Ch.28 - Conrad

Mr. and Mrs. Steven Austin of Seattle, Washington were married on March 23rd in St. James Cathedral during a ceremony officiated by the Reverend Peter Kozak.

The bride, Sarah Austin, is the daughter of the late Carl and Renee Carter of Seattle. She is currently a nursing student at the University of Washington.

The groom, Steven Austin, is the son of Conrad Austin II and the late Elizabeth Austin of Seattle. He is a graduate of the University of Washington where he received a Master's Degree of Science in Applied Mathematics and is currently working toward his MBA.

The newlyweds plan to reside in the Greater Seattle area.

Conrad leaned back into the plush leather of his office chair and set the folded newspaper down next his coffee, still steaming from when his secretary brought it in. Propping his elbows on the arm rests, he pressed his fingertips together and swiveled his seat toward the Seattle skyline. The downtown buzzed with activity, even in the early hours of the morning, and he watched with unwavering fascination from the large picture window behind his desk. He'd been staring at the same setting for over twenty years and still never tired of the varying heights of the towers or the dignified Space Needle in the not too far off distance, the majestic landmark of the Pacific Northwest. The rising sun reflected off Lake Union and the rolling ridges of the Olympic Mountains silhouetted against the orange and pink sky.

The wedding announcement bothered him more than he cared to admit. He hadn't seen Steven since Elizabeth's funeral, when he'd told him to leave and never come back. Now here he was, married, to a woman who was as much of a stranger to him as his very own son. Something about the article sat heavy in his chest, igniting a painful, dull ache that hadn't been there before. An ache Conrad wouldn't typically allow.

Missing his son wasn't the cause of the throbbing discomfort lingering in his core. He didn't miss him at all. It was the ache of a betrayal that had blindsided him. An ache that loitered like the side effects of an appendage being removed. Deep. Unreachable. No matter how many pills he ingested or how much alcohol he consumed.

Conrad remembered his wife's funeral as if it had happened only the day before and not, what...eight years ago already? With surprising momentum, he felt himself slip back in time and the familiar lump of unease swelled in his throat. Normally, he would swallow the uncomfortable thoughts when they emerged, brush them away before his body reacted in a manner he couldn't control. But the problem was that this was his reality, circumstances he wished every day he could forget.

But some memories are impossible to erase.

​The humiliation he'd suffered after Elizabeth selfishly took her own life was magnified by the inexcusable reaction of his son. Conrad had managed to gain the sympathy of the community as he grieved the loss of a woman so mentally ill she refused to seek help. Friends and co-workers rallied around him in his time of need, offering their love and support as if he were a martyr--which in their eyes he was. How many men would care for their wives after they'd become too insane to accept medical attention? What a strong man he must be for staying by her side with a psychological illness as crippling as hers; helping her, holding her hand, keeping her safe from herself for as long as he could. Not many husbands would spend the freedom of their youth tethered down to a woman incapable of taking care of herself.

At least, that's what he lead them to believe. He'd painted a vivid picture of Elizabeth's insanity, the only acceptable cause of ending her life.

"Why did you keep us in the dark for so long?" they all prodded. "We could have helped if we'd known Elizabeth was this unwell."

With downcast eyes Conrad accepted their well-meaning efforts as if he truly had been a man living with a time bomb, ticking away the minutes and seconds, waiting to detonate.

But the truth, as it turned out, was uglier than his lies.

​Had it been his self-conscience trying to protect him? Was it nature's way of shielding him from an insufferable fact?

Elizabeth's funeral had resulted in an abundance of mourners. Friends, neighbors and co-workers they'd accumulated over their many years together, all made appearances to pay their respects. Conrad played the role of the strong, bereaved widower, welcoming condolences with quiet grace. It wasn't until Steven arrived that the atmosphere took a turn. He wept at the casket, grief etched in the shadows of his face.

As he watched his son, Conrad felt slight pangs of compassion poke at his insides. Who wouldn't be moved by the sight of a heartbroken child crying a final farewell to his mother; the woman who gave birth to him, the woman who defended him when life turned cruel?

After his release began to slow, Steven looked up from the casket, his red-rimmed eyes searching the funeral home with desperate urgency. Finally, his gaze landed on Conrad. With purposeful strides, Steven crossed the room until his face was only inches from his own. The two men stared at one another, blue eyes on blue, long immune to the uncanny resemblance they shared. Aware of the audience awaiting an impassioned reunion, Conrad opened his arms to invite his son in. He was more than surprised when Steven pushed him away.

"You did this to her." His voice was quiet but held an undertone of rage.

"What did you say?" Conrad asked. Surely he had not heard him correctly. Frowning, his gaze wandered restlessly around the room, noting once again the many eyes fixed upon them.

"You did this to her!" This time Steven screamed, the angry retort hardening his features.

Conrad allowed himself a withering stare. "I didn't do this to her. She did this to herself," he responded, his voice quiet and steady. "I am not responsible for the choices she made."

Steven's nostrils flared with fury. "You are responsible, you bastard. Years of living with you, of suffering in silence, finally took its toll." He choked on his words. "You may not have slit her wrists, but you did kill her. Her blood is on your hands and yours alone."

A chorus of shocked murmurs rose from the circle closing in and a slow storm began to build inside of him. "You're crazy," Conrad responded under his breath.

"Am I? Am I the crazy one? I'm more sane than you've ever been. My mother was so desperate to be free of you she ended her own life! How does that make you feel? She chose death over you. Because she couldn't bare to be with you for even one more second."

Conrad felt the quickening rise and fall of his chest and a wave of contempt coursed through his body. Just who the hell did Steven think he was talking to him like that? Trying to embarrass him at the funeral of his recently deceased wife?

"You couldn't properly care for her," Steven continued. "Not the way a wife deserves to be cared for." His eyes shown brightly and an unspoken challenge hung in the air as he stared down at his father. "But I did. I looked after her in a way you were incapable of, in a way you didn't have in you. I had no choice. You paid the bills but that's about all you did for us. You never showed us love, we were possessions to you. It's no wonder she turned to me."

Conrad's breath caught in his chest. "What are you talking about?"

Steven closed the gap between them so no one else could hear, the faint odor of alcohol skimming his ear. "I took care of her the way a man should take care of a woman."

A substantial density manifested in Conrad's gut as realization folded over him. All those years of subtle glances, of slow, languid embraces suddenly made sense. Their relationship was much more than mother and child... "You son-of-a-bitch," he said slowly, the storm inside him growing in intensity.

​Before Conrad could stop himself, he cocked his arm back and threw a punch, his fist connecting with the angle of his son's jaw. With a sickening crack, Steven stumbled backward, the force of rage catching him off guard.  Growling in anger, he regained his footing and charged toward his father, snaking both arms around his waist.

The weight of his mass smashed into him, slamming him through the wide-eyed crowd into the copper-laden casket​. His back pressed against the satin-white fabric folded over the edge. He was struggling to free himself when Steven's fist caught his nose, causing a loud crunch upon impact.

His neck snapped to the side and a trickle of blood made it's way from his nostrils, dripping on the snow-white fabric inside the casket. And all the while Elizabeth lay there, the frozen smile of her corpse mocking him.

Finally, a few strong-armed men extracted Steven from him and he was able to stand. Conrad straightened himself and gingerly pressed the back of his hand to his broken nose. Crimson painted his skin, smearing onto his white dress shirt as he pulled his hand away. He stared at Steven with deadly concentration, his son's wild, vacant eyes darting to his mother.

But she couldn't save him anymore.

Walking up to him, Conrad pinched Steven's chin in his grasp, jerking his head straight until his gaze met his.

"You're not welcome here. You need to leave." Conrad disciplined his voice so he was in complete control. "You're no son of mine, I don't want to see you again."

"Don't worry," Steven said. As soon as the men loosened their grip on him his hand cradled his jaw, already red from where he'd been hit. "You won't."

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Hello and thank you for reading Secrets and Lies! If you enjoyed this chapter please hit that star!

Ewww... so in a drunken rage Steven revealed his secret, and at such an inappropriate time! For those of you who read The Secret do you remember that piece of information? I eluded to it without coming out and saying it, much as I've done here. It's a sensitive subject that I wanted to handle delicately.

I try to update this story twice a week, but sometimes am unable to. I'm hoping to post the next chapter this weekend.

Today I would like to thank readers in Singapore, Bolivia, Mali, Uganda and Portugal--thank you for reading!