The highway was almost empty when I left the city.<\/p>\n
I drove faster than I should have, both hands fixed on the steering wheel, Vanessa's words replaying in fragments. Dad died. Grant found him. Don't come. The house belongs to us. Dad left you out. Each sentence sounded plausible by itself. Together, they felt constructed.<\/p>\n
I called Dad's phone from the road.<\/p>\n
Straight to voicemail.<\/p>\n
His recorded greeting nearly forced me onto the shoulder.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is Ed. If you're selling something, don't bother. Everybody else, leave a message.\u201d<\/p>\n
I heard his familiar dry impatience and suddenly could not breathe properly.<\/p>\n
\u201cDad,\u201d I said after the beep. \u201cIt's Natalie.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stopped.<\/p>\n
What message did you leave for a dead man?<\/p>\n
I swallowed.<\/p>\n
\u201cI'm coming home.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then I disconnected.<\/p>\n
Vanessa called twice during the first hour.<\/p>\n
I ignored her.<\/p>\n
Grant called once.<\/p>\n
I ignored him too.<\/p>\n
A few minutes later, Vanessa sent another message.<\/p>\n
We are asking you to respect Dad's wishes.<\/p>\n
That sentence did something unexpected.<\/p>\n
It made me angry enough to think clearly.<\/p>\n
My father had never been shy about his wishes.<\/p>\n
When Mom died, he had handed Vanessa and me copies of his emergency contacts, insurance information, and attorney's number because he did not want us \u201crunning around like headless chickens\u201d if something happened to him.<\/p>\n
If he had dramatically rewritten his estate and disinherited one daughter, why had nobody contacted his attorney?<\/p>\n
Why had Grant supposedly discovered him?<\/p>\n
Why was Vanessa talking about property before telling me where our father's body had been taken?<\/p>\n
I called the county hospital.<\/p>\n
No Edward Cole.<\/p>\n
I called the other hospital.<\/p>\n
Nothing.<\/p>\n
My pulse quickened.<\/p>\n
I considered calling the police, but I still lacked enough information to explain why. My sister had reported a death. Perhaps an ambulance had taken Dad somewhere else. Perhaps the coroner was involved. Perhaps shock was making every unanswered question look sinister.<\/p>\n
Then my phone rang again.<\/p>\n
This time the screen displayed a name I had not expected.<\/p>\n
HAROLD PIKE.<\/p>\n
Dad's oldest friend.<\/p>\n
I answered immediately.<\/p>\n
\u201cHarold?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNatalie.\u201d<\/p>\n
His voice was steady.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAbout an hour from Dad's.\u201d<\/p>\n
He paused.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n
That one word changed everything.<\/p>\n
\u201cHarold, Vanessa told me Dad died.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs it true?\u201d<\/p>\n
Another pause.<\/p>\n
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel.<\/p>\n
\u201cHarold?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGet to your father's house.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs he dead?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDrive safely.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHarold!\u201d<\/p>\n
But he had disconnected.<\/p>\n
I nearly screamed.<\/p>\n
Instead, I drove.<\/p>\n
The countryside became familiar as the miles disappeared. The water tower appeared beyond the trees. Then the feed store. The church where Mom's funeral had been held. The old gas station where Dad still complained that coffee had become too expensive even though he bought it every Sunday.<\/p>\n
By the time I reached his road, my stomach hurt.<\/p>\n
Dad's house stood at the end of a gravel drive beneath two enormous maples.<\/p>\n
It was the house where Vanessa and I had grown up.<\/p>\n
The white siding had yellowed slightly. Dad's fishing boat sat beneath a blue tarp beside the garage. His truck was gone.<\/p>\n
That frightened me.<\/p>\n
Then I noticed something else.<\/p>\n
Vanessa's car was gone too.<\/p>\n
So was Grant's.<\/p>\n
I parked.<\/p>\n
For several seconds, I remained behind the wheel.<\/p>\n
No ambulance.<\/p>\n
No police.<\/p>\n
No funeral director.<\/p>\n
No neighbors gathered outside.<\/p>\n
Nothing.<\/p>\n
The house looked completely ordinary.<\/p>\n
I stepped onto the gravel.<\/p>\n
The October air smelled of leaves and woodsmoke. Somewhere behind the garage, a crow made an ugly rattling call.<\/p>\n
I walked to the front door.<\/p>\n
Unlocked.<\/p>\n
That was unusual. Dad locked everything, including the shed containing approximately twelve dollars' worth of rusty gardening tools.<\/p>\n
I pushed the door open.<\/p>\n
\u201cDad?\u201d<\/p>\n
Silence.<\/p>\n
I hated myself for calling.<\/p>\n
Of course there would be silence.<\/p>\n
Vanessa had told me he was dead.<\/p>\n
I stepped inside.<\/p>\n
The living room looked untouched. Dad's recliner faced the television. Yesterday's newspaper lay folded on the side table. His reading glasses rested on top.<\/p>\n
No sign of an emergency.<\/p>\n
No overturned furniture.<\/p>\n
No medical equipment.<\/p>\n
I moved toward the hallway.<\/p>\n
Then I smelled bacon.<\/p>\n
I stopped.<\/p>\n
Not old bacon.<\/p>\n
Cooking bacon.<\/p>\n
A pan hissed somewhere beyond the doorway.<\/p>\n
I stared toward the kitchen.<\/p>\n
Someone opened a cabinet.<\/p>\n
Ceramic knocked lightly against ceramic.<\/p>\n
My heartbeat became so violent I could hear it.<\/p>\n
\u201cHello?\u201d<\/p>\n
A man's voice answered.<\/p>\n
\u201cMorning.\u201d<\/p>\n
My knees nearly gave way.<\/p>\n
I knew that voice.<\/p>\n
I walked into the kitchen.<\/p>\n
My father was standing at the stove.<\/p>\n
Alive.<\/p>\n
He wore plaid pajama pants, a gray T-shirt, and the old slippers Vanessa had given him three Christmases earlier. His white hair stuck up at the back. A spatula was in his right hand.<\/p>\n
He looked at me as if I had arrived for breakfast exactly as planned.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou're early.\u201d<\/p>\n
I grabbed the doorframe.<\/p>\n
Dad frowned.<\/p>\n
\u201cNatalie?\u201d<\/p>\n
I could not speak.<\/p>\n
He switched off the burner.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
I crossed the kitchen in three steps and threw my arms around him.<\/p>\n
The spatula clattered onto the counter.<\/p>\n
Dad stumbled backward.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhoa.\u201d<\/p>\n
I held him tighter.<\/p>\n
He smelled like coffee, bacon grease, and the same cedar soap he had used for twenty years.<\/p>\n
Alive.<\/p>\n
Warm.<\/p>\n
Solid.<\/p>\n
\u201cNatalie, you're crushing my ribs.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stepped back.<\/p>\n
Then I slapped his shoulder.<\/p>\n
\u201cOw.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou're alive.\u201d<\/p>\n
He stared at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI had noticed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou're alive.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUnless this is a remarkably disappointing afterlife.\u201d<\/p>\n
I started crying.<\/p>\n
Dad's humor disappeared immediately.<\/p>\n
He took my shoulders.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cVanessa called me.\u201d<\/p>\n
His face changed.<\/p>\n
Not much.<\/p>\n
But enough.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSix-thirty.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did she say?\u201d<\/p>\n
I wiped my face.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe said you died last night.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dad became completely still.<\/p>\n
The kitchen seemed to shrink around us.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe said what?\u201d<\/p>\n
I told him.<\/p>\n
Not everything at first. Just the death. Grant supposedly finding him. The paperwork. Her insistence that I stay away.<\/p>\n
Dad listened without interrupting.<\/p>\n
Then I told him about the house.<\/p>\n
His jaw tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe house belongs to them?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAccording to Vanessa.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd my truck?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTheirs.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy accounts?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMostly theirs.\u201d<\/p>\n
His expression grew harder with every answer.<\/p>\n
Finally he asked, \u201cAnd you?\u201d<\/p>\n
I hesitated.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe said you cut me out.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dad looked toward the window.<\/p>\n
For perhaps ten seconds, neither of us spoke.<\/p>\n
Then he turned off the coffee maker.<\/p>\n
That tiny action frightened me more than shouting would have.<\/p>\n
Dad never abandoned fresh coffee.<\/p>\n
\u201cSit down,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cDad\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSit.\u201d<\/p>\n
I obeyed.<\/p>\n
He lowered himself into the chair opposite me.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour sister believes I'm dead.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cApparently.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd Grant does too.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dad rubbed one hand across his mouth.<\/p>\n
I expected confusion.<\/p>\n
Instead, I saw recognition.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know something.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat makes you say that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don't look surprised enough.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dad leaned back.<\/p>\n
His eyes moved toward the hallway leading to his office.<\/p>\n
Then he said, \u201cI changed my will yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n
My stomach tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo Vanessa was telling the truth?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked directly at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe doesn't know what I changed.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen why does she think you're dead?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat,\u201d Dad said, \u201cis what we're going to find out.\u201d<\/p>\n
His phone sat on the counter.<\/p>\n
He reached for it.<\/p>\n
Before he could unlock the screen, it rang.<\/p>\n
Vanessa.<\/p>\n
Dad and I looked at each other.<\/p>\n
He answered without speaking and put the call on speaker.<\/p>\n
My sister's voice filled the kitchen.<\/p>\n
\u201cNatalie?\u201d<\/p>\n
Dad raised one eyebrow.<\/p>\n
I understood.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are you?\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cAt Dad's.\u201d<\/p>\n
Silence.<\/p>\n
Then Vanessa whispered, \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI'm at the house.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou need to leave.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dad's expression hardened.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause I told you. It isn't yours anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n
I watched my supposedly dead father pick up his coffee mug.<\/p>\n
Vanessa continued.<\/p>\n
\u201cGrant and I are handling everything. You coming there doesn't change Dad's wishes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dad took one slow sip.<\/p>\n
Then he leaned toward the phone.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat's interesting.\u201d<\/p>\n
Vanessa stopped breathing.<\/p>\n
Dad set down his mug.<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause I don't remember telling you any of that.\u201d<\/p>\n
The highway was almost empty when I left the city. I drove faster than I should have, both hands fixed on the steering wheel, Vanessa's words replaying in fragments. Dad … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":13493,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-13497","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-feel-one-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/feelonestory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13497","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/feelonestory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/feelonestory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/feelonestory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/feelonestory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=13497"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/feelonestory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13497\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":13567,"href":"https:\/\/feelonestory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13497\/revisions\/13567"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/feelonestory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/13493"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/feelonestory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=13497"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/feelonestory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=13497"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/feelonestory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=13497"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}