The Tower Read online

  We combed that whole stupid room for over an hour and found nothing. Absolutely nothing about me or my biological father.

  “Someone’s at the front door,” Wendy yelled, running into the hallway.

  “I’ll bet the pizza’s here,” Kendra said, aiming for the front door. “Your mom already paid, right?”

  “She always pays with a credit card,” I said, opening the door and peeping out.

  I handed the deliveryman the ten dollars Hank had left on the table for a tip. The heat from the slender box stung my fingertips as I carried it into the kitchen. After placing the box on the counter, I went for the plates.

  “Yey, pizza.” Wendy smiled as she opened the steaming box.

  Grabbing some plates from the cupboard, I wondered what my real father looked like. Would he be tall, dark and handsome? Or could he really be a circus fat man? The eyes from my dream flashed through my mind. Was I dreaming that night at Kendra’s house, or was I remembering?

  “What’s wrong?” Kendra asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “Just wondering what my dad looks like.” As always, my mom ordered a double-cheese pizza and as always, the cheese slid from the crust as I pulled my piece from the box. “Ah, I hate it when it does this.”

  “Your mom has blonde hair, but yours is dark. So he’s gotta have dark hair,” Wendy said.

  “That makes sense,” Kendra added. “And your mom has blue eyes, but yours are brown.”

  “Okay, he’s got brown hair and brown eyes. Do you know how many guys fit that description?” I asked, wiping my face with a napkin.

  We ate as we pondered about my real father. Without pictures, would I ever know what he looked like?

  “I’m stuffed,” Kendra finally said, after her third piece. “Now what?”

  “The attic,” Wendy said, pointing her finger toward the ceiling. “Everything people want to hide is always in the attic.”

  “And how do we get into my attic?” I asked, just knowing the place would be full of spiders and other nasty crawling things. “Your attic has stairs and a door. There isn’t one around here for ours.”

  “I’ll bet yours is like my grandmother’s. She has a pull-down ladder. Let’s check your hallway, Pete,” Wendy said, sprinting from her chair.

  After placing our dirty dishes in the sink, we ran through the living room and into the hallway.

  “I’ll bet that’s it,” Kendra said, staring up at a slender rope dangling from the ceiling.

  “We can’t reach that without a ladder or something,” I said.

  “All we need is a table, something to stand on,” Kendra suggested.

  “My dresser? Maybe we can push it out here.”

  “Good thinking,” Wendy added.

  With a little effort and a few pinched fingers, we finally had the dresser halfway into the hallway. The whole thing wouldn’t fit through my bedroom door.

  “Stop pushing,” Kendra ordered from the hallway.

  “There’s still more dresser in here.” Wendy stared at me for guidance. I just shrugged my shoulders.

  “If it gets stuck in the doorway, we’ll never get it back in the room,” Kendra said, glaring at us from over the dresser. “Now stop pushing. This is enough. See, we can reach it now.”

  It felt odd climbing onto my dresser. As it wiggled under my feet, I held onto the doorframe for support. Grabbing the dangling rope, I pulled on the thin, white cord. My heart pounded so hard I just knew I was about to have a heart attack. No matter how much I tugged, the door refused to budge.

  “It won’t open,” I said.

  Wendy sighed as she climbed up beside me. She wrapped the slender cord around her wrist and with both hands clasped firmly together, jumped off the dresser. The ladder door creaked, and then fell open.

  “Didn’t that hurt?” I asked.

  “Nope, now let’s get this dresser out of our way.”

  After pushing it back into my room, I stared at the half-ladder. Wendy jumped up, grabbing hold of the bottom stair. With just a little effort, she unfolded the ladder. With the legs firmly on the floor, Wendy climbed up. We watched as she disappeared above our heads. Within seconds, the light flicked on.

  “Hey,” she yelled down from the rectangular hole. “There are a lot of boxes up here.”

  Kendra climbed up next.

  Reluctantly, I followed. “It’s freezing up here.”

  “No duh,” Kendra retorted. “It is winter time.”

  I didn’t like sneaking around behind my mother’s back. But I had to know about my real father, and she just wouldn’t tell me anything. What else could I do? To my relief, the attic was quite clean. Feeling guilty, I turned away as Wendy and Kendra dug through some boxes. The hallway floor sure seemed a long way down. With my head spinning, I stepped away from the rectangular hole. One lone light lit up the boxes that were stacked in neat rows. The outer edges of the attic remained dark, giving me an eerie feeling. For a moment, I could have sworn I once again saw my eyes staring back at me. However, after a second glance, all remained dark. Just my imagination, I supposed.

  “I think we found it,” Kendra said, holding up a small photo album. “These have to be of you when you were a baby. ‘Cuz that’s definitely your mom. But I don’t see your dad.”

  “How much time do we have before your parents come back, Pete?” Kendra asked.

  “Probably not much,” Wendy answered for me. “Let’s take these boxes to your room. It’ll be easier to go through them down there, and we can take our time.”

  My heart raced. Wasn’t it enough that we were snooping, but to take them to my room? I cringed as Kendra touched my shoulder.

  “It’ll be okay. We’ll help you get them back up here. We can hide them under your bed. Your mom will never know.”

  “Okay,” I said, not feeling good at all about what we were doing.

  “Pete, you have a right to know about your father,” Wendy said.

  “You sure do.” Kendra huffed as she pushed a box toward the opening in the floor. I cringed as Wendy scooted another box across the floor.

  We struggled with the bulky boxes for the longest time. Kendra had to balance the heaviest one on her shoulder. Wendy and I tried to steady the box from above, as Kendra slowly stepped down the wobbly ladder. Lying on our stomachs, we stretched over the edge holding our breath. I just knew the cardboard would rip. What a mess that would have made if stuff scattered everywhere. Thank goodness the box held.

  “There sure is a lot of junk in here,” Kendra said, pulling out picture frame after picture frame of people who were probably no longer alive.

  “Sure is,” Wendy said, studying something that looked like an old baby dress.

  “My mom saves everything,” I replied, glancing over an old recipe for potato sweet bread. “Yuck.”

  As we rummaged through the old papers and keepsakes, headlights bounced off my bedroom wall.

  “They’re home!” I panicked, throwing the pictures into the boxes. “Quick, hide this stuff.”

  After pushing the boxes under my bed, we cuddled between the blankets, shoving popcorn into our mouths as an unwatched movie played on my bedroom TV.

  “Did you enjoy being alone?” my mother asked, peeping her head around my door.

  “Sure,” I answered, cramming another handful of popcorn into my mouth.

  “What did you do?” My stepdad’s smiling face appeared over my mom’s shoulder.

  “Just movies. Wanna join us?” Wendy asked, munching a little louder than normal.

  “I don’t think so,” my mom said. “Don’t stay up too late, girls.”

  “Okay,” I mumbled. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too,” my mom replied.

  CHAPTER 4

  DADDY DEAREST

  THE NEXT MORNING WE woke up late. Mom was cleaning the bathroom when I called for her.

  “Good morning, girls. About time you three got up. What would you like for breakfast?”

  “Whatev
er,” I said.

  “Hank’s working today and I have a book club meeting. Do you have something to keep you busy while I’m out?”

  “We’ll just hang out if that’s okay?” I said.

  “We can eat cereal by ourselves,” Wendy added.

  “That’s fine,” Mom replied. “I need to scoot, anyway.”

  We waved goodbye as she drove off. Her leaving was such a relief. My stomach roared like a hungry lion, but I didn’t feel hungry. My mind couldn’t erase the image of those wicked eyes, and that lingering question: Would I ever find my real father?

  “Let’s go,” Kendra said, as my mom’s car disappeared down the street.

  As pictures and papers scattered across my bedroom floor, all I could think about was the deceit. Before I could feel too guilty, the strange pictures caught my attention. Most of them were old photos I’d never seen before. The faces were of strangers who obviously were related to me in one way or another. Some of the photos were very old and some were rather new. Black and white pictures of people wearing clothes from a long time ago looked weird. One woman had her dark hair pulled back so tight, it looked slick and shiny. I wondered what she used, oil? Around her neck, the lace from her blouse seemed like it was choking her. She must have been uncomfortable because she frowned. Her eyes seemed to be staring at something far off in the distance. Another photo was of several men wearing baggy pants and strange floppy hats. They stood proudly in front of a beat-up truck that didn’t look like it would even start.

  “I wonder when these were taken,” I asked.

  “Flip them over, some have dates on the back,” Kendra said, as she separated photos into different stacks. How she was separating them, I had no idea. But she seemed to know.

  On the back of the woman with the slick hair, the ink had smeared a little. I could just make out the name, Elsie, and the word, winter, with a date of 1942. On the men’s photo, I only saw a date of March 3, 1928, nothing else. It amazed me how many baby photos were in the boxes. Not all of them were of me, of course, and I had no idea who they were. To see how the clothing had changed over time really fascinated me. We searched through those boxes for the longest time and still found nothing about my real father.

  “Anything at all?” Wendy asked, sitting back to take a break.

  “Nothing,” Kendra and I said, together.

  “Bread and butter.” Wendy giggled.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “My grandpa told me that when two people say the same thing at the same time, you’re supposed to say ‘bread and butter’ for good luck.”

  “Ooookay.” I laughed.

  Kendra had cut open the last box. We saved it for last because it was the only one that was all taped up. Handing me the scissors, she yanked open the box and pulled out several small photos. As her eyes widened, she screeched out. “Hey, look. I think we finally found something.”

  “Oh? What?” Dropping the scissors, a pain shot through my stomach. I crawled toward her, afraid to look, then again, afraid not to look.

  Kendra handed me an old photo. “Look what it says on the back.” She leaned against my bed, smiling.

  The color had faded a little on the old crinkled photo. The woman was definitely my mom, although much younger. Her hair was long and fell way down her back. For as long as I could remember her hair had been short. In this photo, she was wearing a brightly colored smock that fell to her feet. Printed on the back in blue ink were two names with a date of twelve years ago: Stephanie and Peter.

  Wendy and Kendra stared at me so intently that the knots in my stomach all bunched together again.

  “So?” I said.

  “Do I have to spell it out for you, Pete?” Kendra asked. “Don’t you see something strange about your mom?”

  “No. Well, maybe she does look a little fat,” I surmised.

  “Fat? You dummy. She’s pregnant.” Kendra sighed.

  “Pregnant? You mean with me?” The idea of having a life inside my mom sent chills up my back. Scratching my head, I studied the picture.

  Wendy laughed. “Do you see any brothers or sisters standing around? Of course it’s you.”

  I kept staring at the photo. The man standing next to my mom didn’t have a face. It’d been cut out, so I peeped through the small hole.

  “Well?” Kendra asked.

  “What?” I replied.

  Kendra sighed again. “I’ll bet that’s your dad.”

  “How can you tell?” Tears stung my eyes. “His face is gone.”

  “What’s wrong, Pete?” Wendy asked, touching my arm.

  I wiped away a tear. “I guess my mom really doesn’t want me knowing anything about him. Why are they hiding him from me? What’s wrong with me?” I finally had a name, Peter. Almost the same as mine, Pete. But still, no face.

  “I doubt if it’s you,” Wendy said. “Remember, she cut out his face.”

  Kendra’s gaze dropped. My friends’ dads always hugged and kissed them. At least they knew and loved their fathers. I can’t even remember mine. I ran from my room. Was something wrong with me, or with him? Was my mom ashamed of him, or me? What did he do that was so wrong? Did I do something wrong?

  I sat on the living room couch and cried into my hands. It hurt not having any memories of my father. Wait, I did have a faint memory of lying on a floor once and holding a baby bottle. A TV was on; I did remember that much. Then, nothing more. I had to have been a baby because of the bottle. I just couldn’t visualize any faces. No, probably something I saw in a movie once.

  Staring out the front window, I made myself calm down. I had lived this long without my real dad, so I could obviously live a lot longer without him. Peter, his name was Peter. I knew that much now. How odd, his name being so close to mine. Was I named after him? And if I was, then why don’t I know him? Why did he leave me; leave us?

  When I returned to my room, Kendra and Wendy were still sorting through the last box that had been taped shut.

  “Nothing more of your dad,” Kendra said.

  “Hey, here’s one of you without teeth,” Wendy said, laughing. “Oooh, look at your hair.”

  “Didn’t your mom own a hair brush?” Kendra asked.

  I grabbed the photo from Wendy and couldn’t help but laugh. With messy hair, my smile covered my face, but I was missing my two front teeth. I remembered this photo. It was taken just before Halloween when I was about six.

  “I hated to have my hair brushed back then,” I said, staring at the funny looking little girl. I thought I used to know who this little girl was. Now, I wasn’t so sure. “I’d run from my mom whenever she picked up a brush.”

  The sound of a car pulling into the driveway shifted us into fast mode.

  “Your mom,” Wendy yelled.

  After shoving the boxes back under my bed, we tossed the last few photos into a drawer.

  “Quick, look normal,” Kendra said, grabbing three books. When my mom entered my room, we pretended to be reading. Wendy panicked when she saw I had mine upside down. Her big blue eyes stared at the book. I prayed my mom didn’t notice.

  “Hi, girls. Ready for lunch?”

  I almost coughed. Phew, we were actually getting away with this.

  Holding the photo of the man without a face, we sat on my bed staring at it. One of his hands was hidden behind my mom; the other was shoved into his pocket. He was a lot taller than my mom and wore a suit. Behind the couple, stood a white picket fence.

  “Girls?” My mom called out from the kitchen. “Lunch.”

  “Coming,” I yelled back. “Hey, can we eat in the den?”

  “I guess so. Just do NOT, I repeat, do NOT drop anything on the carpet.”

  “We won’t, I promise.”

  We sat on the couch balancing our plates on our laps. My mom sat in the chair in front of us. After taking a bite of my tuna sandwich, I glanced at my friends. Kendra nodded at me. Her eyes kept jumping over at my mom, then back to me. I knew what she wan
ted me to do, but the more I thought about confronting my mother the larger the knot in my stomach grew. Taking another bite, I thought about the missing face of the man in the photo. The person who cut out that face was probably sitting right in front of me. Having that photo stirred something inside me I couldn’t explain. For the first time in my life, my father was a real person. I had to know something about him, and I had to hear it from her. Where was he now? Who was he? Why wasn’t he here?

  “Mom?” I said, with my hands shaking. “What’s my real dad’s name?”

  My heart pounded as she rolled her eyes. Would the name Peter come through those tight lips of hers? What she said next was expected, making my anger boil.

  “Sweetheart, why are you always asking about him?” She glanced out the window. Was she looking for someone to rescue her from my question?

  I couldn’t eat another bite. Setting my plate on the coffee table, I stared at her. My own mother refused to look at me. My anger soared as I visualized her taking such care to cut out his face. What did she use, a knife? Before I realized it, I was yelling at her.

  “I think I deserve to know who my real father is.”

  I knew I was heading straight into trouble. At the same time, all this secret stuff was racking at my nerves. If I really was such a terrible daughter, or he was such a terrible father, then she just needed to tell me.

  “Pete, I don’t believe this is the time or place …” Her eyes darted between me and my friends. The more she glanced around, the madder I got.

  Kendra’s eyes were locked on her plate. Wendy’s eyes darted around more than my mother’s. However, a small grin told me that she approved of my outburst. That one little smile gave me the courage I needed.

  “It doesn’t matter what you say in front of my friends. They already know what I know, which is nothing.”

  “Pete, this is not something we should talk about in front of others.” As my mom glared at me through narrowed eyes, her nose scrunched up as if she had just smelled something rotten. I hated it when she did that; it just made me angrier.