The snow covering the landscape disappeared just outside of Frederick, Maryland, and it was late afternoon when Jack pulled into his father’s driveway. His father lived in a small estate on a hillside above the town library in McLean, Virginia. Jack parked in the roundabout near the front door and let Shadow out to chase after a gray squirrel. In all his six years he had never caught one, but true to Bouvier honor Shadow gave it all he had each time. The clamor brought Jack’s father to the front door.

Jack hadn’t seen him for four months and the change was incredible. Peter Brandon had lost a lot of weight. His skin hung in folds under his chin, the color was gone from his face, and only the piercing blue-gray eyes remained. He looked much shorter. His hair had thinned and he could see his scalp under the wispy white hair. Jack ran up the few steps and took his father in his arms. He could feel every vertebra and was conscious of his dad’s fragile body. His father hugged him back and said, “My God, do I look that bad? Never mind. Come on in and have a drink with me. Le Dinh will get the baggage. I’ve put you in the master bedroom.”

At Jack’s look, his dad said, “I moved out of my huge master suite a month ago. Everything is too far apart, and the old guest bedroom on the other side of the house is quieter and the bathroom is much closer to the bed.”

Jack called for Shadow who came bounding back instantly to greet Le Dinh Nguyen, his father’s long-time friend and servant who, with his wife, kept the house running and excellent meals on the Brandon table. Jack greeted Le Dinh and tried to give him a hand with the baggage, but he was chased away. Jack followed his father back to the library. His dad asked for a scotch on the rocks. Jack poured himself three fingers of Jack Black over one ice cube and said, “I wasn’t prepared for the oxygen bottle. Is there any reason to get another opinion? Maybe there is some new treatment out there?”

“No. I’ve seen the best. I have rejected the transplant process. The doctors tell me I am not a good candidate anyway. We have six months to a year, and I have a lot to say to you. By the way I’m sorry about your divorce, but to be honest, I could never warm up to Marsha. I don’t think she thought the world of me either.”

“Don’t be sorry, Dad. I made a mistake and got out of a bad situation without needing a shrink or a loan officer.”

“You know you could have money from me at any time. I’ll bet Marsha thought I was either a fraud or the tightest old man she had ever known.”

“Hmm, not too far off. She couldn’t understand I wanted to make my own way and you had taught me to be self-sufficient. Yeah, but finances were only a part of our problems. It wasn’t like I was in debt or couldn’t pay my bills. She just wanted to live beyond our means.”

“I’ve asked Le Dinh to serve us a light supper in here. It saves me some steps and energy. Talking tires me out and I have a lot to say to you. After supper I want to have a short talk about your past work with the police in Pittsburgh and then about your future with them, but I want to get to bed early. I have a long day planned for tomorrow.”

Before Jack could ask any questions, Le Dinh entered with their trays. Jack had forgotten how good the food was in his dad’s house. A cold cucumber soup served with curried egg salad sandwiches and roasted red peppers stuffed with saffron rice and diced shrimp. His dad passed on the Chablis, but Jack, knowing the quality of the wine cellar, accepted. After supper Jack talked to his father about his police work and where he could expect to be in the next five years, if he continued working with the police. His father asked a few questions and then said he needed to go to bed.

Jack wondered as he tossed in bed how he could go on without his father. His father had always been there for him. Here he was at thirty about to make a turn in his life he would not have thought possible yesterday. It seemed during their after-supper talk, his father wanted to know how qualified Jack was to manage the Brandon money and to continue with his life work of encouraging private enterprise.

After a late breakfast the next day, his father suggested they have coffee on the sun porch. After they were settled in the warmth of the morning sun, he told Jack he had a complicated and shocking story to tell him. He began his story by saying, “Brandon is not the name I was born with, and I was not born in this country.”

Jack nearly spilled his coffee as he sat up and sputtered, “What do you mean?”

“My story is long, so please sit back and hold your questions until I take you through it.”

This blog will serialize Barry Kelly’s first novel “Justice Beyond Law” every Wednesday and Saturday. For more by Barry Kelly, visit his Amazon author page.