[FICTION] The Gift of Surprise

Like all the best moms, I let my children watch television with me. Had I sent them outside to play while watching my favorite forensics show, we’d have never discovered the family secret.

As my son Tom’s birthday drew closer, he watched each episode more intently. Tiny gears spun behind his eyes. They stopped spinning one day as we stood in the kitchen waiting for the popcorn to finish popping. As the last kernel exploded and I reached for the handle, he cleared his throat. I paused with my hand on the handle and looked down at him.

“My birthday is coming up…” He paused to offer me his most winning grin. “And all I want is a forensics kit.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” I opened the microwave and poured the popcorn into a bowl.

 

Tom didn’t repeat his request. He knew he only had to tell me once if he was only asking for one item. I scoured novelty and toy stores while the kids attended school. I opted for a cheaper kit, which included an inkpad, ten fingerprint cards, some clear tape, black powder, and a puffy brush. I added a travel container of cotton swabs with a handmade label, “DNA Swabs”.

Tom’s birthday arrived and he tore through the wrapping concealing clothes, some books, and even a new calculator. He mumbled his thanks and kept tearing. Finally, he found what he wanted. He tore off the top of the box without registering that it had already been opened and ignored my attempt at humor, pushing it aside to sort through the contents of the fingerprint kit.

In a matter of minutes, everyone in the house possessed matching ink-stained fingertips. Tom lined the fingerprint cards up on the table and scanned the room with eager, blue eyes. He turned pleading eyes toward me until I nodded consent. He stepped into the kitchen and surveyed each shiny surface in search of the perfect area to lift prints.

Powder plumed up as Tom pressed the brush firmly against the handle of the refrigerator. He grinned up into my mortified face and pushed harder. My eyes followed clumps of powder falling toward my clean kitchen floor. From there, he moved to the wooden cabinets that my father had installed against the opposite wall before I was born. As Tom collected fingerprints with the clear stickers, the rest of us watched, pulled in by his enthusiasm. Finally, he sat down at the head of the table and began evaluating his findings. He narrowed his eyes as he compared the family’s prints to the ones from the fridge, setting them down next to my fingerprint card.

“Looks like mom was the last one in the fridge.” He grinned at me.

“That explains a lot.” My husband grinned and poked me in the ribs.

“Hey.” I squealed.

“Shh. You’re breaking my concentration.” Tom shushed us.

He turned his attention to the prints from the shelves. After a couple of minutes of further inspection, he set the prints down and looked up at me. We watched each other in silence. I felt my husband John stiffen up as we waited for Tom’s report. Tom glanced back down at his evidence.

Finally, I broke the silence. “What are your findings, CSI Thomas?”

“Mom, who visited us last?” He leveled his most serious gaze on me.

“Your Aunt Martha.” I offered.

“That was weeks ago.”

“She was the last person to visit.” I shifted uncomfortably as a list of people I should have invited for dinner spilled into my head.

Tom looked down at the fingerprints again. John stepped forward to peer over his shoulder, examining the loops and whirls for a few minutes. They both turned concerned eyes on me as my husband spoke.

“Tom’s right. These prints don’t match any of ours.” His dark eyes scanned the shelves.

He stepped forward and pressed his fingers into the fine powder still clinging to the wood. The shelf slid over noiselessly to reveal a narrow doorway. I joined him in the doorway, peering into a narrow stairwell leading down under the attached garage.

“Did you know this was here?” John asked.

“No.” I peered into the dimly lit stairwell.

A single, bare, bulb illuminated the stairs from below. John and I exchanged questioning looks.

“Should we?” He asked.

“It’s our house.” I replied and placed a foot on the top step.

My husband followed me closely as we descended into the hidden basement. I marveled that it seemed to have less cobwebs than my living room. The walls were painted the same soft cream color the living room had been in my youth. As we reached the last step, my ears picked up the faint sounds of a cartoon. A soft laugh followed the sounds of someone being whacked in the head and then serenaded by the ensuing birds.

I froze, but John took one more step. He fell against the wall in his attempt to not push me through the curtain that hung in the doorway a few feet beyond the light.

The cartoon cut off abruptly. Something squeaked and groaned. Then tentative footsteps approached the curtain. The footsteps stopped and the curtain moved away from us until a stout form filled the doorway.

In the harsh light of the overhead lamp, I looked directly into my father’s eyes buried amid a much fleshier, less world-weary face. Tears formed in the corners of those pale, blue eyes as he lowered his head in shame. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t quiet enough. Tommy told me to stay quiet. He said to never let anyone but him see me.”

“Tommy? My father?”

He nodded slowly. “Your father. My brother. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“I’m not scared.” I reached for a kitchen chair, pulling it out and sitting down. “But, I’m confused.”

“My name is Lohman. I’m your uncle.” He grinned at this realization and extended his hand.

Without thinking, I placed my hand in his. He wrapped his long fingers around my palm, which disappeared into his soft grip. He held my hand gently for a minute as a smile stretched across his round cheeks. He finally let go of my hand and turned his eyes back toward the faded linoleum under our feet.

He glanced back up at me shyly. “Do I have to go now?”

“Go?” I turned to John as feelings of my connection to this man flowed through me.

He shrugged. “You inherited this house and everyone in it. I support whatever you think is best.”

I squeezed his hand and turned back to Lohman. “Why did my father hide you down here?”

“He wanted me close but his wife was afraid of me.”

I pictured my nervous mother meeting this gentle giant and nodded my understanding. “But I’m not afraid of you.”

“You aren’t?” He looked up at me in surprise.

I stepped closer. “And I bet my sons wouldn’t be afraid of you either?”

“Your sons…?” Overwhelmed by his feelings, he began to cry before he could finish speaking.

I held out my hand to him. “Would you like to meet them?”

He nodded and put his hand in mine. I tightened my grip reassuringly. We slowly mounted the stairs with my husband trailing behind.