The Truth after Seven Years Pt. 01

The Truth after Seven Years -- Pt 1

As I sit before my computer, trying to think of how I can tell my story, I know full well that no one will believe one word of it. I know I didn't accept it either when I first learned about what had happened to my father. Yet, the more I have pondered his story, the more I am convinced that it must be true. Still, I have struggled for a while on whether to let anyone else know. Even though I am pretty sure that his story will be dismissed out of hand, I wondered if it should be recorded. I finally came to a decision that, if for no other reason, it will be the only way my children to learn a little bit about their grandfather. I love my father and still miss him today, seven years later. It began nine years ago, but I will start with my visit to the bank for the purposes of this story.

I was left cooling my heels in one of the bank offices by the bank manager. He was off having the bank's attorney confirm the court order declaring my father dead. While I waited, I pulled out and reread the note delivered to me a week ago, with a safe deposit. It was in my father's handwriting, but the piece of paper only had a bank's name written on it. Still, this was the only communication that I had had from my father in the last seven years. The court order would grant me access to my father's box; A safe deposit box, I never knew he had.

I can't believe it's been seven years since my dad disappeared. Some people think that he was murdered. Some are sure that he died of an accident, and they haven't found his body yet. Still, others feel strongly that my father ran away to escape his ex-wife. That's the most ridiculous of all the theories. My father loved his ex-wife with all his heart. I couldn't imagine him running away from her. But, in truth, I had no idea what had happened to my father. It was as though he had just vanished from the Earth.

I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Jake Stanton, and my father's name is Mike. I'm here today in the bank because of two events that happened one day apart. A week and a day ago, was the seventh anniversary of my father's disappearance. This meant that my father's estate could finally be probated. The second event, which happened the day after the seventh anniversary, a safe deposit key with a note from my father, was delivered to me. As I mentioned, he had rented a box at a bank that I had no idea he had ever used. It was three counties over.

The reason for the delay in visiting the bank, after receiving the safe deposit key, was the necessity of providing proper documentation from the courts. Now, I'm sitting in some manager's office while they verify this documentation. I have to admit that I am beyond curious about what my father could have left in this mystery safe deposit box. I already know that my sister and I are the sole beneficiaries of our father's estate. It galls me that my sister, Tanya, is acting as co-trustee for my father's holding. She betrayed our father, and now she's making noises about forcing the sale of the ranch. I don't even know whether she can force the sale or not, but it has me worried. I have learned from my attorney that, once the IRS gets involved, the sale of the ranch will probably be forced. Even though this isn't Tanya's fault, I'm still annoyed with her.

My sister and I have never really gotten along. To her, I was her stupid younger brother. She was two years older than me and treated me like I was retarded. Tanya was always making fun of me in front of her friends. When it finally sank through my thick skull that were not going to be friends, I started getting revenge for all of her slights.

There was a time when I was nine, and Tanya had her girlfriends over for a sleepover. She told them all that she'd seen me naked, and I had a tiny "willy." All Saturday, they would call me "Wee Willy" and hold their thumb and forefinger about a half-inch apart. Then they'd laugh hysterically. I would turn bright red.

Saturday night, the girls changed into their PJs and talked late into the night. When they finally fell asleep, I snuck into Tanya's room and sprinkled itching powder on their change of clothes. I also poured an extra dose on the clothes that my sister had laid out for the following day.

The next morning, they ate breakfast and watched TV before getting dressed. They were planning on going to the mall and meeting up with some friends. They never made it out of the house as they began to itch uncontrollably. My mother was super pissed at me, but my father thought it was funny. The girls were ordered into the showers, and their clothes were washed twice. They were still itching when they went home.

You would think that my sister would take that as a warning and leave me alone. But she never did. We went back and forth at each other. And I would learn that what they say about women is right, they are a lot more devious than men. Both my sister and my mother would prove that to me. My sister got a lot sneakier in her shots at me. Sometimes, I wouldn't catch on for a month or more. Me I'm not a subtle kind of guy.

One time, Tanya took my pet lizard and put it in mom and dad's bed. My mom had a cow, and I got punished because I hadn't secured the latch on my pet's cage. Actually, I thought it was my fault, at first. The cage's clasp was iffy and required a hard push to secure it. I probably never would have caught on except that I saw my sister smirking while I was getting yelled at. In retaliation, I dropped a cockroach down her back. I still smirk when I think about my sister screaming as she stripped her clothes off in the front yard to get rid of the insect. I got grounded for a week, but I smirked anytime my sister passed me.

I really learned about how unbelievably devious women could be from my mother. How she treated my father, toward the end of their marriage, put me off women for a long time. It wasn't until I met Jenny that I sort of trusted a woman. But even then, my fear of betrayal almost ruined my marriage.

I loved Jenny with my whole heart and soul. And despite my fears, I asked her to marry me. She agreed without reservation. But the mistrust that my mother had instilled began to drive a wedge between my wife and me. Finally, in desperation, Jenny confronted me.

"Jake," she told me one day, "we need to talk.

My heart leaped up into my throat. I was sure this was the speech where I would find out that my wife had found someone else and wanted a divorce. At that moment, I was already preparing to hate her.

"What exactly do we need to talk about?" I asked with a calmness that I can assure you I did not feel.

"You are driving me crazy, checking up on me all the time," she said point-blank. "If you can't trust me, then there is no future for our marriage."

This accusation blindsided me. I thought I was so subtle that Jenny couldn't possibly know that I was checking up on her. But, instantly, I knew that she was right. Our marriage hung in the balance. I also knew that I only had two ways to go. I could deny that I wasn't constantly checking up on her, or I could admit it and explain. Thank God, I chose the latter.

"You're right," I said softly. "I'm messed up in the head. My mother cheated on my father, lied to him, and then left him to be with my father's worst enemy. You've seen my father, he's a broken man. Oh, he tries to hide it, but he is desperately unhappy."

"Jake," Jenny said lovingly, "I'm not your mother. I would never cheat on you. But we need to find a way to put your fears behind you. Would you be willing to go to counseling with me?"

The love I saw in Jenny's eyes right then dissolved probably half of my problems. I could clearly see the love and concern in my wife's eyes. I readily agreed to go to a therapist we knew from the hospital. Her name was Margaret Hogan. Jenny set everything up, and she was there at every session with me. Slowly, but surely, Margaret and Jenny worked me through my problems. I remember one visit where it all came together for me.

The doctor asked me what my biggest fear was. I told her that I was terrified that Jenny would find someone better than me. I loved her so much that I didn't think I could live if that happened.

"Jake, honey," Jenny said as she slipped from her chair and knelt beside me. She had tears streaming down her face. "If I ever lost you, my life would be over. I promise you that I will never leave you unless you tell me to go. But, please, please, don't ever do that. I love you with everything I have."

We hugged and cried for a good five minutes or more. After we composed ourselves, Margaret talked to us for another half-hour. After that day, my fears began to quickly fade. I can't say that my trust is one hundred percent. However, I will say this, I trust Jenny as much as any person can trust another. If I had to put a number on it, I'd say that my faith in Jenny runs to ninety-nine-point nine percent.

As I think about it, I know that I never really trusted my mother. There was always a kind of distance between us. Oh, I was pretty sure that she loved me. In fact, I was pretty sure that she loved both of her children. However, back then, in my mind, her love for us came after her love for herself. Like I said, in her own strange way, our mother loved us, but Tanya was clearly her favorite. But that only put my sister two steps ahead of me, but still three steps behind our mother. It was totally messed up.

The first time I ever witnessed my mother's selfish behavior was the day Tanya had the lead in a fourth-grade play. Mom had forgotten about the show and scheduled a hairdressing appointment for the same time. Mom and Dad were going to the "Blue and White Ball" at the hospital. It was one of the top social events of the year.

When my mother found out about the scheduling conflict, she opted to go to her hairdressing appointment. She could have changed the time, but that would have meant that her favorite hairdresser, Charles, wouldn't have been available. There was never a question in my mother's mind, she was going to her hairdressing appointment. I remember seeing my sister peek out through the side of the curtain, looking for mom. Even though we never really got along, that day, I felt sorry for Tanya. I saw the pain in my sister's eyes when she finally realized mom wasn't coming.

That was one of the very few heated arguments that I ever remembered my mother and father having. My mother just couldn't understand why anyone was upset. My dad was so pissed at her that he didn't talk to mom for several days. Tanya didn't talk to mom for a whole week. Anyway, my father could never stay mad at mom, and my mother took Tanya out for a girl's day of lunch and shopping. No question in my mind, mom was buying Tanya's love. And Tanya was totally taken in by it.

I kept my mother at arm's length, but my relationship with my father was built on mutual love and respect. My father also had a special relationship with my sister. He treated her like a princess, but if Tanya had to choose, there was no doubt, in my mind, that she would pick our mother.

Everything I know about ranching, I learned from my father. And through my father, I grew to love the ranch and everything about it. Like him, I started working almost as soon as I could walk. We were very, very close. The pain of him not being around is still with me today, seven years after he disappeared.

My mother crushed my father's soul and destroyed my relationship with her. I hadn't spoken to her for two years before my father went missing and not since. My split with my mother was such that I didn't invite her to my wedding, and I have refused to allow her to see her grandchildren; Jenny and I have three boys.

I suppose it was inevitable that my mother would betray my father. They came from completely different backgrounds. My father was born into a large family filled with love and mutual respect. My mother, Ashley Blakley, was an only child of a very successful builder, Jonathan Blakley, and his stay at home wife, Carol.

My grandfather John and his wife, Ann, started the ranch. It is now the cornerstone of my father's estate. My grandfather inherited the hundred-acre parcel of land from his parents. My great grandfather bought the property from a neighbor to help the neighbor out during the depression. But the land had never been used.

The ranch started with that hundred acres, ten head of cattle, and two horses. My grandfather built their first house by himself. They lived in a dilapidated trailer until it was finished. Little by little, they built the ranch up, and when my father started running it, there was a little over fourteen thousand acres and slightly over two thousand head of cattle. They also had twenty-five horses and assorted other farm animals.

During their marriage, my grandparents had six kids, Sam, Karen, Bobby, Kelly, Heather, and my dad. It was a loving family where they all supported each other. It was known that if you picked on one of the Stanton kids, you had to face the other five.

As the years passed, all the kids eventually got married and moved away except for Heather and my dad. Then Heather was killed by a drunk driver when she was only seventeen. Even many years after her death, if my father talked about his sister, the tears would flow. They were very close.

My father decided that he loved ranching and wanted to make a career out of it. This delighted both of my grandparents. My grandfather died of a heart attack a little over a year after my father graduated from high school. Even though my dad was still going to college, he started to take over running the ranch. At the same time, my grandmother began to teach my father about the other businesses also. My grandmother died almost ten years after my dad got married.

My grandfather was indeed a remarkable man. In addition to the ranch, he also built a feed store on another property fronting on one of the main roads. He then became half owner of the local drug store. That's a long story that isn't important to what's going on now. Over the years, he acquired several other businesses that, again, have nothing to do with this story.

To me, my dad was my hero. Oh, he wasn't a celebrity, or someone rich, or famous. He was just always there for me whenever I needed help. And he always seemed to know what I should do. I loved him as much as any boy could love his father, not so much, my mother. However, I didn't start to hate my mother until she cheated on my dad and left him.

I said that my dad wasn't a celebrity, and in the most real sense, he wasn't. But he was very well known for his athletic prowess. Oh, he wasn't good enough to be a professional athlete, but he was still pretty damn good. My father was the starting quarterback for the local high school, Clifton High, for three years. There is no doubt in my mind that this was the beginning of his ultimate marital problems.

Clifton High School's football team was a collection of local ranch and farm boys. Their reputation was not built on finesse but rather on brute strength. That was, of course, until my father was installed as the quarterback. He was five feet, eleven inches tall, and weighed a hundred and eighty pounds. He didn't have a particularly strong arm, but he was quick and smart. Also, he practiced with his receivers at least an hour a day during the summer. By the time football practice started in the fall, my father and his receiving corps were already firing on all cylinders.

If you know anything about elite professional quarterbacks, you know that they have to have a powerful throwing arm, be smart, tough, tall, and be highly accurate. I'm sure there are other attributes that I've missed, but these are right at the top of the list. Anyway, if you watch a professional football game closely, you'll notice that the quarterback, often, throws the ball before the receiver makes his cut. This was something my father did with great accuracy. From a professional football standpoint, my father was too short, and his arm was too weak. But what my father had, was more than enough for high school football.

The two football powers in our county were Clifton High and Chester Academy. They didn't play each other during the regular season because they were members of different conferences. However, almost every year, they met in the playoffs. And the differences between the two teams, and the two schools was like night and day. Clifton was just an ordinary high school, while Chester was a prep school for the wealthiest people in a five-county area.

As I mentioned, Clifton drew its players from the student body, and they were mostly kids, whose parents farmed or ranched. Of course, the student body encompassed kids whose mothers and fathers worked the full spectrum of jobs. But the football team came mostly from the farms and ranches in the county. Chester, on the other hand, recruited players from the five surrounding counties. It was clearly evident that they also poached players from areas well outside. If Chester wanted a kid to play on their football team, the father mysteriously received a job locally. The family would then move to one of the surrounding towns. That's how Tucker Morris came to play for Chester.

Tucker, or Tuck as he was known, had started as a freshman for a high school three hundred miles away. He was such an exceptional athlete that he took that team to the playoffs for the first time in ten years. Tuck also played offense and defense. He was the school's quarterback, and the starting center linebacker. Being able to play on both sides of the line was unheard of. No doubt, that is why the officials at Chester took an interest in Tuck.

As was the custom, Tuck's father got a job as a Vice President in a local bank. And so, the rivalry between Tucker Morris and my father would soon start. The actual rivalry, or should I say, the hatred between the two started toward the end of the summer before they would face each other on the football field.

Their first confrontation came one night when my father and some of his friends decided to get something to eat at "Rosie's Burger and Dog." It was a local hangout for high school students. This particular night, several of the Chester football players had taken Tuck to Rosie's. As my father told me once, it was apparent that the Chester students had been drinking and were being loud and obnoxious.

Tuck always was an arrogant prick, and he already decided that he could do what he wanted. That described the Chester students in general; they didn't think their shit stank. Anyway, Tuck was acting like a total ass. He was going from table to table, grabby fries off someone else's plate, taking a drink out of another's coke, grabbing someone's hat and throwing it across the room.

My father probably wouldn't have done anything because Tuck was just making a fool out of himself. But then, Tuck decided to harass Becky Commers. Becky was on a date with Simon Ballard. Simon wasn't a football player, but he was a friend of my father's. Simon was totally smitten with Becky, and she with him. Years later, after they graduated from college, they would be married and have four children. But tonight, Tuck decided he was going to lay hands on Becky.

Remember, I mentioned all the attributes a professional quarterback has. Tuck had most of them. He was six feet three, two hundred pounds, and he had a cannon for an arm. Tuck was fast, but my father questioned his toughness. As quarterback, he had rarely been hit. And as a linebacker, Tuck was hitting running backs much smaller than him. My father also questioned Tuck's smarts. But, my father conceded, Tuck was probably smart enough on the football field. He was on track for a scholarship to a Division One college to play football. And, there was a strong probability that he would make it to the pros.