Contact

This work of adult fiction, loosely based on characters portrayed by Russell Crowe, includes adult language and experiences; you have been warned. No copyright infringement on the original work is intended. Copyright Reagan Kavanagh 2007.

REAGAN
I had just put Emily down for her nap when the phone rang. I sprinted to grab the handset, not wanting the ringing to wake her. She's teething now and more than a bit fussy; I'd had the very devil of a time getting her to sleep and didn't want to start the process again.

“Espan residence.”

“Reagan? Is this Reagan Alexandra Kavanagh?” A warning bell began ringing somewhere in the back of my mind. I knew the voice but couldn't place it.

“Not any longer. I used to be Reagan Kavanagh …my name is now Espan-Kavanagh. Who is this?” I don't enjoy the 'guess-who-this-is' routine on the telephone.

“This is your father. I'd like to see you.”

MAXIMUS
My private line was ringing when I returned to my office after lunch. I sat as I picked up the handset.

“Max, I hate to ask this, but if possible, I really need you to come home.” My heart plummeted within my breast, and I could barely force out the word.

“Emily ….”

“Emily's fine. Oh, Max, I'm sorry for having frightened you, but I really need you home.” I let go the breath I had held.

“What is it, Cara? Are you ill? Has there been an accident?”

“No, we're fine physically, but I really need you here.”

“Cara, I have a full schedule this afternoon ...can it not wait until this evening?” Her voice broke when she answered.

“My father's called, Max …my fucking father. He's alive, and he wants to see me.” I sat up straight in my chair, listening as she continued.

“He knows where we live, and he said he's driving down this afternoon. I don't want to be alone with Emily when he arrives, and I'll be damned if I'll allow him to drive me out of our home to meet him on neutral ground!” It was clear she had consented to the meeting, and I concurred with her position on meeting him at our home; it was logical that I be with her when she met him after so long a time. I stood, walking toward Terry's office as I spoke.

“I will be on my way as soon as I can make arrangements for Terry and Dino to cover my appointments. Do not allow your father into the house until I arrive. Tell him those are my orders, and call the police if you must. I will be there soon.” I was in Terry's office when I spoke those last words, and his brows shot up at the word 'police.'

“What's amiss, Max?”

“Cassandra's father has called. He is on his way to our home, and she is alarmed; she does not wish to be alone with Emily when he arrives and asks that I come home.” Terry was on his feet and walked with me to my office.

“I'll take your schedule for the afternoon. Get home, and call if you need Dino or me to come down.” I replaced the handset on its base and collected my briefcase.

“I will call after he departs. I thank you for your understanding, Terry, as does Cassandra.” I was in my car and on my way home within 15 minutes after speaking with my wife.

TERRY
Reags' father? I'd thought the bastard was dead; so had Diana …so had all of us, Reags included. What could the bugger possibly want at this point in life that precipitated his call to a daughter he'd not contacted in more than 25 years? I stopped in Dino's office on my way from reception.

“Heads up, Dino. Max is on his way home. Reags' father just called and is on his way to their house. I'll call Diana and let her know.”

“Hey, there, Lady. It's me.”

“I know it's you; we have caller ID, remember? What's up? You almost never call during the day.”

“Wanted to give you a heads-up …Reags' father has returned from the dead.” I was glad I'd thought to move the handset away from my ear, else her shriek would have deafened me.

“What? What do you mean returned from the dead?”

“I mean the bloke isn't dead. He called her a while ago and wants to see her. She called Max, and he's headed home. He'll call later, but I didn't you out of the loop.”

“Jesus ….” She was still muttering to herself when I disconnected.

DINO
Reags' dad? What the fuck? We all thought the son of a bitch was long dead. I didn't like this, not one fucking bit. I was hitting the speed dial number for Ellie as Terry headed back to his office. This was an office day for her, meaning she wasn't in court today.

“Ellen Hughes-O'Reilly.” I love her phone voice and smiled in spite of myself.

“Hey, Sweet Pea …just wanted to let you know we may be heading to Max and Reags after work. Reags' dad just called and wants to see her. He's on his way to their home as we speak.” She dropped the phone and scrambled to catch it.

“Her father? Her fucking father?” Her voice went up in indignation.

“What the fuck does that son of a bitch want with her after all these years? I thought he was dead.”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Max is on his way home; he'll call when he gets there and meets the SOB.”

“Jesus! Does Dee know?”

“I'm sure she does by now. Terry was going to call her after telling me.”

SOOZE
I knew something was up when Terry and Max walked into reception, and Max took off. Terry turned to me; his concern was obvious.

“Reags' father just called and wants to see her; he's on his way to their home, and she didn't want to be alone when he arrived.”

Her dad? I'd thought he was dead. I didn't have to say the words, and Terry nodded.

“I know. We all thought he was dead, Reags included. Apparently we were mistaken. Put Max through immediately if he calls before close-of-business.” I nodded and went back to work, but my mind was going in ten different directions. Reags was married and wealthy now. The bastard could want anything from money to simply seeing his only grandchild ...Jesus! Did he even know he had a grandchild?

MAXIMUS
A hired car was sitting in the car park when I drove down the lane, parked, and exited my vehicle. The man sitting in the car got out and walked toward me. I remained where I was, allowing him to come to me. He held out his hand in greeting; I did not accept it immediately.

“Max Espan?”

“Yes, and you are …?”

“Ian Kavanagh. Reagan's father.” His hand was still out, and I took it, grasping firmly before releasing. I would have no doubts in him as to which of us was in charge of this confrontation.

“I see. And what proof do you have that you are indeed my wife's father? She has neither seen nor heard from you in more than 25 years. Why do you contact her now?” He looked toward the front door or our home – a door that had yet to open – and back at me.

“I want to see my daughter. I heard a baby crying when I rang the bell. Reagan refused to open the door until you got home. Do you have a child?”

“We do. I ask again, why do you seek out my wife after so many years with no contact? She thought you long dead.” He looked again at the door before returning his gaze to me.

“I'd like to make amends.”

“How did you find her?” He had the good grace to look dismayed.

“I've followed her career, starting when she was at university in Minnesota, then the Army and on to the FBI. I know she teaches at SMU. I saw the wedding announcement in the papers when you married. I know where you work; it wasn't difficult to find out where you live.” He looked round the property. “Nice house.”

“It suits our needs. If you have – as you say – followed my wife's career these many years, why did you wait so long to contact her?” He put his hands into his pockets, looked at the ground, then back in my eyes.

“I was ashamed. I didn't treat her very well when she was a child …and I treated her mother worse. Look, Max, ….” I cut him off.

“Colonel Espan.” He looked discomfited.

“You're military?”

“I was, yes. I am retired some time past.”

“Army?”

“Unidad de Opraciones Especiales. Spanish Special Forces.” The man looked even more uncomfortable.

“You're Spanish? The accent is English; I'm Irish, and I would know.”

“I am sure you would. I am Spanish by birth. I was educated in the United Kingdom, though I fail to discern what relevance my heritage and education have to do with your visit.”

“I, uh, well, I guess I'm not surprised Reagan would marry a military man, an officer. She always did like order.” I did not speak, responding with a nod of my head, and waited.

“Colonel Espan, I simply want to see my daughter – and my grandchild – one time before I die. I need to tell Reagan I'm sorry for what I put her and her mother through all those years ago.”

“Are you suffering a terminal illness? Are you seeking financial support?” He looked surprised at my questions.

“Am I dying? I suppose you could say that …aren't we all in the process of dying from the moment we're born? No, I'm not dying so far as I know, at least not any time soon. And no, I'm not asking for money, though from looking at this place, if I were trying to hit someone up, you'd be a prime candidate.”

“Let me be brief, Mr. Kavanagh. My wife was greatly distressed when she called me after speaking with you on the telephone a short time ago. I will not permit you to see her – or your grandchild – until I know the nature of your business with her.” He took a deep breath, again looked at the ground, then back to me.

“I'm an alcoholic, Colonel. Have been since I was about 20. I covered it well – they call people like me highly functioning alcoholics – and I've been in recovery with Alcoholics Anonymous for the last ten years. I've worked my way through all the steps with everyone but Reagan. The eighth step in recovery is making amends to those we've wronged by way of our drinking. I've done that with everyone I can recall having hurt but for my daughter; it's taken me time to find the courage to face her. I don't expect her to forgive me for what I put her and her mother through, but I need to tell her how sorry I am.”

He seemed sincere; why would a man say he suffers from so terrible an illness if it were not true? Though most people consume alcohol, those who do so to excess and who become addicted to it are held in contempt by most in our society; it was such in my first life, and that has not changed with the passage of the millennia. I looked toward the house; my wife was standing in the foyer and visible through the glass panes on one side of the still closed door. Emily was in her arms. I turned back to her father.

“Remain here. I will speak with my wife and see if she wishes to meet you. I will return shortly.” I did not permit him time to respond but turned and walked to the house. Cassandra opened the door, and I stepped inside, closing the door behind myself.

“What does he want?”

“He wishes to see you – and our daughter, now that he knows he has a grandchild – and make amends. He has told me he is a recovering alcoholic, and insofar as possible, he wishes to apologise to those he has wronged as a result of his addiction. I have told him I would speak with you and return to tell him of your decision. Will you see him, Cara, or shall I send him away?”

REAGAN
An alcoholic. Well, that would explain much of what went on when I was a child. Given my training, I know quite a lot about addiction and the various 12-step programs. I'd referred a number of my clients to AA and Narcotics Anonymous when I still had a private practice. Emily was becoming fussy again, and before I could shift her in my arms, Max took her, his voice low and soothing when he spoke.

“Emily, Puella, shush. Papa has you, and you are safe.” She settled into his arms with her small head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head and looked back to me, waiting. I took a deep breath.

“I suppose there's no reason not to see him now that you're home. I'll make coffee. If he's truly in recovery, he'll be drinking it by the gallon.” Max nodded and leant over to kiss me before walking back out the door with Emily still in his arms.

IAN KAVANAGH
When he walked out the door with the baby in his arms, I figured Reagan had decided to see me. He stopped three feet from me.

“She will see you, but I warn you not to distress her more than your call has already done. She is still nursing our child, and any upset effects a change in her milk and makes our daughter ill. I must have your word in this, else I will not permit you entry into our home.” I nodded. This was a man accustomed not only to giving orders but to having them obeyed without question. I had the feeling his rank of colonel was what he told the world rather than his actual rank. This man had general written all over him. I nodded.

“That's more than fair. What's my granddaughter's name?”

“Emily Meredith Fiona Espan. We call her Emily.”

“She's beautiful. But for the dark hair, she looks just like her mother did as a baby.” He gave me that curt nod again and turned toward the house. I followed him. He stopped inside the door.

“Welcome to our home. Reagan is making coffee; she will join us shortly. Please, sit.”

We had walked through to the lounge, and the colonel motioned me to a chair, sitting on the couch beside small upholstered rocker that I surmised was where my daughter usually sat. I wondered if my son-in-law would unbend enough to let me call him Max. I also wondered if he was always this formal, though being formal given the current situation was understandable. I made an effort at polite conversation.

“You have a lovely home. Have you lived here long?”

“If – as you have said – you have kept track of my wife, you know the answer to that.” My wife. He's either a possessive or protective bastard, or both. Remembering how independent Reagan was as a child, I couldn't see her with a possessive husband, so I settled on protective. He was staking his territory, telling me that he would protect and defend his wife and child with his life, and God help me if I tried to harm either of them. He also didn't give up any information beyond what was absolutely necessary or required to answer my questions. I began to form a grudging respect for him.

“Well, yes, I do. I was trying to make conversation. This is even more uncomfortable for me than it is for you. I know seeing me after all this time is going to be very hard for my daughter.” I heard her coming from the kitchen and stood, turning to get my first good look at her since her mother's funeral. I'd been at the funeral, but had been careful to insure that no one saw me. Reagan had a tray in her hands, cups and saucers carefully arranged with the sugar bowl and creamer. The coffee pot was there, too, and she sat the tray carefully on the coffee table.

“Reagan …you look well. It's been a long time.” She gave me an appraising look.

“Yes, Ian, it has.” Ian. That hurt a bit, but I couldn't really expect her to call me Daddy any longer. Still, I couldn't help but try for it.

“You used to call me Daddy.” She sat in the chair that I'd identified as hers; her voice was low when she answered.

“Yes, I did, but that was a lifetime ago. That man is dead. I hope a better one has taken his place.” She was never one to mince words.

“I hope so, Reagan. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to contact you. To be honest, it took all this time to work up the courage to confront you. I'm deeply ashamed of the way I treated you and your mother. I hope you can forgive me; I understand if you can't.” She picked up a cup and the coffee pot.

“How do you take your coffee, Ian? I don't recall.”

“Black, no sugar.” She poured and handed me the cup. It tasted just like Fiona's, and I smiled knowing that she'd named her daughter partly after her mother.

“Good coffee; tastes like your mother's.” That got me the first hint of a smile. I should have known any complimentary reference to her mother would please her. I doubt a closer mother-daughter pair ever drew breath.

“Well, she did teach me to cook as well as make coffee.” She poured cups for herself and Max and settled back into her chair.

“Where did you go when you left us?” I knew that was coming and had prepared as best I could to answer her.

“It's a long story. Do you want the long or short version?”

“The short one for now. Perhaps we'll get to the long one later.”

“I went to Houston. My drinking was out of control, and I was about to be fired. I couldn't face you and you mother if that happened, so I decided to disappear.”

“You do know that your life insurance and the mortgage insurance paid out. That's fraud, Ian. Mother paid off the house with the mortgage insurance and invested the life insurance. That's what she lived on until she died.”

“I know I committed fraud. I've contacted both insurers and repaid them in full, with interest. They declined to press charges since I'd made good on their expenditures. They were a little surprised to hear from me so long after I died.”

“You spent all this time in Houston?” I shook my head.

“No, I was only there long enough to get new identification papers and a passport. Not hard to do in a port as large as Houston. Cost me a couple thousand, but I had a new identity within two weeks. I went to the Middle East …ended up in Iraq, as advisor to Saddam Hussein on his drilling operations. You know I was good at my job.”

“Yes, you were. How did you avoid the purge during Desert Storm?”

“I left Baghdad the day Saddam's troops rolled into Kuwait and came back to Houston. I'd made a pile of money working for Saddam, invested well, and haven't worked since. The closest thing I do to actual work these days is being a sponsor to other alcoholics, trying to help them sort out the messes they've made of their lives. I have enough money to last until I die unless the United States Government and World Bank collapse.

“I stayed drunk for the first few years I was home and woke up in Ben Taub Hospital's addiction unit one day. I'd passed out in a bar and went into convulsions – alcohol poisoning – and the paramedics took me to the Tub. I did 30 days inpatient treatment there, they put me in AA, and I kept attending meetings after I got out. Been going every day since then. I've been clean and sober for just over ten years.

“Reagan, I know I hurt you and your mother, and I've no excuse for that. I beg your forgiveness; I'd beg your mother's if she were still alive. I can't imagine the Hell I put both of you through, and if you want your husband to throw me out of your home, I'll let him and never darken you door again. Your mother was the most forgiving woman I've ever known; I'm hoping some of the grace and fortitude she had is in you.”

MAXIMUS
My father-in-law has no notion of the level of forgiveness in his daughter, though I suspected she would not make this easy for him. She was silent for a time before looking at me and raising one eyebrow; I nodded in silent agreement, and she looked at her father.

“Would you like to hold your granddaughter? I warn you that she's teething and not particularly happy when being held by anyone other than me or her father at this point.” His smile was one of delight, though I did not miss the shock in his eyes at her offer.

“I would, if it's all right with you and the Colonel.”

“You may address me as Max, if you wish.” I stood as did he, and I transferred my sleeping daughter gently into his arms. Tears came to his eyes as he looked down at her and whispered her name.

“Emily …I'm your grandfather. I know I'm a bastard, but I do love your mother, and I love you.” She shifted slightly in his arms but did not wake. I looked at Cassandra.

“Perhaps you should return her to her bed.” She nodded as she rose.

“Follow me. You can put her in her crib.” Ian followed silently, and they disappeared down the hall toward the nursery. I heard fussing sounds from my daughter coming through the baby monitor that sat on the mantle and smiled. My wife and her father returned and again sat.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” He again seemed surprised.

“You wouldn't mind?”

“We have a lot of catching up to do. You and Max can sit at the kitchen table whilst I prepare dinner. I hope you like fish. I apologise, but I honestly don't recall your tastes in anything. It's been too long.”

“No apology required. I'd enjoy staying if it isn't too inconvenient. I have a room at the Howard Johnson motel up on the interstate. I'll be heading back to Houston tomorrow. Maybe we can stay in touch?” Cassandra smiled.

“I think I'd like that.”

We talked late into the night, and Ian left just after one in the morning. I spoke as we watched the lights of his car disappear up the lane.

“You seem of a mind to forgive him.”

“I am. There's nothing to be gained by not doing so, and he's paid dearly for his sins. God has forgiven him; I can do no less.”

NOTES

Alcoholics Anonymous 12 Steps	Specific reference to Step Eight - Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all. For those interested, the entire 12 Steps may be found at http://www.io.com/aamen/steps.html
Puella	Child, daughter
The Tub	The name used by Houstonians for the city/county general hospital.

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