Lindsay's Love Letters

The words replay inside my head, over and over again.

"What happened?" Lindsay asks, looking from the sheriff's deputy to me, and back. "Did she run off the road? Was she drinking?"

"We don't know. We're still conducting our investigation," the officer explains, glancing around the front room as we both sit on the couch, Lindsay holding my arm like she normally does. The officer keeps glancing at Lindsay, like there's something wrong.

"She was just here," I say, shaking my head.

"When?" the officer asks, leaning over and looking at something on the coffee table in front of us. It's nothing more than junk mail, and I try to act nonchalant about the whole thing.

"Last night. Uh... Before we went to sleep," I say, glancing at Lindsay.

The officer looks at me and then stares at Lindsay for a long moment. "Was she acting strange?" he asks, turning back to me. "Did she seem strange? Erratic? Did she seem confused at all?"

"No," Lindsay says quickly, as if there was nothing wrong, at all.

"No," I say, repeating what Lindsay said.

"Nothing?" The officer asks, his head slowly turning to focus on Lindsay.

"She, uh..." I say, wondering if I should say it or not. I feel like if I don't this dickhead is going to stand here all day, drilling, until he strikes oil. I've had enough. I want him to get him the fuck out of here, without me being rude and asking him to get the fuck out. I look up to see him staring at Lindsay, again.

"Could you not do that?" I ask.

"Do what?" The officer asks.

"Stare... at my daughter," I say sharply. The officer turns and gives me one of those, "I wasn't staring- but she's hot" kind of looks. I decide to just come out with it. "She, Linda, left me... and Lindsay, a long time ago. Sixteen years... ago. She just showed up... a couple of days ago."

"Hmmm. And did she say anything to you? Anything that would indicate she was going to hurt herself?"

"No," I say quickly. "She uh.... She wanted to come back," I say.

"To be with you?" The officer asks.

"Well, I would assume so," I say. "I mean, why would she come to me if she didn't want to be with me?" I shake my head, and then I get a weird feeling about the whole situation. "What... ahhh," I ask, shaking my head. "What precinct did you say you were with?"

"Highway patrol," the officer says, pointing at his badge which until this very moment, looked completely legit. "Okay, well... I think I've got everything I need here."

"When will I get more information? Is there a report number?" I ask, standing up as the officer casually walks toward the front door.

"We'll contact you," he says, his hands grabbing his web-belt and pulling his pants up a bit. My eyes go to his right hip and I don't see a gun there. In fact, I don't see any weapon on him at all.

"I thought all cops carry guns," I say.

"Ahhhh. Yeah, not all Highway Patrol though. I have a thing... against guns."

"A cop who doesn't carry?" I ask.

The guy chuckles. "You'd be surprised how many officers don't like carrying," the officer says, and I see, for the first time, the guy's pants look like they're too long, and like they're folded at the bottom, rather than hemmed to the right length.

"Alright. I'll leave the two of you to it," the officer says, opening the door and stepping outside, closing the door behind himself.

"Who in the fuck," I say, standing up and hurrying over to the door to stare through the peephole at his back as he walks away.

"What's wrong?" Lindsay asks.

"I... I don't think that guy was real."

"Daddy, I saw him," Lindsay laughs.

"No. I don't think he was a real officer. Watch. Go to the window and see what his car looks like. Where did he park?" I ask, still staring out through the peephole.

"He's walking... he's walking across the grass."

"What?"

"Yeah. He's going to the neighbor's house."

"What the fuck?" I ask myself, opening the door and hurrying outside. I get around the front corner and stop to stare as the officer knocks on the front door of my neighbor's house, and then he waits. A few seconds later, Harry, my Swedish next-door neighbor, answers the door, and a second later, the officer goes inside.

"Where did he go?" Lindsay asks.

"Harry's," I reply. "He went inside."

"You think he knows Harry?" Lindsay asks me.

"No," I say, hurrying back to the bedroom. "No, I don't think he's a real sheriff's deputy. Which means, I'm seriously doubting anything he said was true."

"Why would he come here then?" Lindsay asks, watching as I throw on clothes and socks and then a belt.

"To get information. To get inside the house. Did you see how he was looking at our mail? How he was staring at you?"

Lindsay shakes her head.

"I'm telling you. Something is not right. Get dressed. We're leaving."

Lindsay darts from my room and into her own. She comes out a second later wearing a bright green mesh bra and a matching pair of panties, tugging a shirt on over her head and carrying a pair of blue jeans and something else I can't see.

"Hurry up!" I yelp, ramming my feet into my shoes and yanking my jacket on.

Lindsay hurries. She tugs tiny white socks onto her feet and then threads her calves into her jeans, pulling them up over her thighs. I grab hold of her pants and lift her off the ground, snugging her jeans into place and Lindsay gives me a yelp of approval. "Thanks," she says quickly, shoving her feet into her shoes.

"You're welcome," I say, thinking if she didn't wear skin-tight clothing, she wouldn't need my help getting them on, then again... seeing her in those jeans was a sight for sore eyes.

"What happens if he comes back?" Lindsay asks me, grabbing her own jacket and then rushing to the bathroom. She returns with the handle of a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Brushing my teeth!" She yelps, jerking the toothbrush back and forth vigorously a hundred or so times before rushing to the kitchen sink and spitting foam into the drain. "Okay, let's go."

"Nothing spells urgency like stopping to brush your teeth," I say as we grab our phones. I open the door and we rush out, me locking it behind us.

"We're taking both vehicles?" Lindsay asks.

"Yeah," I say, and Lindsay ducks into her vehicle as I get into mine. "Go to Sally-Anne's. We'll get breakfast and figure out what to do next. If you need anything, call," I say.

Lindsay nods and we both pull out at the same time. I wait while she gets on the road, and then I follow. I look all around, trying to find out where the "sheriff" parked his patrol cruiser, but I see nothing. No police cruiser... not even a regular car. Nothing.

As we drive into town, I also don't see any sign of an accident. There are no smashed trees, no tire tracks, no police tape, nothing. A few minutes later we pull into Sally-Anne's and Lindsay jumps out of her vehicle and heads for the door of the restaurant.

"I didn't see anything," Lindsay says as she opens the door.

"Neither did-," I stop talking and back up as Linda opens the door and smiles at the both of us.

"Coming to join me for breakfast?" She asks.

"No," I say, taking another step back.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Lindsay asks, earning a frown from Linda.

"I'm having breakfast at the one good place in this shit-ass town. Just like most other people," Linda says, giving me a disapproving look as if I've let her down in my choice of places to live.

"Just go away," Lindsay says, stepping back and turning around.

I turn too, heading back toward my truck.

"You know, you can make this a lot easier and just sit down and talk," Linda says, still standing in the doorway to the restaurant.

"He doesn't want to talk to you," Lindsay says loudly.

"Well, maybe he'll want to talk to his son," Linda says loudly, tossing a business card into the air and she lets the door close.

Lindsay stares at the card for a long moment, and then she goes and picks it up. She brings it over and hands it to me, squinting in the morning sunlight as it begins peeking over the horizon. She turns and looks back at the building and then back at me. "You think she's telling the truth?"

"I don't know," I say, staring at the business card for another moment. There's a name and a number on the card and nothing else. I flip the card over and then again before putting it in my pocket.

"She named him Maximus?" Lindsay asks me.

I shake my head. I don't see how, or why she would have done that. I look at Lindsay, voicing my thoughts. "If he was mine, she would have... I mean... it's possible. But she'd have to sleep with me, get pregnant, and then leave, keep it a secret, come back..." I think of the timeline of events way back, twenty years prior. "She'd have to come back, keep it a secret... she left... six months later she was back..." I look down at Lindsay's feet and shake my head again. "I can't be sure but... if she's telling the truth."

"Then he's my brother," Lindsay says ominously.

"Yeah," I say, squinting at the sun jabs me right in the fucking eyeball, making my eyes water. "Most likely."

"You wanna go in?" Lindsay asks me.

"No," I say, closing one eye and rubbing the other. "I want to get the fuck outta the direct sunlight."

"That sunrise is killer," Lindsay chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. "Look. If we go in and talk, no biggie. Just remember rule number sixty-nine."

"What's rule number sixty-nine?" I ask, knowing she's making a joke.

"You're not taking her back," Lindsay says in a deathly serious tone of voice.

"I'm not taking her back," I repeat. "What's rule five through sixty-eight?" I ask.

"The same. You're not taking her back."

I nod, smiling, and Lindsay turns around. "Let's go talk to this conniving bitch so we can get this over with. I'm starving."

"I wonder what happened to her getting in a car accident?" I ask as Lindsay opens the door and we walk in.

"I guess we're going to find out," Lindsay says and a moment later we're sitting across from Linda at a table big enough for a dozen people, but it's just the three of us. Me, Lindsay, and Linda. One big happy family... not.

"So," Linda says, giving both of us a flat almost expressionless look. "Now you wanna talk."

"What's this about a son?" I ask, but before Linda can answer, the waitress comes over to take our orders.

"I'll have the usual," I say. The waitress, Cindy, knows me and Lindsay well. Linda, not so much, and Linda makes her pay for it by asking way too many questions and then ordering the bare minimum.

"I'll just have scrambled eggs, plain. No seasoning."

"Do you want salt?" Cindy asks.

"Is salt a seasoning?" Linda replies.

Cindy gives Linda a condescending look and then turns to Lindsay. "How about you hon?"

"Two eggs over easy, toast, buttered, a biscuit with gravy, sausage links, and I want salt. I like salt." Lindsay gives me a glance and I keep my face stone cold. Was she trying to make a joke? Or trying to give us away? Or was she just saying she likes salt?

"If you need extra salt, there's a shaker on the table," Linda says and Lindsay ignores her.

"Got it. I'll be right back with your drinks," Cindy says and she walks away.

"She's not getting a tip from me," Linda says once Cindy is out of hearing range.

"So where's my brother?" Lindsay asks quickly. "Why isn't he here? And if-"

"Oh, you're going to have your hands full really soon," Linda laughs, cutting Lindsay off and focusing her conversation on me.

"I already do," I say, and I add, "and she's great," just so there's no misunderstanding.

"Yeah, well... I had that same enthusiasm when I was her age. Well, you remember, don't you? Always running around, sowing my wild oats whenever I could. It's so exciting," she says, turning to Lindsay as her expression sours. "Until someone beats it out of you."

Lindsay looks mortified and she struggles to not look at me, but there's no need. I've never touched Linda in anger. Never. I was... too dumb to realize she was using me.

"I never touched a hair on your head," I say flatly and Linda sighs.

"I wasn't talking about you," she says, refolding her napkin on the table in front of her. "Obviously. Your father is way too civilized for that sort of thing. Straight shooter. Never did anything wrong in his entire life. Boring."

"So why do you want to come back then?" Lindsay asks as Cindy brings me and Lindsay orange juice and Linda her coffee.

"So he can see his son," Linda says. "Get to know him. He probably didn't even know he existed, until now."

"How do you know he's mine?" I ask. Linda smiles, obviously, she's been waiting for the question and has a pre-selected answer waiting in store.

"Well, a number of reasons. One, the timing is right. Two, the resemblance is uncanny, really. Three, nobody has ever been able to get a child on me, except you... twice now." She looks at Lindsay as if dissecting her. "You know, you could really use some eye serum there. Just a bit under the eyes. Are you getting enough sleep?"

Lindsay sits up looking insulted. "I get enough sleep," she says, and I can tell she wants to say something sarcastic, something just as devious as Linda, but doing so would divulge our secret, and she's not about to break the cardinal rule. Linda would have a field day... or worse. I have no idea what she would do. Nobody does when they hear something as shocking as a father and his daughter... together.

"Well. I'm used to sleeping surrounded by the sounds of Mother Nature, all around. The tropics can be amazing at night. Sometimes it's crashing waves, and other times it's those little buzzing insects or bird calls. It really just depends on where I'm traveling at the time."

"You travel a lot?" Lindsay asks.

"Extensively," Linda says, putting her napkin on her lap as Cindy brings our food and sets the plates down.

I ask Cindy for some hot sauce while Lindsay asks for some jelly. Linda sends her food back complaining it has a weird taste and insisting the cook used salt while cooking her eggs. Cindy takes the plate back without complaint, and I hear her explain to John, the cook, that the "lady" with Magnus and Lindsay is picky. "Don't use butter, don't use anything. Cook it in the Teflon pan so it doesn't stick."

"You want me to" John asks Cindy and I cant hear the rest of what he says, but Cindy answers with a resounding "No". "Just the eggs, nothing else. Nothing."

I turn back to Linda who is watching Lindsay as she takes her first bite.

"You turned out just as I had hoped," Linda says with half a smile.

"Yeah?" Lindsay says, speaking with her mouth full and making Linda lose what little smile she had. "No thanks to you."

"Well, your father was-"

"Alone?" Lindsay says, cutting Linda off. "I know. You left me and him all alone, remember?"

Linda smirks and turns back to me. "If you want to see Raphael, we're staying at the motor lodge off fifty-one," Linda says flatly.

"That dive?" Lindsay asks.

"I'm not about to spend good money on a shit-hole town like this," Linda says snidely. "It's one of the many reasons I left. There's no room to grow here. No opportunity. No-"

"Diego," I say, taking a bite of my food. "There was no Diego. You hooked up with him, and you left. You never complained about this place. You never-"

"I complained all the time!" Linda says sharply. "All the time! You see you never listen! You didn't listen then, and you don't listen now."

"So you don't want to come back, you want to tell me I have a son, and then leave again."

Linda folds her hands in her lap and shakes her head. "I'm willing to compromise. I'm older, wiser... I've settled down. I'm not running off looking for excitement and adventure. I'm ready to settle down. Live a quiet life. This town is, well... the definition of quiet."

Cindy returns with a plate of shriveled-up eggs that look like they were cooked with no milk, no butter, no salt, no care at all. Linda smiles and slides the plate in front of her, takes a bite, and then grabs the salt shaker, sprinkling salt on her eggs. Lindsay looks like she's going to explode.

"I thought you didn't like salt?" Lindsay asks from behind a mouth full of biscuit and gravy.

"I never said I don't like salt," Linda says smartly. "I said I don't want any seasoning. You can't appreciate the taste of food unless you eat it in its raw form. If it needs salt, you add salt. But you never just order food with salt on it already. It defeats the purpose."

"So, how old is Raphael?" I ask.

"He's twenty-one," Linda replies quickly.

"When did you have him?"

"Remember the time I went to Brazil for that study group?"

"And you were gone for like, six months," I reply.

Linda smirks. "You were always pining for me, weren't you? And the entire time, you had no idea I was carrying your baby."

"Why wouldn't you tell me," I say, shaking my head.

"Well... I didn't know how you would take it," Linda says. "I was barely nineteen. I was confused. Alone. I-"

"Where did you take him? Three... three and a half years and Lindsay being born? You said nothing?"

"He was with my mother," Linda says flatly, taking another bite of her eggs. "I took him there and told my mother, if you ever came looking for him, to say he was my nephew. I had no idea what you would do. Probably accuse me of having another man's child." Linda turns to Lindsay, a proud look on her face. "Just like you did with Lindsay here."

Lindsay turns and gives me a questioning look, but then turns back to Linda. "If I was him, and you were fucking every asshole that wagged his dick at you, I'd question it too."

"Oh ho," Linda says, shaking her head. "You really have pulled the wool over her eyes, haven't you?"

"No," I say flatly.

"Well, obviously you have. You didn't tell her about the cheating, the pornography, the parties? Did he tell you about the orgies?"

I narrow my eyes at Linda, a clear warning. If she wants to go recounting our previous lives, she better be ready to reckon with the ramifications.

"Why don't you ask your father what really happened?"

Lindsay gives me a quizzical look, but then turns back to Linda. "I already know what happened."

"Oh, you do?" Linda says, her surprise and delight sounding more like a sneer than anything else. "So then, he told you how he whored me out to all his friends then?"

Lindsay frowns and I can't help but hold my breath. It was like that. It was a different time and things were different back then. But I know Linda is not going to say that. It sounds as if she's going to go for the jugular. If she does, well, she's just cutting her own throat.

"The first party your father took me to, when we were just dating, was a frat house filled with a hundred horny young guys, just like him. He decided then, he wanted to share me. Show me off to all his friends, parade me around in front of them with half my clothes off, and then let them fuck me," Linda says, her voice lowering so only we, at our table, can hear her. "Oh, I don't deny I loved every bit of it. But don't let your daddy there brainwash you into thinking he was some innocent victim in all of this. He turned me into a whore. That's what he wanted. The slut-wife. And I gave that to him. But even that wasn't enou-"

"Enough!" I say loudly, fed up with her bullshit. "Were we young, and dumb and crazy? Yes. Was I drunk out of my mind?" I ask. "Yes. And when I decided to get sober, you decided I wasn't any fun anymore. What did you call it? Oh yeah. Whining. I was whining like a little kid because I wanted my wife, to be home for a little while."

"I was home enough to suck and fuck and entertain your friends," Linda says sharply. "Whenever I'd get home, that was the first thing you wanted to do. You couldn't stay out of my panties for more than five minutes and you know it."