Page 83 of Not That Complicated

I winced.

“I’ve come across a couple of bodies in my time,” Dad mused.

Giselle whirled on him. “What?” she screeched. “Are dead people lying around all over the place and I don’t notice? How come I don’t find any? And when on earth did you find dead bodies?”

“Digging foundations,” he said. “You have no idea what you’re walking around on top of until you start digging.”

Or, in my case, doing corpse pose on top of.

“You found actual dead people?” I said.

“Animals, mostly,” Dad said. “And a hand.”

“A hand?”

“Turned out to be a chimp’s.”

“Why didn’t I hear about any of this?” Giselle said. “If you find a hand, Christopher, I’d like to know about it. I’m your wife.”

“It was before I met you, dear. One of my early jobs.”

“Where was the rest of the chimp?” I said.

“Who knows? It was an old Victorian place. Owner said it was full of animal skins and trophy heads and such nonsense when he bought it. Fucking Victorians.”

My Dad had a hate-on for Victorians that, if roused, could get him frothing at the mouth. He loathed them. To this day, I didn’t know why. It was hilarious.

“This was back in the eighties, though,” he said. “The police weren’t all that interested, even before they figured out it was a chimp.”

“No excavation? No looking around for more?”

“It was just a hand, Ray.”

I stared at my father across the table.

…

…justa hand?

He lifted his brows.

“Right,” I said. “Well, anyway. The police care about the bodies in my house, I can tell you right now they’re not chimps, and I can’t go home until the police have processed the scene. Again. Hopefully they’ll do it right and find anything that needs to be found, and I can go back. Is it okay if I stay for a week? Maybe two? I know I sprang this on you, and you might have plans or—”

“Ray, sweetheart.” Giselle reached over the table to clasp my hand and gaze at me. “Stay forever.”

“Hopefully not that long, but—”

She squeezed. “We miss you. Move back home if you like. There’s plenty of room.”

My father blanched. I imagined I had the same wide-eyed, deer-in-headlights expression on my face.

“Lots of people have multi-generational homes,” Giselle went on. “It’s normal.”

“I have a home, though. I was thinking a week—”

“It’s an option. You don’t have to decide now. At least five people in the village I can think of off the top of my head have their children living with them. Sometimes grandchildren, too.”

This was escalating.

---