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“You put it under your pillow and then you’ll get a nice little gift,” my father informed me with a conspiratorial smile.
“Why? What happens when I put it under my pillow?”
“The tooth faerie takes it and gives you money,” he deadpanned.
“Why? Why do they want my tooth?” My suspicion and paranoia intensified.
My father looked at me baffled as if he never expected the question. Who wouldn’t wonder why some strange little flying creature would want your… bones and give you money for it. Because, that’s literally what it was, right?
“Dad, that’s just creepy.” I deadpanned back.
He thought about it for a few moments and after his laughter died, his face turned into a look of contemplation. “You’re right. It is.”
I missed the days where we had simple conversations like that.
Walking into our cabin, I put down my basket and shook my cloak to free it from the debris that had accumulated from my walk through the woods and threw it over the recliner in the corner. “Dad, I’m home! I’ll start on the soup.”
A ragged cough could be heard from the upper floor and it made me wince with sympathy. It’s progressed to producing blood lately and I don’t know what else to do.
My dad and I moved from town when it seemed every corner reminded us of her, every conversation anyone ever had was about her—as if they refused to let her spirit die. I’m all for sorries and condolences, but sometimes I just wanted room to breathe and tackle the day without breaking down into a complete mess.
Though our home had migrated, Dad could only transfer his job to a different location. He had to still venture back and forth to the city to perform his duties. The saw mill worked him hard. I had heard some of the bigger metropolis began incorporating more machinery in order to increase their production rates. The company my dad worked for tried their best to stick with the old ways in order to prevent layoffs. They were good to him. And he was good to them, dedicating at least forty years of his life to his work.
It took a lot of convincing but I was able to get him to retire.
It wasn’t soon enough.
“Dad!” I called out again.
I placed my basket on the ground and walked to the back room. Our cabin was small. My dad built it with his bare hands. He said he had wanted to do it while Mom was alive so that she could be one with nature, a favorite destination of hers. Mom was from the far off lands of Scotland. My face always lit up when he told me stories about how a simple black man from the Bronx was able to sweep a mysterious red headed maiden off her feet after he accidentally ran into her while grocery shopping in the city.
They made a life together in Maine, where we stayed.
“Dad?”
A cry pierced the silence and it felt an out of body experience. It took me a moment to realize the cries were mine. My father’s lips were blue and my mind went into a weird haze as if something else was controlling it.
I didn’t know how I made it to his truck.
I didn’t know how I made it to town and I didn’t know how my fingers dialed the emergency number or how they found me staring through the front windshield as if I was living in an alternate reality.
Because surely, one person couldn’t have this much bad luck.
Fenella
After receivingmy father’s inheritance, I couldn’t convince myself to stay where so many bad memories plagued me.
My dad was raised by a single mother who had passed away before he met my mother and all of his living relatives lived in varying locations in the states. I couldn’t do it anymore. I reached out to my great aunt on my mother’s side looking for the farthest escape and found one. Her name was written in the back of one of my old baby pictures and always stuck in my mind when I found it during my teenage years.
She welcomed me with open arms and told me she would prepare a room for me when I arrived. That was all I needed. To start again somewhere fresh.
It took three months for me to work up the courage and iron out the details. I kept my father’s cabin, unable to let go of that last link just yet. But I asked my uncle Jerome to keep an eye on it for me until I returned. He didn’t ask any questions, only looked at me and told me to take care of myself.
Wiping the tears from my eyes, I got out of the taxi and turned to pay him his fare. The driver was a gentle looking man with a paperboy hat and a white mustache. He had the rosiest cheeks that could rival old Saint Nick.
“Welcome to Scotland, lass. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you very much. I’m sure I will.”
