By Likegoodwine copyright June 2013
I often write about cheating spouses with some levity - if not downright humor - but I sometimes need to acknowledge that the event can be a shattering experience for a family. Serie Noire is my place to write about the real life dramas. Each story is a standalone. If you didn't like the two first stories of Serie Noire, don't read this one.
However, this one has a good ending. There is no explicit sex scene in this tale.
I am also experimenting with writing at the third person instead of the more personal first person writing. Bear with me!
Thank to Scalia for his patient editing.
Your votes and constructive comments are appreciated.
Chapter 1 -- Lost in a sea of sorrow
The young woman came into the soup kitchen. She was obviously ill at ease to be among so many broken spirits. Even more so as she was wearing designer jeans and sweater, as well as nice Italian shoes, an outfit that could feed a family here for a month.
There was a hush over the crowd as men, women, and children all stopped eating to look at that gorgeous creature from another sphere of the world.
"Little rich brat coming to slum" was the prevalent thought going through the minds of many regulars of the soup kitchen.
There were still a few laggards in line waiting to be served their evening meal but most people were already sitting and eating. Even the volunteers helping the soup kitchen were curious and were looking at her.
She shrugged away her discomfort, gathered as much courage as she could, and walked toward the line-up. All the way, she kept looking at the people around the tables... and they looked back at her. Most were simply curious, but a few were really not friendly. None had enough energy to be hostile though.
She was out of her element and she knew it. A whistle resounded from the rear of the room, making the young woman self-conscious. More whistles and catcalls soon followed it. One of the volunteer spoke up.
"Hey that's enough," he simply said. "Go back to eat."
He must have been well respected because the whole crowd quickly became silent. Bit by bit, the sound of spoons and forks raking against the plates was again the only sound that could be heard. It wasn't normal because chatter was typically the prevalent sound at mealtime.
The young woman finally reached the man who had spoken earlier. She noticed the little crucifix affixed to the collar of his polo shirt. 'A priest of some kind,' she thought.
"Good evening sir," she said to the middle age man. "I am Mary Crozier and I am looking for my father. His name is Richard Crozier..."
"Few of them use their whole name, miss!" interrupted the man. "I know a few that go by the name of Rick or Dick. By the way, my name is Dean Jones. Why are you looking for him in here?"
Reverend Dean was looking Mary up and down. She looked so out of place.
Mary took a picture of her father, a picture taken almost 20 years earlier.
"I swear that I saw him around here yesterday," Mary said. "I had taken a wrong exit and ended on 47th Street. I stopped at a red light and I looked at this man. Despite the beard and the many years since I last saw him, I could swear it was my father. He almost tripped in front of the car and I had a good look at him. Because of the traffic, I wasn't able to follow him."
Reverend Dean looked closely at the picture. "Ah! He looks familiar," he said. "Why would you think he would be here? We are three long blocks away from 47th."
"Well, er... he looked a bit like er... destitute," she said, barely loud enough to be heard over the buzz from the crowd of eaters. She clearly hesitated at the word 'destitute'. "I drove around last evening and again after work today. I though maybe that he could be here. I'm sorry, I don't want to be judgmental but I really want to find him."
"It's alright miss," answered Reverend Dean trying to appease Mary's discomfort. "Many are down on their luck, that's for sure. Destitute is not a bad description either. It beats people calling them bums."
A big muscled heavily tattooed volunteer snickered beside them.
Reverend Dean handed back the old picture to Mary. But before Mary grabbed it, he turned around and showed it to the big guy.
"Hey Luke! Seen this guy around?" asked the Reverend. "He looks familiar."
Luke looked at the picture for a fleeting second.
"Yep! He used to come here often," said Luke. "Now he comes once in a while, mostly at the months' end. Probably when he runs out of food. He was here yesterday."
Mary grabbed the picture handed back by Reverend Dean and dug a business cards out of her handbag. She gave one each.
"Please, I lost sight of my father more than 15 years ago," pleaded Mary. "I really would like to find him."
"And why is that?" asked Reverend Dean.
It's a long story," answered Mary.
Reverend Dean lifted a finger at Mary to ask her to wait a bit. He grabbed two plates, went further down the line, scooped some mash potatoes, mixed veggies and some meatloaf in them. He came back toward Mary.
"I guess you didn't eat yet tonight," he asked. Mary shook her head negatively. "Well grabbed a couple of forks and let's eat. You can tell me your story."
"Is it alright with you Luke?" asked Reverend Dean.
Luke only gave him a thumb up as an answer.
A few people moved further down the table to leave some room for the Reverend and Mary.
"Thanks guys!" the Reverend said. "It's appreciated."
"So? What's the story?" asked Reverend Dean before attacking his meat loaf.
"I was eight years old when our life changed forever," started Mary. "We had an happy life I assumed but one day my grandma Crozier came to school to get me and my sister Annie -- she was 6. The next day, our mom came. She had an awful row with grandma. She took us to her mom and dad and never told us why we couldn't go home."
Mary was lost in years past. She played a bit with the mixed vegetables, picked one single pea and ate it.
"A few days later, we went back home. Daddy wasn't there," continued Mary, her eyes damp from unshed tears. "We asked Mom, but she always kept telling that Daddy was gone and would never come back. Not long after that we moved away. I never saw my father or my grandma again."
She waited a bit, playing with her mashed potatoes. She seemed to hesitate to continue the story. Reverend Dean put a gentle hand over her left hand resting on the table.
"Miss, it's alright!" he said kindly. "I heard everything a pastor will ever hear. There is one thing I insist of you though."
Mary looked at him questioningly.
"We spend a lot of time and energy to collect donation to pay for these meals and to cook it," he said pointing at her untouched plate. "Please, eat your meal so it doesn't go to waste."
"Oh, of course, yes!" said Mary obviously embarrassed by her behavior. "I'm sorry. I was just lost in thought."
She took a big mouthful of meatloaf, then another of mashed potatoes and veggies.
"So?" prodded Reverend Dean. "What was he in jail for?"
Mary was totally surprised that Dean had assumed so much from the few words said.
"How..." she started to say.
"I told you I've heard and seen everything. Please continue."
"Yes, he was in jail," resumed Mary. "My mom and grandma Reagan refused to tell us why, but I later did some research. He was convicted of second-degree murder in a... in a domestic dispute. Other research showed that grandma Crozier tried and failed to get a court order to be able to see us and take us to visit her son. She had a stroke and we never saw her again. The worst is that grandpa Crozier was already deceased and she lingered between life and death in an hospital for six months, all alone."
She stopped talking to finish up her plate. She looked proudly at Reverend Dean.
"I was eight when I last saw my father. I have this last picture of him because I was able to hide it from my mother. I took it the day she cleaned out our photo albums. I dug it from the garbage. Anyway, Mom remarried not long after we moved to Idaho. She died in a car accident two years ago. As nothing really kept me attached to Idaho, I decided to get a job around here. I did contact the state correctional administration but was unable to find my father. He served seven years and was released on probation. I found no trace of him after his probation ended."
"But, Miss, why would you like to find him? He's a murderer after all," asked the Reverend.
"Nobody never told us the whole story," said Mary.
"And I can't believe he was a brutal murderer," she added vehemently. "He was a nice and gentle man. I need to know why this happened to us and... and..."
She was unable to continue. Tears were streaking down her cheeks.
"And what?" asked Reverend Dean.
Mary stroked her midsection.
"And he will be grandfather in 5 months," said Mary softly. "I missed him growing up. I want him to be around when I raise my child."
Reverend Dean took her two hands in his. His own eyes were also brimming with unshed tears.
"And 'THAT' is a very good reason," he said. "If you please, leave me the picture and I will start asking around. I will let you know by the end of the week."
Mary gave him back the picture. She then finished her plate clean. She looked at Reverend Dean with pride.
"I finished everything, Reverend," she said. "You spoke of donation earlier, where can I donate?"
Reverend Dean showed a small box at the beginning of the line.
Mary got up and went to the box. She opened her handbag, got her wallet, and fished out a $100 bill out of it, that she inserted in the slit on top of the box. Luke, as well as many regulars of the soup kitchen saw the thickness of her wallet.
