Oh, And P.S.

 

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Attention: Frederick K. Lucifer

Please accept this letter as notice of my resignation, effective immediately. After ten years of working closely with you, I can honestly say I’ve learned a lot.

Sincerely,

Wanda Winkler, Chief Deputy Assistant and General Flunky

Oh, and P.S.

I hope you won’t mind if I take this opportunity to leave some feedback. It’s given in the same spirit of constructive criticism with which you so often ruined my day. Consider it my exit interview.

I know you worry about your appearance because you often fish for compliments.  You know when you got that new haircut and asked me how it looked and I, trying to hang onto my paycheck, said great? I lied. It’s still a comb-over. And double-breasted suits make you look like the Penguin.

You ordered the permanent deletion of those photos someone (okay, it was me) posted online after the last Christmas party. Well, guess what: once something is on the Internet, it never dies. If you check social media, you’ll find those photos alive and well and having a lively afterlife.

Allow me explain what a “raise” is. A raise means I get more money. Obviously, this is a foreign concept to you.

Although you are much too busy with matters of great importance to bother about something as mundane as food, you should know this: when you raid the lunches in the office fridge, we go straight to our computers and research untraceable poisons.

Nobody wants to hear about the tax burdens of wealth. If it’s you vs. the IRS, we’re rooting for the IRS.

People are not really laughing with you.

Here’s an idea: seniority is when employees who have been with you the longest receive pay based on their years of service and abilities. When you hire new people for more than the old people are making, there are dreams of revenge. (See “photos” above)

And when the workforce dreams of revenge…(See “untraceable poisons” above).

But maybe I’m being too hard on you. Being a boss is a tough job. It must take maturity, patience, and the ability to both take responsibility and  give credit where it’s due.  Maybe if I was the boss, I’d…oh, wait! You know that hostile company takeover you’ve been worried about? It’s happening – I have it on good authority. In fact, I have it from my new boss, who just made me your new boss. You should be getting the revised organizational chart in your inbox soon.  It’s a bit of a demotion for you, but as you frequently said to me, feel lucky you have a job.

See you Monday.

 

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Who Are You? – Part 4

 

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Moira had access to a wealth of resources in the crime lab. The first thing she did was check Jeremy’s birth certificate.

“The name on the original is Kirkpatrick. An amended version changing your name to Caudell was filed after your parents adopted you.”

“Bought me, you mean. So the birth certificates were no help in tracing my biological father. What other options do we have?” Jeremy asked.

“Good old DNA,” Moira replied cheerfully. “If you’ll give me a sample, I’ll run it through the data base for a match. It may take a while. The lab is always backed up.”

While they waited, it seemed natural for Moira and Jeremy to meet a couple of times a week to share information. Jeremy didn’t admit to himself how much he looked forward to those evenings. They’d sit talking for hours and Jeremy felt he knew Moira better than he’d ever known anyone. He secretly hoped the lab would stay backed up forever.

One evening Moira hurried in, her face alight with news. “I found him!” she said without preamble as she plopped into the seat across from him. “You aren’t going to believe this.”

“Tell me.”

“Now, brace yourself. This will come as a shock. Are you ready?”

“Jeez, just spit it out, will you?”

“Your father is Hank Kirkpatrick.”

“Hank! What about Myrna’s mysterious affair? If Hank’s my father, why did he sell me? Why would he do that?”

“I can only speculate that Myrna really didn’t know which man was the father of her child. Hank assumed you weren’t his.”

“But how did you get his DNA? He refused when I suggested it.”

“Turns out, it was already in the system. He’d had a traffic accident a couple of years ago in which he was at fault and the other driver was seriously hurt. The officer at the scene gave Hank a Breathalizer test and preserved the mouthpiece just in case. If the other guy had died, Hank would have been facing charges. Once I unearthed that piece of information, putting it together was simple.”

Jeremy recalled Myrna’s sorrowful face as she stood silently behind her husband at their front door. Hank said Myrna needed a lesson and he’d certainly given it to her. In a colossal mistake born of vengeance and anger, he’d sold his own son.

“It’s like an O. Henry story,” Jeremy said, shaking his head. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“O. Henry was known for his plot twists,” Moira said. “You get to write this one. How do you want your story to unfold?”

~*~

When Jeremy delivered the dinner invitation, Hank refused outright.

“Ain’t gonna happen,” he said with his trademark snarl.

A small, firm voice spoke up behind him.

“Yes, we’ll be there,” Myrna Kirkpatrick said. When Hank rounded on her with fire in his eyes, she faced him down for the first time in their long married life.

“We’ll be there,” she repeated, made brave by the need to reclaim her child. “We owe it to our son, Hank. We’re going to get to know our boy.”

~*~

The little group sitting around the dining room table was anything but at ease. Mr. and Mrs. Caudell were hosting Mr. and Mrs. Kirkpatrick and heartburn was on the menu. Moira rubbed a muscle in Jeremy’s shoulder that was taut as a wire.

“Will this night ever end?” he whispered.

“The next time will be easier,” she whispered back.

Jeremy had decided to get all his parents together in one room. He thought it was time they collectively faced what they’d done if there was to be any hope of reconciliation. After the last plate was cleared, he cleared his throat, stood and became the focus of all eyes. Moira winked.

“The past is the past and nothing can change what’s happened,” Jeremy said, “but there will be no more secrets going forward. We are an unconventional family, and maybe it’s too much to ask that you become friends. That’s up to you, but I’m going to treat the four of you as my parents, and I hope you’ll treat me as a son. Moira and I want to see you all sitting together in the front pew at our wedding.”

 

 

 

 

Who Are You? Part 3

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Jeremy was angrier than he’d ever been in his life. Grinding his teeth through sleepless nights, driving too fast, drinking too much, snapping at strangers – it was new to him, these feelings and this behavior. He’d always been a pretty laid-back sort of guy. But to find out, at thirty-three, that he’d been sold to his parents like a bag of groceries. To learn that his birth mother’s husband had paid off the mortgage with money he’d gotten for Jeremy.  It was just too much to process, and it was easier to be mad than sad.

It sounded like the kind of soapy TV drama he’d never watch, and at the bottom of the mess was a woman named Moira. If only she’d let well enough alone, but no, she kept digging and churning until she somehow uncovered the truth. He hated her for it.

He hated his parents, too. They’d misled him his entire life. Those honest, upright people, who wouldn’t pick up a quarter on the sidewalk in case the rightful owner came looking for it, had lied by omission. Yes, they’d always told him he was adopted, that he’d been chosen because he was special, but they skipped the fine print part of that story. Jeremy hadn’t seen or spoken to them since the night he found out the truth. As for his birth mother, what kind of woman would allow her nine-month-old son to be taken from her?  When Moira called “to check on him,” as she put it, he let her have it.

“You want to know how I am? I’m practically an orphan, thanks to you. Just butt out for a change and leave me alone.”

“Sounds like you need to talk,” Moira said, her voice warm with concern. “Let’s get together.”

His first instinct was to shout a resounding no, but he was bursting with feelings he’d bottled up inside. It would be a relief to dump them all on Moira. She deserved it.

They met at a neighborhood pub after work. The place was only about half-full and they had no trouble finding a private booth. Facing her across the scarred table, Jeremy dived right in.

“What made you pursue my kidnapping so relentlessly? Why did you even care?”

“I remember when you went missing. I was seven and it shook my world. It was a big factor in why I chose my career path. I just couldn’t forget the baby who disappeared.”

“Well, you carried it too far and now you’ve ruined my life. I think you owe me an apology.”

“Oh, no, I never apologize for telling the truth. You needed to know.”

Jeremy looked narrowly at the woman across from him. She had to be about forty, seven years older than he, but she didn’t look it. She met his eyes with a frank, untroubled gaze. Obviously, her conscience was clear.

“Look, my whole life went up in flames because of you,” Jeremy said. He hated the whine in his voice, but there it was.

“You had good parents, didn’t you? They gave you a great start in life and raised you with love, right?”

“Love and lies.”

“They wanted you so much they were willing to take a terrible gamble to get you. They must have lived in fear all these years, and imagine how they feel now. And your poor birth mother. She had to have gone through hell when her baby was taken from her. You were her love child, you know. When I consider Hank Kirkpatrick, I can’t blame Myrna for having an affair.”

“Rather than let him sell me, why didn’t she leave? Why didn’t she take me and leave?”

“You should ask her.”

“Yeah, sure. And I’ll ask my birth father, whoever he is.”

“You could probably find him if you tried. I bet he’s local.”

“And then what?”

“Just meet him, talk to him. If nothing else, you need to know about medical conditions you could inherit.”

“You make it all sound so easy.”

“It’s as hard as you decide it will be,” Moira said, smiling at him as she might smile at a pouting little boy.

Jeremy struggled with that for a moment. Moira had a lot of chutzpa, but he had to admit she made sense. He’d been so wrapped up in his own feelings that he really hadn’t thought about what his parents were going through. A little niggle of empathy and another niggle of guilt broke through his hard shell of self-pity. He was acting like a jerk. Moira had led him to that realization so gently that his anger slipped away, replaced by a feeling of being understood and accepted, anger and all. Maybe she was right about his father, too. There was no doubt she was resourceful; she’d make a good ally.

“So, my father,” he said. “If I decide to look for him, will you help me find him?”