I knocked on the bathroom door.
“Go away!”
“Mom, are you okay?”
“I said go away. I don’t want to see your face… especially now.”
“Mom, we have to talk sometime.” I found the courage to open the door. The mirrors were all steamy from the shower Mom had just taken. She was throwing something in the trash pail under the sink and pulling out the liner and putting a twist tie on it.
“Throw this in the trash, and get out.”
Mom and I didn’t speak much more than necessary for another week. She had been peeking out the front window at an SUV that pulled up in the driveway. A woman got out.
“You deal with this,” Mom said.
The doorbell rang, and the pusher of that bell said, “You the son?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Bev… Beverley? I called? I’m picking up the last of your father’s stuff?”
“I don’t know anything about that?”
“I talked to a woman, probably your mother. She said come get it.”
She was in her twenties, and attractive in a very cheap way. She had dark hair with frosted tips and way too much makeup on, especially for the middle of the day. She wore tight jeans and heels and a tight top that showed off her enormous boobs. Obviously fake.
The one thing Mom told me when the divorce went through was that Dad had been seeing a girlfriend on the side. She had found out it had been going on for some time.
Beverley came in and filled the room with a sickening perfume.
“Dad’s things are in his office downstairs,” I said.
She stared at me, then shrugged with her palms up. “So, go get them and put them in my car. And hurry up; I have a nail appointment in a half hour.”
“Are you gonna help?”
“Do I look like a moving man?”
Dad had moved most of the stuff out already. There was a small pile left near the door. That was what I needed to get into Miss Homewrecker’s vehicle. There was something else, though. Wedged between a two filing cabinets, right below the wall safe, was a manilla folder. You could see it only if you stood at just the right angle, and I was at that angle. It must have fallen there and Dad didn’t notice.
Being a curious and inquisitive sort of lad, I fished it out and read “XF Tallies” written in bold magic marker on the side. I knew XF was what the newspaper called one of the biggest crooks in the state. The folder contained evidence that my dad had been receiving payments from XF.
My dad was on the take—a dirty cop! I should get this right to him personally—NOT! I hid the folder in case I ever needed leverage.
It took me twenty minutes of walking up and down those stairs, but finally the last vestiges of my Dad were gone, just like the marriage.
Beverley said as she got in her car, “Your father told me you were a piece of work. Say ‘hi’ to your mother for me,” she said with a smirk.
“Only if you’ll say ‘hi’ to your plastic surgeon when he fixes those monstrosities.”
“I’m telling your father you’re rude.”
I kept a friendly “Fuck you!” to myself.
When I got inside, Mom was at the window, looking at the car pull away.
“That’s her,” she said. “I suppose you think she’s pretty.”