was just mad because you were late and I had burned the casserole trying to keep it warm. I should have known something was wrong when I saw you were drunk. I've never seen you drunk and crying except when Grandpa died. I started the fight that night, and what I should have done was give you hugs and a cup of coffee."

"You told me I wasn't a fighter but that's not true. I hate fighting with all my heart, but I'm really good at it. I've had to do it most of my life, at least until I was able to be Andrea all the time. But daddy? NEVER try to fight a girl. We never fight fair. I'm so sorry I hurt you. Please forgive me?"

...

"Andrea, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, I guess, what?"

"Tonight when I was dusting the den, I found all kinds of homemade things in there. Everything in there accented the room or me perfectly, so I know you didn't buy them. When did you make all that stuff?"

"Oh Daddy, I've been making stuff and putting it in there for years. Call it stupid but I just wanted so badly to be your little girl. All my girlfriends got along great with their dads, and I just wanted to too. So I thought if I made stuff and gave you little presents like that you'd eventually be able to see beyond Andy and see Andrea. I know it was kinda desperate, but I really did do all of them for love. I'm always making stuff anyway, so they aren't that big a deal. You can get rid of 'em if you don't like 'em."

"No no, Andrea!....Andi, they're beautiful and I love each and every one! Please forgive me though, I just never really noticed any of them before. I'm such an ass. I just found that beautiful quilt tonight, and it's over two years old! How could I be so blind? I.."

"Daddy! It's okay. You did notice. That's all I wanted. You told me I killed Andy. Can I just be your little Andrea now? I still need a daddy, and I always wanted you to be mine.....Will you?...Do you want to?" *sniff*

"Andrea! What a silly question! Of course I want to! The question is, will you still have me?"

"...please, I would like that more than anything..." she whispered.

"There's just one thing," Tom said, conditionally.

"What's that?" Andrea asked in a frightened tone.

"How did you manage to turn a photograph into a quilt, and turn it into a piece of art at the same time? I want to know all the details!"

"Wellll,,,,," Andrea giggled, in a relieved voice, "It wasn't trivial, but first I scanned it, then..."

-O-

Tom blinked as a pinpoint of light flashed across his face. Looking toward the source, he realized it was sunlight, penetrating a small hole in the blinds. Shocked, he saw it was after 6:00AM.

"Oh Andrea, it's after six! I've kept you up all night, and now you have to go to work! I'm so sorry, I can't seem to get anything right."

"It's okay, I'll just call in and cancel. I was just going in to help Billy do the injections. It takes a while to inject 200 rats. But he's not expecting me anyway, I was just returning the gesture. He came in last week and helped so I could go to a concert. He's really nice that way."

"Rats? Okay, too much information. Really, Andrea, why work at all? You know that you can use your trust fund for anything you need or even want. There's enough in it to buy a house, for cryin' out loud. And why ride a bike when you can drive the Saab? Don't tell me about gas, the answer to that is the same too."

"Daddy, I sold the Saab."

Tom sat straight up from his reclining position on the bed. "WHAT?!? You sold it? Whatever for? That car's custom built! It's worth.."

"Dad! I know what it's worth. Okay I'm sorry I sold your baby. You gave it to me to do with as I pleased, but everywhere I went in it everyone frowned at me like I was just a spoiled little rich girl, which I guess I am. When I left I was so mad at you I didn't want to leave any traces for you to find me, so I called Sal and cancelled the insurance on it and after I sold it I bought a five year old Beetle. I was afraid you'd track me down through the motor vehicle department. Please don't be angry, I needed the money for my apartment and other expenses. And my vee-dub is a pretty good car, even if I hardly need one. Besides, the guy that bought the Saab can affor d it and he's taking really good care of it. I see him polishing on it almost every day."

"You see it every day? Where is it?"

"You know I said my apartment has a bunch of lesbians living here? Well the place across the street has a bunch of gay guys living there. Some of them have really nice rides. And a lot of them are really huge, buff guys. The guy I sold it to is one of those really huge buff guys, and now he has the nicest ride of the bunch. And he and all his friends watch out for us girls. Sometimes Danica in the next apartment and I go over and sample cheese and wine with them on their patio by the pool. It's kinda nice to just be friends and know none of them are going to try anything ...

Look Daddy, Kelly is going to be up soon, and if I'm here she's going to want me to go run with her. So I better go and at least take a shower and wash my face. Okay?"

"Well I'm glad to know you're safe, at least. Andi, could I see you? I know you said I can't come around, but could you come see me? Maybe go out to dinner or something? I really miss you, honey."

"Yeah, I'd like that. Maybe I will come by the house. It's probably a real wreck by now, haha!"

"Actually, it's still just like you left it. Except everything is covered in dust. And it echos like a tomb in there. And I really messed it up last night. I tried to dust and really made a mess of things. I even used ^*Old English on the mirrors! You wouldn't believe the streaks!"

"HAHAHAHA! Well you never were one for housework. Okay, how about tomorrow, Sunday afternoon? I'll come over about one, and show you enough so you won't embarrass yourself to the housekeeper you're going to hire, then we'll go out to Salvatores after. That sound good?"

Tom noted instantly that Andrea had deliberately suggested his favorite restaurant, the one where all his cronies hung out. If he wouldn't take her there, it would take her a lot longer for her to be convinced that things had changed. Well it was about time he started showing off his daughter! After all, how many of them had such a smart and beautiful and talented daughter of seventeen already in her second year of college?

"Excellent! Bring a nice dress to change into okay? Maybe that blue one? And comfortable shoes, in case you might consent to a dance or two with your old man? Remember Tony, the maitre' D? He asked about you just last week. He said he hadn't seen you in ages... Andi...I know this isn't going to be easy for either of us. Stick with me honey, I'm trying. Okay?

"....Okay...Daddy!.....Oh Daddy, I'm going to hang up now....just...just..."

"Just what, dear?" he asked softly.

"Just...thanks."

"For what dear?"

"This...well...this...this...it's just that this is the first time you ever really talked to Andrea...Thank you...Daddy.." **sniff**

"Well it's about time, isn't it? Goodbye, sweetheart, take a nap today, okay?"

"Sure Daddy, see you tomorrow. Bye," she said softly before breaking the connection.

Tom gently laid the phone in its cradle. He grabbed a tissue from the bedstand and blew his nose. He noticed his PJ top was stiff with dried tears and the sweat from under his arms. He felt like he'd just run a marathon, and smelled like it too. As he moved to the dresser to get things for a shower, he stopped and lovingly picked up Carol's photo. He smiled, then brought it to his lips and kissed it.

"Thank you, dear. I couldn't have done it without you. Stay with me okay? Teach me to become her Daddy? Don't ever let me screw up with her again...I miss you..."

He carefully replaced the frame on the dresser and headed off to the shower. That was going to feel so good, but nothing like the sleep he knew would follow. Perhaps he'd polish up the Harley later today and see if would start. As he turned toward the bath, he made himself a mental note to spread some Old English on all the mirrors downstairs before Sunday.

-fine-

Please don't forget to comment. I Would really appreciate it! If you don't have an account you may log in as 'guest reader' (no quotes) and use the password 'topshelf' (all in lower case, again without quotes). Thank you.

^*Old English is a wood furniture polish with silicone oil. It leaves furniture very shiny but is very difficult to remove from painted surfaces or glass.