Family Tradition, Part 1

Samantha and Reece eyed the grey-haired man sitting across from them. It had been little over a year since they last met; A family reunion of sorts around Christmas, 2016. It wasn’t a particularly happy reunion then. It certainly wasn’t one now. He seemed to be mulling over the news Samantha had just shared with him, though he didn’t seem terribly surprised or distressed.
 
“So that’s it? Jesus, dad. I know he was adopted, but he was your son. Our brother.” Samantha’s voice was wreathed with scorn. “Surprise, some sort of response, – anything! – would be nice!” Sam was leaning forward, taking an aggressive posture as Reece shrunk back into his chair, chewing on a fingernail.
 
The old man glowered at his daughter in response. “Believe it or not, Samantha, this isn’t what I wanted for John. Not for him, not for any of you!” His nostrils flared with a sharp exhale. “You think I’m distant out of spite, but that couldn’t be further from the truth!”
 
“You left us! You-” Sam shouted back. Reece sat upright, interjecting himself as he rest a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You were gone without a trace for almost fourteen years. No explanation, nothing. We practically raised John after that. So, excuse us for being a little upset about your response. Showing up out of the blue and trying to reconnect with your kids doesn’t exactly make up for lost trust.” Sam was taken aback by by Reece’s interjection, but nodded along.
 
The older man huffed, and shook his head. “Look, I get that, and I don’t expect forgiveness for that, but it was to protect you. All of you.” He paused, tilting his head slightly. “And I know that Richard was a little too big for his britches, but he was there for John and you both, too.”
 
Reece blinked and shook his head. “Who the fuck is Richard? Why do people keep mentioning Richard?” Sam pursed her lips, looking at her father expectantly. He returned the look, quizzical.
 
“What do you mean, ‘Who is Richard’?” The old man’s expression turned to one of concern. “He’s your brother. Archaeologist. Taught at Tulane for a while? Hell, you threw a fuckin’ bottle of wine at him two years ago for, and I quote, ‘Being a pompous dick’.”
 
Reece was about to raise his own voice, before Sam shushed him. She recalled Reece throwing a bottle at… Someone? She pinched her temples as static filled the anomalous gap in her memory. She shook it from her mind and looked back to her father. “Look, I don’t know who Richard is, but John mentioned him too, as did a… Co-worker. You and John are saying he’s our brother, but this other guy said he was just a friend of John’s.”
 
Their father lofted his brows at the mention of ‘Friend’, giving them a dubious expression. “Friend might be a strong word to use, but he is definitely your brother. Who the hell do you think took legal guardianship over you three?” He fished out a wallet from his back pocket, retrieving a few small folded items from it and passing them to her. “Go ahead, look.”
 
Sam took the folded photos and glanced at them, each a family photo of sorts. One in particular stood out. It was dated January 1st, 1990, about a year before their mother died. In the picture was Sam and Reece, situated on either side of another child, who was slightly older. Behind them kneeled their mother and father. On the back, a small note read, “‘Our three, beautiful children, Richard, Samantha, and Reece’. – Gerald and Joyce Miller”. She frowned. She couldn’t recognize the face, and Reece look just as confused, and snatched it from Sam’s hands.
 
Sam leaned over, before casting a dubious glance to Gerald Miller. “What, did you photoshop this to fuck with us?”
 
Gerald quirked a bushy brow at her again. “You think I know how to use photoshop?”
 
“Wouldn’t matter,” Reece interjected. “Wasn’t released until the following month. I suppose it could be, but that’s a lot of effort for a deadbeat.”
 
Reece withered slightly at the incoming glower from his father, but composed himself and sat straighter. Gerald relented in his glare, letting out a long and tired sigh. “I s’pose Millers don’t get to die peacefully. I s’pose not being around doesn’t prevent one from snooping where they shouldn’t, either.” He took the photos back, looking them over once more.
 
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” The twins asked in unison.
 
“Means you wound up being hunters. I wasn’t terribly pleased when he was telling John about some of his work. I don’t know how he got involved, but he sure as hell got John roped into it.” He gestured hopelessly to the twins as his stony expression began to crack apart. “And you two as well. I didn’t- I didn’t want that kind of life for you." The older man’s composure faltered as sorrow placed its full weight upon his worn shoulders. "Not at all. I left, I had no choice.”
 
Sam frowned, as she watched her father break down into tears. Tears stung her own eyes, recognizing genuine grief. She harbored anger towards the man: for an inexcusable absence; for abandonment. But it couldn’t stand against a tide of her own heartache.
 
She stood up, quietly excusing herself from the table. Reece gave her a nod, coping quietly as he made his own internal judgements about his father. “I’m stepping outside for a moment. I’ll be back with drinks: There’s a lot to discuss, and apparently we’re going to need it.”