On the Street Where You Live by Clark Mary Higgins

Author:Clark, Mary Higgins [Clark, Mary Higgins]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Suspense, thriller, Crime, Adult, Romance
ISBN: 9780743206310
Amazon: 0743206312
Goodreads: 7189120
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2001-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

forty-three ________________

“YOUR FATHER IS HERE TO SEE YOU, Mr. Stafford.” The receptionist’s voice sounded puzzled. It was almost as if she were saying, “I didn’t know your father was alive.”

“My father!” Will Stafford threw down the pen he was holding. Angered and dismayed, he waited until he was sure his voice was calm. “Send him in.”

He watched as the door handle turned slowly. Afraid to face me, he thought. Afraid I’ll throw him out. He did not get up, but remained seated rigidly at his desk, willing every inch of his body to convey his displeasure at the intrusion.

The door opened slowly. The man who came in was a shadow of the one he had seen a year ago. Since then his father had lost at least fifty pounds. His complexion was now waxy yellow, the cheekbones prominent under tightly drawn skin. The full head of graying sandy hair that Will remembered, and had himself inherited, was now reduced to loose strands of dingy gray.

Sixty-four and he looks eighty-four, Will thought. Am I supposed to feel sorry for him, to throw my arms around him? “Close that door,” he ordered.

Willard Stafford, Sr., nodded and obeyed. Neither man noticed that the door had not completely shut and then had drifted open several inches.

Will stood up slowly. His voice rising, spitting out the words, he demanded, “Why won’t you leave me alone? Can’t you understand that I want no part of you? You want me to forgive you? Fine. I forgive you. Now get out.”

“Will, I made mistakes. I admit it. I haven’t got long. I want to make it up to you.”

“You can’t. Now go and don’t come back.”

“I should have understood. You were an adolescent . . .” The older man’s voice began to rise.

“Shut up!” In two strides, Will Stafford was around his desk and in front of his father. His strong hands gripped the other man’s thin, shaking shoulders.

“I paid for what someone else did. You didn’t believe me. You could have afforded a team of lawyers to defend me properly. Instead you washed your hands of me, your only son. You publicly disowned me. But now the juvenile record is sealed. I don’t need you coming in here and destroying everything I’ve built up for the past twenty-three years. Just get out of here. Get back in your car. Drive back to Princeton and stay there.”

Willard Stafford, Sr., nodded. His eyes moist, he turned around and groped for the handle of the door. Then he stopped. “I promise I won’t be back. I wanted to see you face to face for the last time and ask your forgiveness. I know I failed you. I just thought that maybe you could see . . .” His words trailed off into silence.

Will did not respond.

His father sighed and opened the door. “It’s just”—he mumbled more to himself than to Will—“it’s just that reading about what’s been going on in this town. I mean that girl whose body was found. I got worried.

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