Jericho ~ Present
I GOT UP EARLY, EARLIER than most, and although initially it had been because I was working to get my fledgling restaurant up and running, now it was a force of habit.
I’d already gone for a morning run, showered, and dressed for my day, now I needed coffee. I strode through my ranch-style home, glancing out the large, unencumbered windows to enjoy the view of my three acres, like I did each morning. It was a view I loved, and had never thought I’d ever be able to experience.
As a boy, I’d lived with the loud sounds of the city, wandering dirty streets, and learning how to take care of myself, while I fought not to get caught up in a way of life that could ruin any chance I had of ever getting out.
My mom was a junkie, strung out more often than not, and my father . . . a ghost.
When I was sixteen, I’d lived on my own in our one-room apartment. My mother had been serving one of her stints in jail, and I’d found a job working as a busboy in a local kitchen. The pay sucked, but they gave me free food, and let me work around my class schedule.
I’d come home late one night after my shift, eager to get in a shower and finish up my homework, so I could get at least a few hours of sleep. When I saw a strange car parked on our street, I’d thought nothing of it, even though it was obviously expensive.
We often had people of means stopping by to buy drugs or score a hooker from our complex, but when I got to my door, I was wary when I found a man in a suit leaning casually against it, his eyes on his phone.
“You lost?” I’d asked, trying to sound tough.
I was already taller than most men half my age, but I wasn’t looking for any trouble.
“Jericho Smythe?” the man asked, putting his phone in his pocket and looking me over.
“Who’s asking?”
“My name is Barnes, Clive Barnes, and I’m your grandfather’s lawyer,” the man replied.
“I don’t have a grandfather,” I said, then moved passed him to the door.
“Well, you did . . .” he said, and I turned to look at him, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Did?” I asked.
“Your father’s father, Jerome Smythe, has unfortunately passed away.”
“You know my father?” I asked, unable to keep my cool at the possibility of finding out information on the man my mother refused to discuss.
“I did,” Mr. Barnes said, his tone cautious.
I didn’t notice his tone, however, as excitement coursed through me.
“Does he know about me? Can you tell me where he is?” I asked eagerly, all pretense gone.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Smythe, your father passed away about ten years ago.”
All hope fled me as a crushing sadness filled me. It may seem strange, to feel so forlorn over someone you’d never even met, but I’d always held on to the hope that one day my father would come for me, or I’d find him, and I’d be able to escape the life I’d been living.
“Oh,” I managed.
“Anyway, Mr. Smythe, what I’m here to tell you is that as your grandfather’s only living heir, you’ve come into a bit of money . . .”
A bit of money had been an understatement, as it turned out. Unwittingly, my father had helped me escape the life I’d been living, at least inadvertently. My mother hadn’t made it out of jail that time, instead getting more time added to her sentence, and leaving me to raise myself.
With my inheritance, I’d been able to go away to school and never look back. It had also given me the ability to follow my dreams and open my own restaurant, and to buy my house, on this land.
I didn’t take a bit of it for granted, and I was mostly happier than I’d ever been . . . except for that year in college when I’d had Natasha.
Newton, my black cat, ran out in front of me and jumped onto the kitchen counter, eager for breakfast. I’d never been able to have pets growing up, unless you counted the strays that were often in our alley, and although I’d always wanted a dog, my hours with Prime Beef had been insane and I didn’t feel right having a dog if I wasn’t home to be there for him.
Isaac Newton, on the other hand, was very self-sufficient, and often acted like this was his home and I was the pet, rather than the other way around. As long as I fed him and pet him when he was in the mood, all was good in our home.
“Morning, Newt,” I said as I started my Keurig, then bent to get his bowl and food.
Once he was fed, I put my coffee in a to-go mug and headed out, locking up as I did. People here always said that they never locked their doors, it being a small town and me living out in a pretty remote area, but being from Philly, I was a compulsive locker.
As I was driving down Main Street, my eyes went to Three Sister’s, as it always did, in hopes of catching a glimpse of Natasha. She was there, visible through their storefront window, sitting at a table by the window, alone, drinking coffee and looking down at something in front of her.
Rather than driving past and pulling behind Prime Beef to park as usual, I pulled in front of my restaurant, took a deep breath, and got out, and for the first time ever, I walked toward Three Sister’s, intent on going inside and confronting Natasha once and for all.
I left my coffee cup in the car, figuring the pretense of getting coffee was a good enough excuse for going inside, although I’d never done it before.
If the girl behind the counter knew who I was, or if she was surprised that I was there, she didn’t show it. Instead she welcomed me just as she did the other guests, and asked what I’d like to order.
Keeping my gaze forward, I had no idea if Natasha had noticed my entrance or not, since her back was to the door, and I found I needed a few seconds to try and calm my stormy pulse, before turning to her and approaching.
After what felt like mere seconds, my steaming coffee was in hand and I had no more reasons to stall, so I turned and started toward Natasha’s table, then froze when I saw a man sitting across from her, smiling and laughing at something she said.
Raging jealousy filled me, and I was torn between storming over there and challenging the stranger to a fight, and fleeing before she noticed I was there.
I was about to flee when the option was taken from me as I heard a female voice say, “Jericho?”