The Visit

By Chris Dauten

"This had better be worth it," Danny Templeton grumbled. The wind battered the side of his SUV. He struggled to keep it on the road. The rain fell faster than his windshield wipers could sweep it away. He gripped the wheel with both hands and leaned forward. He squinted, trying to anticipate the path of the unfamiliar road. It had rained on him for the full four hours it had taken him to drive from St. Louis. Now, here he was in the suburbs of Kansas City, hoping the ordeal hadn't been in vain.

The dull red glow of a stoplight loomed from the depths of the wet, gray deluge. Danny brought the four-wheel-drive vehicle to a stop. The rain pounded the roof above him. He glanced over at the passenger seat. The wrinkled assortment of papers sat there, at once offering both hope and fear. He'd spent years obtaining the information contained in those papers. He'd allowed them to sit, untouched, for an even longer period. It was only two days ago that he suddenly felt the urge, the need, really, to take the papers from their hiding place and look them over.

Most of the information was purely administrative--Danny's birth certificate, the final papers from his parents' divorce, a few pictures, a map printed from the Internet. The real prize, though, was the piece of paper on which was written the address of Albert Templeton. This was the tidbit that caused him such inner turmoil.

When the red glow winked out and was replaced by a blurry green one, Danny eased the SUV into motion once again. He tried, as he had so many times before, to remember his father. He had some pictures of Albert, but he really couldn't remember the man. Danny had only been a little over a year old when his parents split up. After 34 years, any memories that might have remained were now long gone. The fact that there was never any contact, no cards, no letters, no phone calls, didn't help.

After the initial desire to dredge up these old scraps of information, Danny had done so with mixed feelings. On the one hand, his mother was dead and Albert was his only living relative. The wish to connect with a part of himself was strong. On the other hand, the unknown was a powerful force. The doubt and the fear that accompanied such a decision were serious factors in his procrastination. Besides, his father may not want to see him. That thought clawed at his insides as he strained to see house numbers through the sheets of water running down his windows. "Hell, I can't see anything," he mumbled.

The residential section of the street gave way to some small office buildings set away from the road. On his left, what appeared through the driving rain to be a large park butted up against a long, low brick building. Danny realized that he had probably missed the address so he decided to turn around. He was in the left-hand lane, so he maneuvered into the turn lane and waited for a break in the traffic.

"What'll I do if he doesn't want to see me?" Danny wondered aloud. "What if he doesn't want anything to do with me?" Danny had asked himself these same questions over and over again on the drive from St. Louis. He didn't have any answers. He knew he had to make an attempt, though. He'd thought off and on about contacting his father all through his high school years and beyond, but it had never gotten past that point. All of that changed two days ago. Danny had no idea what hit him, but he was filled with an overwhelming desire to find his father. That had been on Thursday, and here he was spending his Saturday getting all but blown off the road, lost in the rain.

A gap appeared in the line of traffic coming toward him. Danny stepped on the gas and whipped into the parking lot of the brick building. He drove right up to the building, cut a u-turn, and headed back for the parking lot entrance. The SUV's engine chugged violently twice and then died altogether. Danny sat there and he couldn't help but chuckle a bit. "Great. The wind, the rain, and now this." He turned the key. The engine strained to turn over, but failed. He tried again. Nothing.

He collapsed back in his seat and let his hands fall from the wheel. He sighed in frustration. After he'd allowed himself a few moments of quiet irritation, Danny fumbled through the center console, finally withdrawing his cell phone. He turned it on. No signal. The weather again. Danny tossed the useless phone onto the passenger seat. Not that it would have done him much good; he didn't know anyone in Kansas City, and what could his wife do from St. Louis?

"One more time," Danny whispered. He twisted the key in the ignition. This time, the engine turned over and started up without any problems. He let it sit there, idling for a few moments. Satisfied that it was running okay, he decided to play it safe and look for a service station. After all, he had another four-hour drive ahead of him. Since he had just entered a business area when the SUV died, Danny decided to continue in that direction.

The engine coughed and sputtered as he pulled back out into the street. Danny coaxed the SUV along, desperately looking for a service station. He'd gone a few blocks when a familiar sign floated into view, appearing like a ghost in his rain-obscured vision. "Thank God," he thought aloud. He pulled into the lot, parking right in front of the service bay doors. He blew the horn twice.

After a few seconds, the doors began a slow ascent. When they were fully raised, a middle-aged black man in mechanic's overalls motioned him to pull in. The roar of the rain gave way to the quieter rumble of his SUV as he entered the garage. Danny shut off the engine and hopped out of the driver's seat. The mechanic, whose name was Joe (according to the name embroidered on the chest pocket of his greasy overalls), smiled warmly. "You just getting out of the rain, or is something wrong?"

"Something's definitely wrong," Danny replied. He recounted his experience to Joe, who nodded and walked around the SUV slowly, examining every inch of the exterior.

"Well, let's see what we've got," Joe said when Danny's story was finished. He popped the hood and leaned over the hot engine. His hands expertly moved over all the components, checking this, wiggling that. "What're you doing out on a day like this?"

Danny hesitated. "I'm going to see my father," he said.

"You from out of town?" Joe asked as he continued his inspection.

"St. Louis."

"Well, you picked a hell of a hell of a day to drive across the state," Joe chuckled.

Danny laughed along with the mechanic and agreed. "I know. It was sort of a last minute thing." Joe didn't ask for an explanation. He just went about his business, being extremely thorough. For some reason, Danny felt he owed him an explanation. Or maybe he just needed to get it off his chest. Either way, he spoke up. "I haven't seen my father since I was a baby. I don't know...I've just been feeling like I need to meet him."

Joe had stopped his snooping under the hood and was looking at Danny. "He lives around here?"

"Yeah." Danny opened the driver side door and retrieved his papers. "1345 Pemberton," he said, reading the address from a crumpled sheet of notebook paper.

Joe leaned over and looked at the address. "You came from the freeway?"

"That's right."

Joe shook his head and motioned Danny to the open door of the garage. "You went the wrong way, boy." He pointed back the way Danny had come. "Go back that way, back to where you got off the freeway. Go under the freeway and it'll be a mile or so up."

"Thanks," Danny said as Joe went back to fiddling with the engine.

"Sure thing." Joe scratched his head and went around to the driver's door. He climbed in and started the engine up. It chugged as he stepped on the gas, revving it up. The mechanic cocked his head; his experienced ears listened for a telltale sign of something in particular being amiss. After a few moments, he shut the engine off and went back to the raised hood. He reached behind him and rolled his wheeled toolbox over. He selected a few items out of it.

"Find something?" Danny asked.

"Maybe," Joe mumbled, burying his tool-laden hands deep into the engine compartment. "We'll know in a minute."

Danny waited patiently as Joe started removing things. He looked over his papers for the hundredth time in the past two days. He felt vaguely nervous at the prospect of finally finding his father, but it was by no means overpowering. The worst that could happen would be that he'd be turned away. At times this possibility had tempted him to turn the SUV around and go home, but he kept reminding himself that he was 100% sure to fail if he went home without seeing this through. As long as he kept his nerve and followed through, there was at least a chance things would work out.

"What's your father's name?" Joe asked as he dug around under the hood.

"Templeton," Danny replied. "Albert Templeton. You know him?"

"I don't think so," Joe said. He raised his head and flashed Danny a thoughtful look. "But that name sounds really familiar to me for some reason." The mechanic turned his attention back to the task at hand. "I don't know where," he mumbled, "but seems like I heard that name...somewhere..."

As Joe's voice faded away, Danny shrugged off the mechanic's words. His father's address was only a couple of miles away from the service station, so it was entirely feasible that he or an acquaintance had been a recent customer.

"Well don't that beat all," Joe said with a light laugh.

Danny walked over to stand beside the mechanic. "What is it?"

Joe handed him a crumpled, torn piece of paper. It was a business card. "Newton Mortuary and Funeral Home," Danny read aloud. "What about it?"

"You must have run it over," Joe said, closing the hood. "It got blown up inside there. I've seen all sorts of things get stuck in different places and freeze up a belt, or knock one off, but I ain't ever seen anything that small or flimsy do that."

"You're kidding, right?" Danny asked in disbelief. This guy was trying to take him, surely.

By way of reply, Joe climbed back behind the wheel and started up the engine. It ran smoothly, no coughs or sputters. "That was the only thing I found mechanically wrong," Joe stated. He hopped down from the driver's seat. "Nothing else."

"Fine," Danny said, still a little skeptical. "How much do I owe you?"

Joe dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Nothing. On the house."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah," Joe said. "Good luck finding your father."

"Thanks," Danny said with a smile. It looked like Joe wasn't crooked, after all.

"Here," the mechanic said as an afterthought. He pulled a piece of paper from one of his pockets. He scribbled something on it and handed it to Danny. "My phone number is on there. If you have any more trouble, just give me a call. I think you should be okay, though."

Danny climbed into the SUV. "Thanks, I appreciate that."

"No problem."

Danny closed the door and backed out of the garage. He gave Joe a polite wave and turned the SUV around. He eased back out into the street and headed back the way he had come, according to Joe's directions. He hadn't gone far when the engine gave a sudden lurch. "Great," he moaned. A loud knocking sound followed another chug. The SUV struggled to keep moving, but the engine finally gave out. Danny had just enough time to maneuver onto the shoulder, out of traffic.

His cell phone still couldn't find a signal. Danny knew then that he was going to have to find a phone. On foot. In the rain. He made sure he had Joe's number safely in his pocket and opened the door. The wind hit him like a hammer and the rain stung his face like tiny needles. He shut the door and took a quick look around. He was in front of the same brick building he'd stopped at before. He was just shy of he driveway, so he trotted into the parking lot and up to the front door. It was unlocked.

He found the door opened and ducked inside. It was dry. He stepped up to a counter and pulled Joe's number from his pocket. A well-dressed man smiled. "How may I help you?"

"I need to use your phone, if that's okay," Joe explained. "My truck broke down just outside."

"Of course," the man replied, pushing the phone across the counter.

"Thanks." Danny dialed Joe's number. As the phone on the other end rang, he looked out the window, into the wet, green area he'd mistaken for a park earlier. Smooth gray headstones placed in neat rows revealed the darker reality of the otherwise peaceful setting. "Yeah, Joe," he said after receiving an answer, "this is Danny Templeton. I was just in with my SUV. I broke down again.... I'm close by...near a cemetery. I'm at..." Danny looked around for some indication of where he was. "Excuse me," he said to the man behind the counter, "but what's this place called?"

The man looked a bit confused and replied, "Why, Mr. Templeton, this is the Newton Funeral Home. I...I thought you were..."

Stunned, Danny let the receiver drift away from his ear. He stared back at the mortician's dumbfounded gaze. "You thought I was what?"

"Um...I thought," the man gestured toward a sign at the end of the counter. "The visitation," he finally managed to get out.

Danny read the sign, muttering the words under his breath. "Albert Templeton Visitation. 2:00 - 5:00 pm." He gently laid the receiver back in its cradle. "Yeah," he said aloud, still staring at the sign. "I guess that's what I'm here for."