SARAH

 

Before I go into my first childhood meeting with Josh, it is probably a good idea to explain how my family was once associated with such wealth and power as that of the Kelly family.

You see, my father didn’t always stand with the people for the people. Once upon a time, he was a partner in one of the biggest corporate law firms in America. In fact, the firm still holds my father’s name: Dillinger-Mitchell.

Dillinger-Mitchell represented American money and power. They lobbied governments; they bent and manhandled the rules so that their clients could make as much money as they wanted without having to worry about anything as trivial as ethics or morality. These nefarious clients treated the world as their own and people like my father facilitated it. The subsequent illness and death of my mother, however, opened up something in my father. The crisis brought back to being something long dead inside of him. It brought back his faith.

So, having explained why my family would be taking a vacation at one of the most exclusive golf clubs in the country, I will now describe my original meeting with Josh:

I was running into the trees to find one that I could hide behind when I immediately saw a large oak, its gray and twisted branches overhanging the lake, so I rushed over to it. When I reached the old tree, however, I was surprised to find a boy about the same age as me sitting there. He appeared to be as surprised to see me as I was of him.

“Sorry,” I said when our eyes met, “I’ll find another tree to hide behind.”

“This one’s the best,” he replied, looking up from his seated position. “Plus, there’s plenty of room.”

I smiled and bumped myself down next to him, the both of us scooting up so that we were well hidden behind the sanctuary of the wide tree trunk.

“My name’s Sarah Dillinger,” I said offering my hand.

“Josh Kelly,” the boy replied taking it.

We shook and I blushed a little. I knew that it was his father, a client of my own, that owned the place.

“Your pa owns this, doesn’t he?” I inquired.

“He sure does,” Josh let out with a sigh, looking as if he couldn’t have cared either way.

“It’s a nice place,” I remarked.

“It’s okay.”

We both sat quietly for a moment until he turned to me and said, “Sarah, do you wanna see something cool?”

“I’m playing hide and seek with my friends,” I began, but seeing that his face had gone sad at this news, I stopped and said that actually I would. He grinned and got up, offering me his hand and then yanking me up when I gave it to him. We then walked along the tree rows at the edge of the giant lake and I began talking about how cool it must be to own all the things that I knew his father did. But to every one of my compliments, the boy merely shrugged as though it all bored him. So I stopped talking after a while.

When we were a little further into the woods, I began to look behind us, wondering if we were allowed to be so far from the others. Observing that I kept looking back over my shoulder with a worried expression, Josh told me that it was okay and that no one would notice us gone.

“They’re all too busy getting wasted,” he remarked to me in an adult tone.

He was so mature for his age back then, and I felt somehow in awe of him. Escorting me out into a clearing of swampland, he guided me along a creek until we reached a mass of matted, overhanging trees, their thick canopy blocking out most of the sunlight and leading us through a world of shadows. We walked further into the green grotto, until we reached a goliath of a tree with a trunk that resembled the thick ankle of a giant. Its old spindly branches, like the stretched-out arms of a crowd, reached out so far that the foliage of it shaded at least a hundred feet of swampy ground. However, the impressive branches weren’t the thing that really caught my eye. What really caught my little girl’s imagination was the well-made wooden treehouse cradled within those branches. It had everything—a rope ladder leading up to an eight-by-eight foot house surrounded by a three-foot-wide balcony that ran all the way up some of the larger branches, so that it had observation decks like crow’s nests. Even a pirate’s flag hung limply from a pole that stuck out of its roof.

“Take a look inside,” Josh said as we reached the ladder, which hung from a trapdoor in the treehouse’s center.

He climbed up and I dutifully followed. When I reached the top, he once again offered his hand and hauled me up though the hatch. The moment I was inside his little home, I was awestruck. In the center was a beautiful Egyptian rug that he pulled back over the trapdoor once it was shut behind us. In one corner there was a bookshelf with comics and books spread all over it, in another corner a big leather bound armchair that had several holes and tears in it, and on a small table beside it a battery radio. On the walls he’d hung several framed photographs, all of them depicting the same black-haired woman, her beauty catching my eyes the second my glance came across her.

“Take a seat,” he said pointing to the chair. “I’ll take another.”

Disappearing out the door, he soon came back with a stool. While I sat down on the chair, he perched himself opposite me.

“This is an amazing place,” I remarked, my eyes still furtively glancing around, especially at the raven-haired woman.

“Yeah, me and Holman made it last summer.”

“Is Holman like your babysitter or something?”

“Huh!” Josh laughed. “No, he works for my father and protects me, I guess. But he’s really cool and always takes me fishing and other stuff. He never had any kids of his own, so I’m like a son to him.”

“Why doesn’t your father do things like that with you?”

I didn't mean to hurt him with this question, but his look became sad and I felt terribly sorry that I’d asked.

“He’s always too busy,” he answered timidly after a moment.

He went silent and began biting his lip, fidgeting on the stool.

“I didn’t mean to be nosy,” I said. “If it makes you feel any better, my dad doesn’t ever play with me or my sisters either.”

His eyes lit up and he gazed at me.

“Doesn’t he?” he said brightly.

“No, he’s more interested in business. My mother always says that she married my father but he married his work.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s a lawyer, I think. What does your dad do except own golf clubs?”

“He owns other things, I guess.”

“Like what?”

“Like horses, hotels, apartment blocks, yacht clubs, casinos, lots of things.”

“Wow!” I exclaimed.

“It’s not that great.”

We both went silent for a moment and my eyes couldn't help but flitter back to the woman in the photographs.

“Who’s that woman?” I inquired once I’d gotten my nerve up.

Again Josh’s face went sad and he answered in a soft voice, “My mother.”

“She’s beautiful. Is she here today?”

Slowly casting his eyes down toward the floor, he weakly muttered two words that took me some seconds to realize were, “She’s dead”.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” I let out innocently. “She’s very beautiful.”

“Yes, she is,” he mumbled.

His eyes lifted from the floor and he gazed up at the pictures of his mother for a moment, a gentle smile working its way along his lips.

“How did she die?” I couldn’t help asking, my childish curiosity getting the better of me.

Without taking his eyes from the pictures, he let out a sigh. “Someone broke into our house and killed her.”

I shoved my hand over my mouth. I’d never known anyone before that knew someone who’d been killed.

“That’s terrible,” I uttered.

“Yeah,” was his blank reply.

Everything went silent and Josh continued to stare at the pictures, his eyes still consumed by the figure of his fallen mother. I felt so sad for him then, watching his unhappy face, shimmering eyes, utterly forlorn expression. Even though I was only a little girl of seven, I sensed something between us then. Reaching forward, I took his hand. His fingers instantly entwined in mine and he slowly turned to me until we were facing each other, his gleaming sapphire eyes sparkling in the blades of sunlight that entered through the small windows of the treehouse.

We were gazing into each other’s eyes when we heard a sound like someone calling out our names. Josh immediately looked away and put his ear to the wind. Our names were called again.

“It’s Holman,” Josh informed me, letting go of my hand and standing up from the stool. “We better go, they’ve noticed us gone.”

Leaving the treehouse we were met by the rather scary-looking form of Holman, who guided us back to the golf course. When we reached the others, Josh and I parted and I didn’t see him again. Until now.