Page 13 of Snow Blind (The Technicians #14)

D arnell Nelson, at the ripe age of 64, looked like he stepped out of the pages of Gentleman's Quarterly, showing how a man should age gracefully. At six foot two, the grey in his hair was spread evenly, and not patchy, giving him a refined look. The long wool coat, accented at the neck with a coordinating scarf stated he was a man of means. An overnight case, like the ones used by airline pilots, he dragged behind him coming out the main terminal of the airport. His daughter had told him to come to the curb.

Helen pulled up, rolling down the window. "Hey Daddy, put your case in the back and hop in."

Darnell at least expected her to get out of the vehicle to give him an embrace, versus picking him up on the curb as if he were the trick for the night. At this point, though, he was so happy to see his daughter, he didn't care. He followed her instructions, climbing into the passenger seat, offering a wide smile.

"Hey there Punkin!" Darnell said. "Oh my, it is so good to see my baby!"

"Good to see you as well, Daddy," Helen said. "We don't have far to go to reach the house. Plainfield is only about a thirty-minute ride. It will give us a chance to cover some critical points."

"Critical points?" he asked, turning slightly in the seat to look at her.

"Yes. One, life has been life-ing , and my name has changed. It is no longer Shenita Nelson, but Helen McDaniel," she said, leaving off a critical point of her last name now being Neary.

He sighed deeply, feeling some sort of way about changing the name he’d given her at birth, "Any particular reason why you changed the name I gave you?"

"Again, life has been life-ing , along with major life changes which constituted the name change," she explained.

"Witness protection?"

"Nothing so dramatic," she replied.

"You’re not single? I see rings on the finger," he said.

"Critical point two," Helen said. "He's going to ask you for my hand because that's who he is, but he also married me already since we live together and because, well, that's who he is. We will have a wedding later, and you will get to walk me down the aisle, but no snide comments referring to me as a cow that was being milked for free, okay?"

Darnell held up his hands and said, "Okay. So, what is this man of yours like? Will I like him or is he a knuckle-dragging knot-head?"

"I won't discuss him with you since you'll have all weekend to get to know him and ask those questions yourself," she stated. "He is grilling steaks for dinner and will open a bottle of red. If you want beer, we will need to stop and get it. I also have a few turkey breasts and Dover sole to grill in case you're watching your A1C."

"Funny," he said, looking about. "This is a bleak-looking place to raise a family. Are you planning on having children, Punkin?"

"Critical point three, Daddy. I can't have them because life was life-ing . Jay isn't really trying to have kids either," she explained.

"What kind of man doesn't want kids?"

"What kind of man has a kid that he never sees?"

"That's not fair," Darnell said.

"Neither is your pre-assessment of Jay. Save your judgement until you meet him and have a conversation," she said, entering the Plainfield city limit.

Eight minutes later, Helen arrived at the gate and entered her code. She instructed her father to place his hand on the dashboard as a white light scanned over him. Darnell's face contorted, wondering what the hell his daughter had gotten herself into.

"You're married to a white man, aren't you?" he asked, looking about the property with the rundown outbuildings but brand-new metal six-car garage. "Is he one of those survivalist types with lots of guns, ammo, and knives? Ooh, is he going to go hunting this weekend and come back and field dress a deer?"

Helen pulled around back of the home, parking the pickup truck under the parking cover Jay recently had installed for her vehicles. The covering went to the back porch in case in rained so she wouldn't get wet bringing in groceries and supplies.

"Welcome to our home, Daddy," she said, cutting the engine. Helen led the way to the back door and disengaged the alarm. Darnell stood on the deck, looking over the property from a fresh angle. The back deck was nice. He could see the man who was working on it had plans in mind to spend a great deal of time on the deck cooking, watching the game, and living his life.

Inside the home, Darnell Nelson immediately felt relaxed. It was homey, not stuffy with items no one could touch, or expensive furnishings you were allowed to look at and not sit on to have a snack. He liked it.

He asked his daughter, "Is this a mobile home?"

"A manufactured home with four bedrooms and two and a half baths," she said. "Follow me to the guest room where you'll be staying."

Darnell didn't know what to expect when he entered the bedroom. A queen-sized bed with a comfy quilt, embroidered pillowcases, and monogrammed throw pillows awaited him. Art hung on the walls and the furniture pieces all matched. In his heart, he chastised himself for thinking his daughter would live in a rundown home or a stinking apartment building where all the neighbors fried fish on Friday and cooked cabbage on Saturday.

"You have a lovely home," he said as the sound of tires on gravel drew his attention.

"Daddy, let me take your coat," she said, waiting for him to remove the outer garment.

As she expected, under the coat, he wore a sport blazer with matching pants and a button-down shirt. A Phillip Stein watch sat on his left wrist and a matching wedding band on his left hand drew her eye. This is what she didn't want to mention but would to get it out of the way.

"How is Aunt Stephanie?" she asked, knowing her father had married her mother's sister.

"She's doing well. Steph has a hot yoga studio in Corning and it is going pretty good," he said, giving a smile, but his attention was on the sound of the alarm announcing the door was opening.

Darnell made his way to the main living area to come face to face with the man he expected to be a redneck of a loser who oppressed his daughter and talked down to her. He’d mentally prepared himself to dislike the man before he'd laid eyes on him or opened his mouth. He'd met one or two of his daughter's boyfriends, and like her mother, her taste in men was suspect. Entering the kitchen, he pulled back.

"Whoa, and hello," Darnell said.

Mustang did a once over of the well-dressed man, assessing him as educated, opinionated and a potential pain in the ass. However, for Helen's sake, he planned to be on his best behavior to make nice with her father. It wasn't what she said about her father which made him not think highly of Darnell Nelson, but all the things she omitted.

"Mr. Nelson, nice to meet you. I'm Jarius. Please call me Jay," he said, offering a handshake. "How was the flight out?"

"I hate flying in those sardine canes of bacteria, but I wanted to see my baby," he said, looking at Mustang's uniform. "You're a State Trooper?"

"I am, but currently an instructor at the academy here in Plainfield," he said. "You're an engineer?"

"Yes, I have spent most of my life working for Corning," Darnell told him. "I'm retiring soon. Looking forward to easy days, fishing, and golfing, and I was hoping to spend time with the grandkids."

Helen swatted her father, who seemed to have a case of early onset of I know what you said, but I'm old and I have the I will say what I want disease.

Darnell commented, “I see you with the kids on the images in the hall. Are those yours? Why you don't want anymore?”

"Sir, I have no kids," Jay said. "Those boys are Helen's, well, now I guess my nephews."

"What nephews? Abigail had kids?" he asked, turning to look at the mantle, seeing Cherry. He moved to the mantle, looking at the photos of Cherry with Slow and Naomi. "Abigail has a child?"

"Yes, and one on the way. She is due in the next month or so. It's a boy whom they have named Luke," Helen told him.

"I spoke with her two weeks ago and she didn't tell me I had a grandchild," Darnell said. "Neither of you have ever mentioned I had a grandchild."

Helen's eyebrows arched. Mustang looked away. He wanted to hear all the upcoming conversation, and he really wanted to get those steaks on the grill, but now he was thinking of a good pan sear on the stove instead so he could hear this.

Helen asked, "Grandchild? I'm not understanding."

"Abigail is your sister," Darnell said. "She's my daughter as well."

Mustang held up his finger. "Hold on. I need to get out of this uniform and open a bottle of wine, and you guys need to sit close by while I cook these steaks. I want to hear this."

"Jay!" Helen shouted, shocked at his lack of sensitivity during this mind-blowing moment.

"What? How did you not know she's your sister? Hell, does she know she's your sister and if so, why has she never mentioned it, and always calling you cousin?" Jay wanted to know.

Darnell asked, "You know Abigail?"

"Of course; she'd married to my brother," Jay countered.

"Well, that is a bit of incestuousness happening there," Darnell said.

"Daddy, seriously? How, as the black ass pot, are you questioning the validity of the existence of the kettle's right to let off some steam? What do you mean, you're her father?"

"I could use that glass of wine now," Darnell said, not wanting to hash this up. This was part of his depression. This was the sadness that sickened him every year at the holidays. A few bad decisions, and Anita Barnes, the mother of the daughter standing before him, had used them to punish him forever.

Helen needed a moment to center her breathing. How on God's dying planet did she not know Cherry was her biological sister? Although they were raised together as such, it had never occurred to her they could be actual sisters. Then she thought about her mother, and all of her questions were pushed aside. Anita Barnes was not only petty, but jealous-hearted, and coveting anything her sister had. It should not have been a surprise to find out she'd also screwed her sister's man and made a child for a check.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Helen said.

Darnell made a move towards Helen and stopped short. "Punkin, I thought you knew."

"No Daddy, I didn't. I just assumed when you sent presents to me and Abi that you were giving her presents so she wouldn't be resentful of my father giving me stuff and hers not being around," Helen said.

"Abigail knows I'm her father; she just doesn't like me. She's never liked me," he said. "Even as an infant, she'd cry when I held her. One time, I took her to the park and she didn't want to leave. She threw such a tantrum, the mothers in the park called the police on me. Stephanie had to come to the station to pick us both up."

"Daddy, I'm at a loss for words here. I want to understand, but I don't want the toxicity of the knowing the sordid details of that to ruin the weekend," she told him.

"Baby, there is no toxicity," Darnell said. "Stephanie and I wanted more children and she couldn't conceive again. Anita offered to help, so she did."

Helen sighed deeply. She knew her mother and the way the woman thought. "Let me guess, no turkey baster was involved and you made me the old-fashioned way?"

"Well, we were all consenting adults," Darnell said, bugging his eyes and looking at Mustang to cosign on the bro code for having a threesome. Mustang shook his head no. He was not cosigning on anything the man said. Darnell moved on. "Anyway, once you were born, Anita wasn't willing to let you go. I got a job offer from Wedgewood in the UK and wanted to take you girls with us. Anita would only agree to let you go if she could come. Your mother was too much drama, so you stayed in the US. Abigail didn't want to leave you, and didn't want to be anywhere near me, so we left you both with Anita."

"Daddy, my mother is one of the pettiest, most trifling and envious people I know. You thought it was a good idea to.... you know what, never mind," Helen said. "You're here to visit me, and we shall have a visit."

"Punkin, hold on," he said. "I'd never met anyone like Anita so I had no idea. I was a nerd who did engineering. My father was a nerd who married in college and stayed married to my mother until he died. It was exciting and we created such lovely girls, and my daughters were beautiful."

"And my mother is certifiable. She hates Aunt Stephanie and covets everything she has, and you walked into the web, but again, that was years ago, and you've reaped what you sowed," Helen said.

Darnell was looking for the wine. Mustang hadn't officially changed out of his uniform, only removing the outer shirt and work boots. He was behind the stove, preparing the pan for the meat.

"Aren't you being hard on me? It's bad enough Abigail hates me, but you too, Shenita?"

"It's Helen. Shenita is no more, just like this conversation is about to be no more," Helen said. "Abigail can't respect a man who chose his own career ambitions and his wife's sister over his own children's wellbeing."

"I didn't choose my wife's sister. Stephanie and I were together. The second pregnancy with Abigail went awry and she couldn't have anymore. We wanted a sibling for her and Anita offered," Darnell said.

Helen was done with the conversation, "And your easy solution has left you with two children you barely know, a grandchild you didn't know existed, and chronic depression. Daddy, healing needs to occur in your soul for you to make this right. Yes, I am an adult, but this is messed up. My mother was never right, and this is...simply wrong."

"Shen...I mean Helen, she's still your mother," Darnell said.

Helen had heard that phrase one time too many. People were constantly making excuses for Anita's bad behavior, selfishness, and inability to care about how anyone else felt but herself. She was the epitome of a narcissist and her father wasn't far behind.

"Daddy, do you think for one minute that people told the Bundy's, that, well, Ted is still your son, and you should love him, anyway? No! My mother is a piece of work, and the pain of her narcissism and selfishness has caused more damage than you can ever know," Helen said.

She looked at Mustang, who was flipping the steaks from the pan. Helen stood to get the salad and the sauteed asparagus she'd cooked earlier. The conversation was over. "Let's simply enjoy the weekend and your visit," she said, not broaching the matter again.

At the end of the evening, when she climbed into bed, she snuggled up against her husband, wrapping herself around him like he was her very own cuddle toy. Mustang could feel the dampness on his chest from her tears. He'd never known Helen to cry. A large hand patted her back.

"People suck," she said.

"True, but for every bad one there is a good one," he replied.

"My Daddy is not a bad man; he's just not a good one," she said. "He came from a line of people who saw him as a hope. He was smart, went to college, and worked for a company with great benefits. When he could, he sent a few bills home to his mother, who didn’t need them, but it was the act. Stephanie, like Abigail, has a very fair complexion, whereas my mother, like me, is darker. My father has never had anyone to really tell him no, so he learned to do whatever he could as long as he didn't get caught."

"Is that how you see men, Helen?"

"Most men will have a line they won't cross. Usually, fucking two sisters is that line, especially when one is covetous with an evil heart," she said, feeling a need to qualify her statement. "My mother is a nurse. Stephanie is flighty, does yoga, eats the equivalent of tree bark, and checks her poop with each movement. The two aren't even close in personality. He slept with my mom because he wanted to and could get away with it. He did it under the guise of giving Abigail a playmate. This deal was struck with a woman who found out she couldn't have more kids."

"You make him sound horrible. They were consenting adults," Mustang said.

"Okay then, husband, I want a child. Please arrange with Michael and Abigail to have sex to make me one," she told him.

"Uhm no," he said.

"See how simple that was? He's not a good man," Helen said. "Let's get through the weekend and move on. You've met him. Ask for my hand, we'll give him a date to show up at the wedding to officially hand me off to you and then fuck him."

Helen was starting to see why Abigail didn't like the man. Her bullshit barometer had sensitivity settings higher than Helen's own. However, Helen was learning. She was learning fast, and burning off fingerprints and breaking teeth out of a cadaver paled in comparison to dealing with family bullshit.

****

M USTANG WAS UP AT HIS usual hour on a Saturday morning. He planned to hit his workshop to finish the table he was making for Abigail as a Christmas present for the new nursery. The new coffee pot Helen had purchased allowed her to set it at night so when he reached the kitchen, hot coffee would be ready for him to enjoy. She was thoughtful like that.

A sound of shuffling feet caught his attention. He turned to find Darnell in a bathrobe and matching jammies with leather slippers coming his way. He reeked of class, but like Abigail, his spirit was off. Mustang didn't trust him, he didn't know why, but something wasn't right with dear old dad.

"Morning, Mr. Nelson, care for a cup of coffee?"

"Sure, that would be great," Darnell said, coming to the counter. He pulled out a chair and took a seat. He noticed the touches in the kitchen along with the other homey touches in the home his daughter shared with this man. "So, what's your thing?"

Mustang poured him coffee and passed the cup to him. "My thing?"

"You're up early on a Saturday morning. Are you going for an early run, hunting, you know, your thing?"

"Ah," Mustang said, sipping the black brew. "I like to keep my weekend hours the same as the weekday hours, you know, Circadian rhythm alignment and all. Today, I am making a piece of furniture as a Christmas present for the nursery for Abigail."

"Hmm, you make furniture?"

"Yes, the coffee table, I made. The end tables, Helen and I made together," Mustang said. "You're welcome to join me, take a look about the place."

"In the picture on the wall of you and the boy, it looks like you two were making a desk."

"We were. Oscar wanted a desk for his bedroom where he could play with his Legos and not step on them on the floor," he said. "We found a few pieces of wood and created him a desk with a work stool."

"A man who is good with his hands," Darnell said. "So, may I ask, why do you plan to ask me for her hand if you've already married my Punkin?"

Mustang thought long and hard about this question he'd been expecting from the man. On the drive home from work, he’d imagined how he would answer the request, and from his heart, he gave Darnell Nelson his answer. He even smiled when he delivered the words.

"You see this house? I'm excited to come home each day to see what new touches she's added to our nest," Mustang said. "Initially, I’d planned to wait, but Helen deserved more from me as her man. I saw no logic in her living and operating as the woman of this house without having the documentation to go with the tasks. She is my wife. I come home to my wife."

"Hmm," Darnell said. "You love her a great deal. I can see that. In a couple of years, when you get the hankering to be a father, and she can't deliver, are you going to turn on her?"

Mustang didn't miss a beat, "And what, go ask Abigail to give me a son? No, not my thing; besides, the boy in the painting, he asked me to be his dad."

"What? You're going to just take in some kid and raise him as your own?"

It was official. Mustang didn't like this fucker. In her father's mind, he was delivering sage wisdom. In Mustang's mind, the man was full of shit with no real clue how the world worked. He had no idea he was standing in front of a former Technician and one of the best trackers on the North American continent. He also didn't know, in the other room slobbering on a pillow was a skilled assassin who dropped two men with easy trigger pulls and went on to rescue women held captive by a psycho and rescue that same child in the photo.

This man knew nothing about life.

"Sir, raising kids doesn't seem to be a point of expertise in your life or in your wheelhouse," Mustang said. "Sorry to be so blunt, considering you know nothing about me, my background or even that kid’s. You also know nothing of that kid's relationship with your daughter. So, if we could, this weekend, I ask that you sit back and observe. Spend time with us. Get to know us, and we move from there."

"Honest. Direct. To the point," Darnell said.

"In my line of work, hesitation gets you dead," Mustang added. "She brought you here to spend the weekend with us. Let's just do that. Is that cool? Are you cool?"

"I'm cool," he replied. Darnell paused, making eye contact with Mustang, who didn't blink and didn't flinch at the direct stare. "Do we get breakfast before going to your workshop to make furniture?"

"Sure, I cooked dinner. Helen made the sides, so breakfast is your turn," Mustang said to Darnell's shocked face. "What, this ain't no hotel for my wife to be waiting on you, Daddy or not. Get in here, make some pancakes, waffles, or whatever your cooking repertoire can yield."

Darnell smiled and said, "Oh, it's like that?"

"It's exactly like that," Mustang said, giving him a wink. Darnell watched his son-in-law pour an additional cup of coffee that he carried toward the bedroom for Helen.

There were more gifts to make for the family, and Monday, they would be heading for Louisville for Christmas, arriving in the same vehicle. He and Helen would also stay in her house on his brother's land. The family would also learn he'd taken a new job closer to home, and he'd moved to Indiana and bought a house and land, and also, that he'd gotten married.

"My Mama is going to hang me up by my toenails," he said, waving the coffee under Helen's nose, watching her puffy eyes pop open. “Hey, your Dad’s making breakfast then we’re heading out to my workshop.”

“Have fun; don’t break him,” Helen said, sitting up, and accepting the liquid eye opener.

****

M USTANG DIDN’T PARTICULARLY enjoy Darnell Nelson’s company, but he’d spent time sitting on back roads in squad cars with men who didn’t understand the purpose of a vagina, outside of poking it with their wieners. He could get through a couple of days of an overdressed dandy who thought he was cool. Halfway through the first setting of wood screws for the bookshelves he was making for Helen for Christmas, Darnell, turned out to be, kind of okay.

They talked about life and choices. They talked about fatherhood in which Darnell asked about Mustang’s father. He spoke highly of Mark.

“That’s the white guy in the picture, right? You a side baby?” Darnell asked.

“Adopted,” he said.

“Biological?”

“No good,” Mustang. “Lived with my grandmother in Wisconsin for a while. Went to Summer camp with the Johnsons, who are friends with the Neary’s. Gran died while I was at camp, and I had nowhere else to go. They took me in.”

“Sound like good people,” he said. “And how do they treat my daughters?”

“They love them, and Naomi, my Ma is wrapped around her finger. Hell, so am I,” he said, looking at him smiling. “My brother is a good man. Abigail chose well.”

“Your Ma and...Helen?”

Mustang smiled. The smile was so wide and so bright that Darnell found himself smiling too. He asked, “what?”

“My mother is a homemaker. She loves baking, making cutesy shit, and overly decorating,” he said, pointing a paintbrush towards the house. “She found a kindred spirit in Helen who hangs under her like my sister never does. It’s a nice balance.”

“You really love my baby, don’t you?”

“Sir, I will drop any man or beast coming her way, threatening her harm, including you,” he said, staring Darnell in the eyes.

“Noted,” he said looking at the bookcases. “These are nice. Where will they go?”

“In her craft room. I have a special Christmas gift for her, and she’s going to need these shelves,” he said, smiling as he worked. “But first, I need to turn the legs on this table for Abigail for the nursery. So, grab some goggles, an apron and let’s get to work. I’ll tell her you helped make this for Luke.”

Darnell understood. He was happy to be a part of their lives in any way it came. After a quick lunch, a stroll through town to secure ice cream in the dead of Winter, they returned to the home for a pleasant dinner. He watched his daughter take out a book, sit next to her husband on the couch, and read. The husband, simply content to end his day, leaned back on the couch, allowing Helen to use him as an oversized pillow. There was no rush, no chaos, no unnecessary words spoken. She sipped her tea and breathed evenly.

“This is really...nice,” Darnell said, excusing himself for the night as the emotions took over him. He stopped once in the hallway to look at the photo of Mustang and Oscar. “Hmm, a possible grandson?”