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The Godfather’s Lover |
Ann T. Ryan
2
Prologue
C
HRIS
stood in front of the window, watching as yet another
one of his friends left their home. Tim turned back once to
look up at him, waving his small hand, smiling widely before
getting into the car with the couple who had just adopted
him. By the time Chris started to wave back, the car was
already halfway down the driveway, moving swiftly past the
gates. Chris suddenly felt the urge to run and catch up with
the vehicle. He needed to say goodbye to Tim, one more time,
one last time. Because for all the promises of those who left,
those who promised to come back and visit… they never did
in the end. And if this was possibly the last time Chris would
see him, he needed Tim to know the latter was the younger
brother he never had.
Chris ran out of the bedroom he had shared with Tim,
skidding along the corridor, running down the wooden
stairs, opening the door to continue running down the
walkway to the main gates. The car was no longer in sight,
but Chris kept on running and running. His lungs felt like
they were going to burst, and his leg muscles ached like hell,
but he kept on running and running, only stopping when he
reached the gates. His sweaty palms grabbed the metal
railings as he collapsed onto the ground. Chris felt wetness
slip down his cheeks, not realizing he was crying. How could
he cry if his heart was numb?
Chris didn‟t know how long he sat on the hard ground.
His tears had dried up and his body was cold from the
blustery wind. Not until he felt a warm hand on his shoulder
The Godfather’s Lover |
Ann T. Ryan
3
did he notice that someone had been with him for awhile. He
looked up to find Father Marcus squatting next to him, eyes
filled with sympathy and understanding.
“He will be back, Chris,” Father Marcus said quietly.
“No he won‟t, Father.” Chris coughed, his voice a little
hoarse. “And are priests supposed to lie?”
“I‟m not lying,” Father Marcus said, smiling his kind
smile. “There is always hope that they will come back to visit
us.”
“They never come back, Father. Not Amy, Lucas, Dave,
and now Tim…. No one comes back.”
“Oh, Chris,” Father Marcus said sadly before enfolding
Chris into his arms. “One day, someone will come for you.”
“Don‟t bullshit me, Father,” Chris said.
“And what did I say about using profanities?” Father
Marcus arched his eyebrow.
“Don‟t use them unless really necessary and not until
I‟m at least twelve,” Chris repeated drily. That was one thing
he liked about Father Marcus. The man wasn‟t stuffy like
any other priests he had known. Not that he knew many.
“And are you twelve, Chris?”
“I will be in a year,” Chris said stubbornly.
“Then wait a year more. It won‟t kill you,” Father
Marcus teased.
“I will still be here a year from now, won‟t I, Father?”
Chris said knowingly.
“Oh, Chris”
“You don‟t have to be sad for me…. I know no one wants
me. They always pick someone else to go home with. I‟m not
young like Amy or cute like Tim or smart like”
The Godfather’s Lover |
Ann T. Ryan
4
“You are special, Chris. And one day someone will see
that. Trust me,” Father Marcus said firmly. “One day you will
have your own family.”
Chris shrugged. He knew he would never leave the
orphanage, not until he was able to take care of himself in
the eyes of the law. There was something wrong with him
that made people not want him. Maybe it was the sadness he
had always felt, deep inside.
Chris started to pretend from that very day. His small,
shy smile became wider, appearing more frequently. He
talked more and made new friends. He pretended to be
happy, even when he didn‟t feel that way inside. It was only
Father Marcus who knew Chris was pretending. He looked
sad every time he watched Chris try so hard to be someone
else.
But acting happy still did not make Chris a choice
candidate for adoption into a loving family. When another
childless couple made their visit to the orphanage, they
picked Suzie instead, with her golden curls and bright,
cheery smile.
“Just be yourself, Chris,” Father Marcus had said,
patting him consolingly on the back. He walked away
without hearing Chris‟s reply.
“What if being myself isn‟t good enough?” Chris half-
whispered into thin air.
J
AROD
walked toward the open coffin to pay his last
respects. He was wearing his best suit, the one his mother
had bought for him, the one that his mother loved because
she said it brought out the beautiful color of his eyes. As he
looked into the serene face that greeted him from inside the
The Godfather’s Lover |
Ann T. Ryan
5
coffin, he wondered whether his mother could still see him
now, with her eyes closed like that. He felt a sob trying to
escape from his chest and breathed in deeply before it did.
His father had told him once that real men did not cry.
“Your mother is dead, Jarod,” his father had told him,
voice devoid of any emotion.
“W-what?” Jarod had whimpered out, half in shock and
denial.
“Didn‟t you hear me? She is dead. She lasted longer
than I expected her to, anyway. She was too weak for this
world. At least she gave me you before she died.”
Jarod had stood still as the news of his mother‟s death
swamped him with emotions. He looked at his father, who
looked more annoyed than anything at his wife‟s death. And
suddenly he wanted to punch the half sneer off his father‟s
face. But he didn‟t. He was too smart for that. Instead he
clenched his fists and asked, “How?”
“Slit her wrists,” his father replied brutally, not caring
that he was saying this to his young son. “Weak, I tell you.
You have to be stronger than that to survive in this world.”
Jarod didn‟t know exactly why his parents married, and
even if they did so out of love, the love had run out by the
time Jarod came into the world. His mother had loved him
with all her heart, tried to shelter him from the cruel world
his father ruled. His father had hated that, hated her. And
Jarod had always been between them. The two people he
was supposed to love most in the world. Well, at least half of
that was true. It stopped being true when he saw his father
beat his mother bruised and blue for disobeying him. Jarod
later found out that it was not the first time it had happened.
It was certainly not the last, and all the abuse, physically,
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