FOOTPRINTS
by Richard & Esther Provencher


EXCERPT

ONE

Joe never met his firstborn. He didn't even know he had another son, at least not until a few moments ago after he picked up his mail. One particular letter hit him with a low blow, nasty as an icy chill similar to last December's cool breath.

That never forgotten moment was still fresh in his mind. At the time he was descending Jacob's ladder at Victoria Park in Truro, Nova Scotia. He was in a silly race down the steep stairs with his son Paul when he slipped and landed on his backside, sliding at least thirty steps downward.

Thankfully, the landing was into a small snow bank and his added reward was a neck full of snow. Now he reached around and rubbed his backside, remembering. His lungs were the same now, hard pressed to breathe properly. Joe clutched the letter tightly, wanting to scream, but couldn't. He had to calm himself.

He pushed himself away from the table. His early morning snack, a toast with peanut butter sat cold and forgotten on his plate. It belonged to a fancy patterned set Aunt Lila sent for his wedding a year ago, a long distance gift from Winnipeg. Joe’s usual custom was to get up ahead of everyone and collect the mail, to be first to read the news. Also to be alone with his thoughts, enjoying the short fresh air walk and the quietness of the trees rustling in the breeze on his front lawn.

Joe gobbled up almost anything in print. Keeping up to the morning news was a delight, except for this shocking letter.

MacLean's magazine topped his list of magazine subscriptions, none today though. Thankfully the Halifax Chronicle Herald newspaper was waiting. He had to read early in order to start the day off. To catch up on what was happening in the world. Too often, the world's sadness displayed itself in lurid headlines. He preferred reading fillers with good news. Considering all the difficult situations he faced in his Social Service work, he needed something besides coffee to give him a healthy lift.

And various news items provided ammunition for more interesting conversation than just talking about the weather with friends at coffee break. "Hey, did you hear about that movie star who died of cancer?" they usually asked. "No," Joe would answer then turn the conversation into a lighter moment.

Dad said, “There’s always a silver lining in every cloud.” And Joe tried to follow that precept.

He kept staring at the letter from this morning's mail. No return address either. Joe hated that. How could anyone not address mail properly? Perhaps ‘No Return’ meant someone didn't want it returned. And could have easily ended up in the 'Dead End' bin.

He couldn't even read the postal cancellation, or when it was sent. By coincidence or plan, the smudged envelope helped mask any clue from a mysterious sender. Almost like a thief in the night. Except, now it had become an unwelcome intruder; an alien invader in his home, a microbe sneaking in under his doorframe.

Joe had a chill remembering an old saying coming home to roost. "What goes around comes around." A thought snuck in from the past. It had stuck to him like a deer tick, never letting go---after all these years. His mind reeled at the sudden image of Jenny, a name from the past.

Her name occupied his thoughts every once in a while, like a pesky mosquito trying to wear down its prey. Now he had to face up to the possibility of certain facts, like a powerful smack right between the eyes.

Just thinking of his wife, Ann sleeping in the next room brought tears to his eyes. He loved her so much.

His coffee was getting cold; too much thinking going on. At least his feet were snug in a neat pair of Christmas-gift slippers. What a time to get this kind of news. And with the family talking about holiday camping plans, in just a few weeks.

The cryptic message, in neat handwriting, continued to burn its way deep into his heart...

"Joe Thompson, you have a son," the letter said. "He'll be fourteen next month, the beginning of a new year. Hah!"

The readable part of the envelope was dated December 14. Except this was now June. Which meant the boy was certainly fourteen by now. Somehow the letter was late being delivered. Or Jenny held it back for some reason. As if she had second thoughts before allowing it to penetrate his very soul.

The last sentence was cruel. It was not typical of Jenny. She must have been carrying a mountain of a grudge. Obviously, she was pregnant when he left. Why didn't she say anything? She was such a secretive sort, always holding back. As if events in her life should always be under her control.

That dominating attitude finally turned him off. He wondered at the time why he didn't break off their relationship before something happened. Obviously it did. Staring through the window at nothing in particular allowed a flood of painful memories. Clutching bread morsels, several crows scooted to the backyard.

"I want my first child to be a son," he remembered saying so many years ago.

It was about fifteen years ago when their relationship was heading for marriage. Jenny's parents had liked him, at least at first. Later, it did not really matter and the family agreed it was best not to go ahead with their plans. Somehow he and Jenny began to disagree about too many things besides wedding plans. He couldn't handle arguments and was continually embroiled in them.

He and Jenny tried to talk about calling off their wedding or even postponing it. But she was furious and said things, which soured any further relationship. The memory of her angry statements still burned in his chest. Now he understood why she was so upset.

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