Father's Day by Simon van Booy Read Free Book Online

Nassau County Police closed the road for an investigation. There were even a few minutes of live “on the scene” television coverage with Jodi Goldberg of FOX 5 News. Jason watched it over and over.
    At first light, he got in his car and went to Dairy Barn for coffee and cigarettes. Then he drove out there.
    Somewhere between Exits 45 and 46 on the westbound side of the Northern Parkway, Jason pulled off the road and stood in the wet grass. He only had to walk about thirty yards before locating the spot. He knew because the ground was churned with plastic and glass.
    The car they were traveling in must have flipped and hit the tree because bark was torn off and there were gashes in the bare wood.
    He touched the gashes.
    Although Jason had not spoken to his brother in over ten years, he felt this was a different sort of absence—like opening your eyes upon darkness.
    He remembered when they were young and walked to school along Kissena Boulevard. Jason used to hold his brother’s hand. He considered how memories hold our lives in place but weigh nothing and cannot be seen or touched.
    Then he went back to his car and drove along the grass to where the lives of his brother and sister-in-law had come to an end.
    He took a black garbage bag from the trunk and stepped over the wet, uneven ground, stooping to collect shards of dashboard plastic, glass from a headlight, an undamaged side mirror, a floor mat, a door handle.
    Soon the bag was full.
    When he noticed a woman’s high-heeled shoe in the grass some distance off, Jason put the bag in the trunk and went home.
    W HEN W ANDA CAME over the next day, she was holding a bunch of flowers. “It’s probably not your thing,” she said. “But I couldn’t show up empty-handed.”
    Jason offered her something to drink, but she said she was fine. He could tell she was looking at the tattoo on his neck, trying to figure out what it was.
    â€œMust be a shock,” Wanda kept saying. “I’m so sorry.”
    Then she put on a pair of red-framed glasses and read silently from the folder in her hands. She had the sort of Afro hairstyle that was popular in the 1970s. Jason watched her turn the pages; watched her earrings swing when she moved her head to read or glance up at him.
    Wanda informed Jason that his disability benefit payments were up to date, and she could see no reason why they would be stopped. She read the date he’d received his first payment, and told him the first name of the person who had processed the application.
    Then Wanda closed the folder and asked about his brother, Steve.
    Jason just turned the brass rings on his fingers one at a time.
    â€œLooks like you’re trying to crack a safe,” Wanda said, pointing with her eyes. “Do those mean anything?”
    One of the rings was of a snake eating its own tail. Another was some kind of demon, which the magazine advertisementsaid was Lucifer’s first incarnation. The other rings were just skulls, but one of the skulls wore a top hat, which Jason loved because it reminded him of Slash from Guns N’ Roses.
    Jason said that his brother was a good guy, but they had no relationship. If Wanda hadn’t called, he wouldn’t even know.
    â€œHis wife also passed in the car with him,” Wanda said. “Such a tragic day.”
    Jason thought of the woman’s shoe he had seen lying in the grass. “How long was he married?” he asked.
    Wanda put her glasses back on and opened the folder. “Seven years, to Melanie Morgano from Bellmore.” She paused. “I was told at the service, Jason, that your parents passed some time ago?”
    â€œWhat’s the difference? Who gives a shit now?”
    Wanda sighed and looked at the overflowing ashtrays, empty soda cans, take-out containers, random engine parts, and peeling iron dumbbells. One of the front windows had a long crack in the glass, and a blanket and pillow sat in a pile