Free The True Father by Steven Anderson Law

taste of Jeremiah's whisky.
    Â Â  I leaned over and put my elbows on my knees when I felt something crinkle in my inside coat pocket. I reached inside and pulled out an envelope, finding the letter that Jeremiah gave me. I remembered that I put the letter in my inside pocket the day of the funeral, thinking I would read it that day. But I got caught up in all that was happening with Bella and the inheritance and forgot all about it.
    Â Â  I slid my index finger inside the small opening under the flap on the back of the envelope and tore it open. The letter was written on a small piece of stationery, similar to a page from a steno pad, and in blue cursive ink. Though the handwriting was not good, it was legible.
    Â 
January 17, 1978
    Â 
Dear Bonnie,
    Â 
You know I'm not much with words, so these letters are hard for me to write. All I know to say is that I miss you and my boy. It's been two months now since you left, and the place is empty without the two of you here. I can't even think about my work that needs done, not even the rodeo season coming up. All I can think about is you and the baby. This is your home and you are welcome back anytime. I need you Bonnie and I need my little one. It just ain't right living without my family. Please come home.
    Â 
All my love,
Jettie
    Â 
   It all seemed so simple and familiar. A man who felt lost and deprived. And those last three words, “Please come home,” stayed with me the rest of the day, while I worked out at the fitness center, when I slept at night, and for the rest of the week.
   Thursday night I dreamed again about the clowns approaching me in my cubicle. Now I recognized the trophy, the photograph, and more of the people who cheered and applauded. There was Bella, Denny Rose, and behind his makeup I recognized Buddy Wells. But I couldn't figure out the ovation. What did I do to deserve it? What did I do to deserve anything?
    Â Â  Friday morning I went to my cubicle as usual. Friday's were casual days so I dressed in cotton khaki slacks and a knit polo shirt. I had no more than turned on my computer when Kyle Bennett entered my cubicle.
    Â Â  “Good morning, Trevor.”
    Â Â  “Good morning.”
    Â Â  “Can I have a minute?”
    Â Â  “Sure.”
    Â Â  “Great. Come to my office.”
    Â Â  I followed him to a walled-in office at the end of the cubicle section. He told me to have a seat and pointed at a pair of hunter green, overstuffed chairs in front of his desk, and then he closed the door behind us. He sat in his high-backed black leather chair and crossed his legs. He also wore casual attire similar to mine.
    Â Â  “I've been wanting to visit with you, Trevor. You've been here a couple of weeks, and like all new people, I like to touch base and see how things are going.”
    Â Â  “Things are going pretty well.” I lied.
    Â Â  “Well, it's been brought to my attention that things haven't been going too well for you.”
    Â Â  I wasn't surprised to hear this. “No, actually, I've not been myself lately.”
    Â Â  “Well, it's understandable, losing your father and all.”
    Â Â  “Yeah, it's been hard.”
    Â Â  “You know, I did some checking, and through certain sources I learned that you never knew your father.”
    Â Â  I was surprised to hear this. “Sources?”
    Â Â  He rested his right elbow on the chair armrest, raised his hand and twirled an ink pen around his fingers. He raised his eyebrows and gazed at me condescendingly. “You know, I expected a lot better from you, Trevor. The Dean had nothing but good things to say about you.”
    Â Â  “So do you think the Dean was lying?”
    Â Â  “I don't know, was he?”
    Â Â  Suddenly Kyle reminded me of Walter, AKA Penis Head. “Well,” I said, “I'll just be frank with you, Mr. Bennett. My