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Antiques by ken paul Novak My mother and father separated shortly after the police found Dad in the woods with a smoking gun in his hand and two children white as ghosts. Two days after that terrifying night he dropped out of our lives. I always guessed he dropped out of his own as well. On June 17, 1982 my father never found his way home and Mom never called the police to report a missing person. He was gone. No phone calls, no letters. In the summer of ‘82 my brother was twelve. He doesn’t remember anything anymore. I was sixteen. As far as I was concerned, my dad was dead in 1982. I was thirty-three, in sixth period, teaching civics to junior high kids when I took the call from my wife in the break room. I could tell by her whisper she was saying get the hell home quick. “Is everything okay?” “There’s a man here....” “Liz, are you hurt?” “I’m fine.” “Who is he?” “He says he’s your father.” She had to tell me three times. |