In the taxi heading home from the airport, Trevor prepared himself for the evening ahead. Since his wife’s death, arriving home after a trip was challenging. Wrung out from wrangling a deal with his foreign counterparts, he’d be assailed by his two children bursting to talk or to listen. His fifteen year-old son, Wesley, would expound loudly on what he had discovered on-line, his unspoken question being, Did you get what I asked for? His eighteen-year old daughter, Kelsey, would be anxious to hear if his presentation was well received and whether his medication had eased his stomach pain. As Kelsey was skilled at reading his face, he’d have to struggle to appear optimistic about both his work and his health.

Trevor suddenly realized that in his haste to catch the plane he hadn’t bought even an airport gift for Kelsey. As always he had something for his son, never a problem to shop for. Wesley had given details of the latest electronic device, which his son had insisted he needed, and thanks to his assistant, Larry, Trevor was coming home gift in hand.

Kelsey, on the other hand, was not an easy person to buy for, always insisting that she was too old for gifts and that all she wanted was that he came home safely. However, in light of her recent revelation, it was important he show his daughter, if only though gifts, that he loved her whatever her life decisions.

This was not an easy time for any of them but particularly for Kelsey. Not only was her personal life unchartered country but she was also struggling with her first year at University and continuing to volunteer as a Big Sister.

Just come home safely dad, she had said when he left, now nervous when her father went away. Of course, of course, he had said gruffly, although recent experience had i underscored that one could make no promises about mortality.

As the taxi approached their street, Trevor noticed that the hill was dangerously icy and instructed the driver to drop him at the bottom. Once out in the chilled air, he stood for a moment under the pale streetlight dithering about what to do.

As he slipped on his gloves, he noticed that a nearby bush still had a few vibrant red flowers. They seemed an appropriate token for his daughter until he could get her something more substantial. He’d just take a couple of blossoms: each was like a small bouquet in itself. It’s the thought that counts, as Brenda would have said. He leaned over the fence and snapped off two large blooms.

What the hell are you doing? a female voice squawked from the heavens. Startled, Trevor dropped his suitcase on his foot and slithered into the fence. Looking up, he caught sight of a scrawny woman leaning out the 2nd floor window.

Sorry, he called up.

He had thought the house deserted. The yard was overgrown like the illustration for Sleeping Beauty although no prince would come for the hag at the window.

That is my only blossoming bush. Go buy yourself flowers if you want them. You have enough money.

Sorry, he shouted wagging his head in a smile. He wondered how she knew about his financial situation.

Concerned that the street would soon echo with neighbors poking their noses out their front doors and asking, Can we help? Trevor moved closer to the fence and called up that he had forgotten to get his daughter a present and delighted by the wonderful blooms had on the spur of the moment thought to pick a few. I didn’t know anyone lived here.

Our family’s been here for thirty years. You’re just too cheap to buy flowers.

No really, he protested. I’ll pay you. He fumbled in his wallet and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill.

Keep your money, she said, Bring me the daughter, then I’ll believe you.

I’ll show you a photo.

Bring her.

The window slammed shut. He looked at the two blooms in his hand which he now saw were well past their best by date. Although they were hardly worth the trouble, the deed was done. The window opened again, And make it soon, tomorrow morning before 12 if you don’t want your story on Twitter.

Twitter? That was all he needed. The CEO was already fuming when he had refused to move back east to fill in for a sick colleague. Those kids are old enough to look after themselves, she had snapped.

That evening after getting updates on the past week: Wesley’s exams, Kelsey’s volunteer job, his housekeeper Linda’s ongoing arguments with her son, and the breakdown of the dishwasher, he told his daughter about the altercation with the woman at the bottom of the block.

The daughter came back after her mom died, Kelsey said. She’s obviously distraught.

As were his children when their mother recently died. Wesley had dug a hole and spent most waking hours romancing his computer and Kelsey fretted about what she could do career wise to honor her mother. Your mom wanted you to do what you want, her father had insisted, hoping it didn’t mean she’d leave him for some distant university.

Three weeks earlier, his daughter had dropped the bomb; she was gay. Apparently, she had confided in her mother but kept it from him, until an appropriate time whatever that meant.

He didn’t understand why she had waited. They had friends, a single woman and a male couple who were gay although to date no one in the family was. He wondered where it came from. Was it something he had done?

Surprised and confused, he had been quick to point out the problems Kelsey would face and worried how he was to guide his daughter though a world he didn’t know? Lacking Brenda’s counsel, he resorted to books, but reading and action were different. Would his daughter lose out on the wonder of having children? Would he ever have a grandchild?

Tired from the trip, Trevor excused himself and headed to bed early. He had intended to sleep in the next morning but it was not to be. His daughter roused him, and a hearty breakfast of all the things his doctor had said to avoid pork sausages, fried eggs and buttered toast lured him to the kitchen. He was hurried though the feast by Kelsey’s urging, Let’s get this over with.

They slipped their way down the sidewalk, grabbing at fences where available, to the corner house, which looked dark and deserted. Looks like she is having a sleep in, Trevor said, We can leave a note and bring a bouquet of flowers over this afternoon.

Da, you can’t just buy things to fix problems, Kelsey said.

They knocked on the door and heard a loud shuffling. Although they had only knocked once, an impatient coming from inside.

As the door swung open, a fuggy warm smell wafted into the cold air. The woman, younger than he had thought in fact almost as young as his daughter was leaning forward on a cane like a fairy tale witch.

So you’re the daughter, she said to Kelsey smiling and bringing to the haggard face a surprising glow. Come in, come in. As they started forward the girl pushed him back with her cane. Not you, you can wait outside. Or go home. Your daughter is old enough to be on her own.

Go ahead, dad. You need to have a rest after your trip, his daughter insisted and the door was slammed in his face.

Who was this woman? He paced about in front of the house and then seeing that Mrs. Bower was watching from across the street gave the old lady a wave and moved up the hill.

What did that woman & well girl want? What did Kelsey want? They obviously knew one another. Was she someone Kelsey had met at a gay club? Kelsey was naive, and always expected the best of everyone. Was this girl a suitable friend? This was new territory.

Were Brenda alive he could have gone home and talked about it. She would have laughed at him, calling him an old fuddy-duddy. He could hear her chiding him to move aside. In this part of the story you’re no longer the hero.

And, as usual, she would be right. He was a walk-on in a play that he had not read to the end. He was a walk-on who now had to walk off.

~ Melodie Corraigall

Published in The Conclusion Magazine, Issue 4, Feb.2019.