The Untruth Told (1/5)
The Untruth Told
{1/5}
All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.
~ Edmund Burke ~
- Palo Alto, California
“Sweetie?”
He almost didn’t hear her calling him. He was so wrapped up in his own brain, his own thoughts, that she sounded distant. Distant in location only, as even in that one word her voice held warmth and tenderness. And love.
“Earth to Sam?” her voice was closer this time, as he was beginning to awaken from his stupor. “Are you still with me, Sweetie?”
“What? Oh, yeah, sorry,” he said, feeling his cheeks redden slightly. He looked up at the beauty sitting across the dining table from him. Her long blonde curls were pulled back in a loose pony tail. Her big chocolate-colored eyes sparkled when she smiled at him - the way she always did when he blushed; a mixture of amusement and encouragement.
“Sorry,” he told her, “I guess my mind was wandering.”
“I know that this isn’t as exciting as the Barton case, but it really means a lot to me. Tell you what,” she said with a smile as she began to gather up the contents of the table, “Why don’t we head down to the coffee shop on the corner, get some lattes and those chocolate-filled croissants, and try this again. I’m sure that the combination of fresh air, caffeine, and sugar will wake us both up.”
He couldn’t help but grin. He stood up when she did and leaned over the table.
“Hey,” he said to get her attention. “Come here.”
She smiled and leaned in to meet him for a kiss.
“I knew you were trouble from the first moment I laid eyes on you, Sam Winthrop,” she teased.
“And I knew that you were the woman I would marry from the first moment I laid eyes on you, Jennifer Morris,” he grinned. “And I’m sorry. I promise not to space out again. I know that this is important to you, but it’s important to me too.”
He looked down at the yellow legal pad in front of him, the one in which they were using to take notes and practice wording, trying to get everything just right.
Raymond and Eileen Morris
request the honor of your presence
at the marriage of their daughter
Jennifer Lynn
and
Samuel Christopher Winthrop
Sam waited at the counter for their order to be completed while Jenn found a cozy sofa in the corner with a coffee table in front of it, opened her large wedding organizer, and began spreading out all of their notes and lists and things.
He glanced over at her and couldn’t help but smile. He felt like the luckiest man alive. He had it all: interning at a criminal law firm while finishing his degree at Stanford, an up-and-coming hot-shot career practically waiting on the sidelines for him, a beautiful and loving fiancé, and a family who could not be more proud of all his accomplishments.
So, why then had he recently started spacing out so frequently? At first, he had attributed it to all of the chaos that had built up in his life. True, all of the happenings were good things, things that he had worked hard for and looked forward to for a long time; but for an ultra-organized person like Sam, even the good things, when occurring in such abundance and in conjunction, were bound to cause havoc in his orderly little world.
That excuse had worn thin after a couple of weeks of increasing daydreams. Not that anyone else seemed concerned or put out. No, all of Sam’s colleagues, family, and friends acted as if such things were normal for people in his position. He took comfort in their support for a while, but soon he was back to worrying that something was wrong with him.
If only he could remember the daydreams, he thought. But, they were similar to the dreams at night that vanished upon waking. Once he was brought out of the daydream, back to the land of the living, it was all gone. He just kept thinking that, if he could remember them, maybe he could figure out what they mean. Maybe Sam could figure out why his perfect life seemed so unreal.
{-*-}
- Lawrence, Kansas
“Honey, I’m home,” he called out and heard his wife laugh from the kitchen.
“You know,” she said as she stepped into the living room to meet him with a kiss, “if I was wearing a swing dress underneath this apron, you’d have to start calling me June Cleaver or Harriet Nelson.”
“I’d prefer hot pants,” he countered and gave her a peck on the cheek, “and to call you Laura Petrie.”
“John!”
“Hey, you started it,” he laughed. “Besides, jeans and a T-shirt, and Maria Winchester suit me just fine.”
She grinned and gave him a big hug.
“Right answer.”
He followed her into the kitchen, offering to take dishes out to set the dining room table.
“Nope, everything’s already set,” she told him. “Oh,” she said, stopping him in his path to the dining room, “how was your first day back in class?”
“Well,” he said, turning back to face her with almost a sad smile, “I’ll tell you, it felt weird to go into that high school today knowing that my sons wouldn’t be there. I know it’s just auto shop twice a week, but I’m really going to miss not running into one of them in the halls this year.
“It’s different at the garage. They only helped out when they had the spare time, so it never really felt empty without them. Not like this house…” he sighed.
“Oh John,” she murmured with sympathy and gave him another hug. “You never know, you might enjoy the quiet.” She handed him a large wooden bowl filled with salad, and then picked up a roasting pan and started for the dining room.
“This house hasn’t been quiet for over 25 years,” he scoffed. “I don’t know that I will ever be used to the sounds of silence.” He followed her to the dining room while looking at the bowl in his hands. “This is an awful lot of salad…”
“Surprise!” a group of voices shouted as he walked into the room.
“I’ll say,” he told them, knowing full well that, had someone not been just inside the door to help steady the bowl in his hands, their salad would have been all over the floor. “What are you all doing here?”
“You didn’t think that we would miss an opportunity to celebrate your birthday, did you?” Drew asked, standing next to his wife that looked ready to pop and give him his first grandchildren - twins.
“Yeah, Dad,” Shane added, “all Mom had to do was mention cake…”
“And don’t think I didn’t hear that comment about not seeing me in the high school hallway,” his youngest, Mark, told him. “I only graduated last year. I think you might be getting a little sentimental in your old age.”
John smiled as he looked around the table and saw five happy, laughing people gathered there - his family home to honor his 50th birthday.
When Maria and Shane brought out his cake toped with fifty burning candles (a simple 5 and 0 would be too easy for his family) and demanded he make a wish and blow them out, he realized that there was nothing more that he could ever want. Well, maybe a few less candles and grey hair; or for Shane to take the batteries out of the smoke detector that would surely start beeping once his candles were extinguished.
As John took in a deep breath, thought of his idyllic life, and looked at the cake ablaze in front of him, he couldn’t help but wonder why it all seemed so wrong.
{-*-}
- Cape Girardeau, Missouri
“Mommy!” her voice might have been small, but when she called out in excitement, it had the equivalent of ‘stop the presses’ in the small newsroom.
“Abby?” her mother said in surprise as small arms were thrown around her thighs. She looked up at her husband. “Dean? What’s going on?”
“Half day today - no afternoon extended care,” he told her with a kindhearted grin, knowing she had forgotten. “When you didn’t show up, the preschool called me,” he said softly.
“Oh,” she groaned in frustration and embarrassment. “Oh, Dean, I’m sorry. It’s just been a crazy day here…”
“Carrie, it’s all right,” he told her and walked up to share in the hug their daughter had yet to release. He gave his wife a kiss on the cheek, knowing that anything more would make her self-conscious in front of her staff.
“That’s the beauty of owning your own business,” he said with a smile, “I can take off almost any time.”
“I know,” she said, still hating herself, “it’s just been so busy with the…” she broke off, not wanting to expose her 4-year-old to the gory details of the latest murder in the recent crime spree affecting many of the nearby towns. So far, Cape Girardeau had not hosted such an event, but that didn’t mean the newspapers’ readers weren’t as concerned as their neighbors.
“I heard,” Dean told her, understanding. His employees, even the part-time high school kids, had taken to listening to the news reports lately rather than the typical music that usually filtered through the shop. He shook his head and tried to lighten the mood. “And, Abby and I figured that, since you have been having such a hectic day, you probably haven’t stopped for lunch.”
Carrie blinked and suddenly noticed her stomach was grumbling.
“You’re right,” she said, blushing slightly. “Breakfast either.”
“Mommy!” her daughter scolded, finally taking her arms away from her mother’s legs and putting them on her own little hips with a huff. “You need to remember to eat!”
“The kid’s got a point,” Dean said, doing his best not to laugh at his daughter’s seriousness. “So, you think you can spare some time to join us for lunch?”
“Oh, babe, I don’t know. We’ve got a lot of work to finish before we can go to print tonight…”
Abby looked up at her father and giggled. He gave her one of his patented crooked grins and wiggled his eyebrows, causing the girl to giggle again before pulling his car keys from her own pocket and retreating back to the entrance of the building.
“What? What’s going on?” Carrie asked him. Instead of answering, Dean just smiled at her again and called over his shoulder to her assistant.
“Hey, Rena, you called that one!”
For a moment, Carrie stood puzzled, watching as Rena grabbed an intern and an office errand boy and followed her daughter out the front door. She then looked at her husband, trying to read on his face what was going on. Then, as his smirk broadened into a full smile, comprehension began to form.
“You didn’t…”
“Oh, but I did,” he gave her another quick kiss, then announced to the room at large, “One newsroom-sized Dean Winston special coming up.” Carrie just shook her head and laughed.
As if on cue, Abby and crew came through the double doors with enough food - fast food - to feed an army. Which, curiously enough, is the same amount needed to feed a hungry newspaper staff. And, in true Dean Winston fashion, there were multiple countries represented in the feast which included pizzas with various toppings, tacos and nachos, egg rolls and fried rice, burgers, salads, macaroni and cheese, and chicken wings.
“Dean, dude, you’re my hero!” Tom, one of the photographers said as he clapped Dean on the shoulder.
“Hey, man,” Dean returned with a smile, “all I ask is for you to get my good side when you put me on the front page.”
“Hey,” Carrie whispered in his ear and covertly smacked him gently on the back-side, “I thought I was the only one who got to see your good side.”
“Lady, if you don’t watch it, I might just have to sneak you out of here,” he returned with a raised eyebrow as she laughed. “Just don’t tell my wife. She’s the boss around here.”
“Deal,” she told him with a grin and they joined the rest of the news crew who were hungrily devouring as much food as they could reach.
“Daddy, I saved you a piece,” Abby told him proudly as she handed him a large slice of meat-covered pizza. “It’s your favorite!”
Dean smiled down at his daughter as she beamed up at him. Beautiful wife, loving daughter, slice of his favorite pizza, hero to a starving newsroom - life didn’t get much better. But, why then, did he feel like he didn’t belong here?