Chapter 2: A Good Man

"He’s a good man,” Luke said. His voice was kind, seemingly trying to ease my mind. He had said that Bill was a good man earlier when I asked what kind of boss he was.

“What makes a good man, exactly?” I wondered aloud.

We slowed and turned up a dirt road.

I had known a few men to do good things in my life, certainly. But in the end, it seemed that all of them had some sort of ulterior motive.

Richard—the man I had believed to be my father until very recently—was anything but a good man. He was a manipulative creep and the epitome of what I hated about men.

If anything good had come from this situation, it was the knowledge that Richard was in no way a part of my genetic makeup. He had played a role in my mother’s undoing, of that I was certain.

And as for my boyfriend, Owen… his ulterior motive was of no secret to anyone. He loved my money and the lifestyle that it afforded him. To replace my stolen luggage, Owen had so generously bought the massive designer suitcase that was laying in the back of the truck with my own money. So very thoughtful of him… I should probably break it off when I get home.

After a few minutes, the dirt road became a paved one and we wound through tall pine trees and up past manicured landscapes under a layer of snow.

Atop the hill sat a quaint but beautiful brick home with a large barn behind it. An old English shepherd dog sat on the front porch and stood to greet us.

It looked like a scene on a postcard. “It’s… lovely,” I said quietly.

“Yeah, it’s Bill's little sanctuary,” Luke said. He turned off the engine and opened his door.

The dog hopped about delightedly and followed him as he walked around the truck to grab my luggage.

When Luke opened my door for me, I sat frozen and stupefied, taking it all in.

I had started my morning in my tidy little apartment in the civilized city of my birth, and had somehow landed here. In this larger-than-life place where massive dogs ran amuck and ungodly huge elk roamed the countryside.

Luke held both his hands out to help me down from the truck. Under different circumstances, I would have found this off-putting. But in this overwhelmingly unfamiliar space, it was a surprisingly welcome gesture of kindness.

I placed my hands in his and he helped me down from the truck. His hands were strong and warm. Okay, perhaps big kind oaf is more fitting. God, he’s huge.

“This is Blue,” he said, patting the dog's head as it leaned into him. I feigned a smile. “Like the ox. Get it?” he asked.

I was too distracted by my nerves to process anything he was saying. I gave him a confused look.

“Like Paul Bunyan?” he asked. “Blue, and Paul Bunyan?” He pointed from the dog to his chest.

“No clue.” I blinked.

He smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“Bill is probably sleeping, but he’d want us to wake him.” He gestured for me to lead the way.

My stomach twisted with anxiety. I stuffed my cold hands into my pockets and tried to steady myself. When I didn't move, Luke grabbed my suitcase and walked towards the front door, glancing over his shoulder to ensure that I was following.

Paul Bunyan? I thought, trying to distract myself. Who the hell is Paul Bunyan?

Luke knocked lightly and opened the front door. Everything in me wanted to turn tail and run all the way back to Chicago as he stepped inside.

“Come on in,” he said.

I lingered for a moment, then stepped into the house.

“I’ll let him know that you’re here,” he said as his long shadow disappeared down a hall.

I took in my surroundings. It reminded me of a European ski lodge—elegant but simple. A grandfather clock ticked quietly next to a large stone fireplace.

It was quite peaceful, despite my nerves. “Sanctuary” was perhaps fitting under different circumstances.

I heard a soft “bump” and “thud.” I wondered for a moment if it was the sound of my heart beating out of my chest. I heard it again in the hallway and turned to see a tall, frail man with a walker working his way toward me.

Luke was close behind him with every step. His hands extended towards the older man as if anticipating a fall, but not touching him.

I shook nervously, trying to figure out what to do with myself. The man paused and pointed to the couch.

“Please, sit,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable.” His voice was surprisingly strong and deep.

“Thank you,” I said, happy to sit and calm my trembling limbs.

As he continued his painstaking journey towards me, I looked at my hands tightly clasped on my lap, not wanting to gawk.

Finally, he held the handles of the walker and lowered himself into a worn recliner that sat across from me. His hands were also shaking, though I don’t think it was from nerves.

He settled in and Blue curled up below him, his head resting on the man's feet.

“Hello, Andrea.”

“Hello, William,” I said, looking up at him.

He looked to be in his late 50s, maybe older, but it was hard to tell. He was definitely unwell. His face was gaunt, but his eyes were large and gentle and looked directly at mine. I glanced away.

“Nice to meet you.” I reached to shake his hand.

He said nothing. Just smiled and clasped my hand in both of his, holding onto it for longer than I’d have liked.

I smiled awkwardly and gently pulled away, keeping my eyes diverted.

He continued to stare in silence and I began to wonder if he was a bit senile.

Crazy or not, his silent stare was more awkward than the many uncomfortable questions I had racing through my mind. I broke the ice.

“Thank you for having me,” I stammered. “I have so many questions. I wasn’t sure if you even knew that I existed.”

He seemed to shake from his stupor but continued his stare into my eyes.

“Oh, yes. I knew,” he said.

So, he had known about me.

To my displeasure, his words sank blunt and deep like a hatchet. The man that was supposedly my father had known that I existed and never once reached out.

I felt angry at myself for allowing the words of an absolute stranger to hurt me so much.

“The question is, how did you come to know about me?”

I wasn’t happy that he had turned the question on me. My temper reared its head.

He sat, staring, waiting for my answer.

Two could play this game. I countered his silence with my own and forced myself to return his gaze.

My resolve nearly fell to the floor when I realized that my eyes, my “baby blues” as they were affectionately called, had been inherited from the stranger staring back at me. Was that what he was thinking as well?

The grandfather clock ticked along.

Luke cleared his throat.

“Coffee?” he asked. I had completely forgotten he was there.

“Yes, please,” I said, keeping my eyes locked on the dying man’s. Luke left the room.

We both sat in stubborn silence.

He was either unrelenting or checked out. Either way, my irritation kindled into rage. I’d come all this way for answers and had instead found myself in a stare-down with a senile good ‘ol boy, who admittedly had nothing to do with his own daughter.

Good man!? I thought. I wanted to spit in his face.

“You’re stubborn,” he said at last with a tired grin.

“Yes, I am,” I said, unflinching.

He struggled to straighten in his chair.

“Andrea,” he sighed. “We both have a lot of questions. I’m simply trying to best understand how… to answer yours.”

“Starting at the beginning usually works pretty well. How did you know my mom?”

He seemed to ponder the question. Maybe I was finally getting somewhere.

“Andrea, did your mother tell you about me?” he responded with yet another question to my question.

“Yes! Of course she did,” I said impatiently. “Who else would have told me?”

He looked surprised. “How is she?” he asked.

“She’s dead,” I snapped.

His eyes finally released mine.

“What happened?” he asked, his eyes low.

“What do you care? Clearly, you wanted nothing to do with either of us,” I hissed, seething. I hadn’t flown all this way to answer the questions of an absentee father.

Angry tears burned in my eyes, I squeezed them shut to keep them from falling.

“This was a huge mistake,” I said and stood to look for Luke.

“Can you please take me back to the airport?”

Luke was just returning, coffee in hand.

“Yeah, of course. But you do realize that there are no flights until tomorrow, right?”

“Okay, then please take me to a hotel.” I walked towards the door.

“Andrea, we talked about this on the phone, remember? The closest hotel is in Sun Valley… that's another two hours in the wrong direction.”

“Perfect,” I said. “The farther from here, the better.”

Sun Valley had a real airport. With luck, I could be home by tomorrow morning.

Luke looked at Bill. “You got anything to say?” he asked. But the old man just sat there looking wounded, and I was glad.

“Well, I have a meeting in town that I have to head to first. It’ll take an hour or so, and then we’d have a two-hour drive after that. You may as well spend the night here.”

I turned the doorknob and yanked it open so as to answer him.

“But, if you insist, I’ll take you to Sun Valley,” Luke sighed.

“Andrea!” Bill had shaken from his melancholy stupor. “I loved your mother very much,” he said, his chin quivering.

“Well, that makes one of us,” I said and slammed the door shut behind me.

***

The tears flowed harder with each step towards the truck and a violent sob forced its way up. What was my mother thinking? Why had she decided to tell me about this man after all these years?

Was it her final wish in life to add to the already impressive resume of pain she’d dealt me?

I leaned my back against the truck and slid down, sitting on my heels. I was grateful that Luke was still inside. My upbringing had instilled in me the necessity for calm and composure above all. I wiped my cheeks and tried desperately to tame the tempest.

Why did I ever let Marcia talk me into coming here? And why did a stranger have the power to hurt me so much with a few simple words? I definitely had not anticipated that.

He’d almost seemed to be afraid to tell me anything. Who or what was he protecting?