Someday Jennifer by Risto Pakarinen

Author:Risto Pakarinen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Canada
Published: 2019-06-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

Let’s Go Crazy

I WAS SURPRISED to see Dad’s TV chair empty when I got home. I heard the sound of somebody flushing the toilet. Sure enough, Dad walked out of the bathroom—TV remote in hand—said “Hi,” and walked straight into his precious chair.

“Hey, Dad.”

“I didn’t hear you get in. Sit down. Murder, She Wrote is about to start.”

I liked all detective shows, and I liked Angela Lansbury, so I sat down in the other chair—Mom’s—facing the TV.

“So, Dad, what have you been up to today?”

“Oh, the usual.”

We were silent.

“Wanna hear a joke?”

“Always.”

I told him one I had read on the BBS.

“Why did the Swede throw his clock out the window?”

The joke had originally been about a “boy,” but I knew jokes about the Swedes were Dad’s favourites.

“Heh, why did the Swede . . .” he said, tapping the arm of the chair. “No, tell me.”

“He wanted to see time fly.”

“Good one,” Dad said, without laughing. “Classic Reader’s Digest.”

“Hey, why don’t you just tape the show on the VCR and watch it later? I want to show you something.”

“VCR? We haven’t used that for years. I just press a button now, store about a thousand hours of TV on the hard drive.”

I sighed.

“But I want to watch this now,” he said with the air of a man used to getting his own way. “Watch with me.”

Right then, Jessica Fletcher started to type and Dad raised the volume. I sat next to him for the entire show, but my mind was elsewhere.

Since being home I had seen Dad get excited about something only once, and that was when he witnessed Tottenham—his favourite team—lose a match. The rest of the time he sat in his chair, watching TV. Frankly, it made me angry. And concerned.

He didn’t have signs of Alzheimer’s or anything like that, but this was not the Dad I knew. That man was always on the move, always with a plan, pulling strings to make things happen. He knew everybody, and not just in Kumpunotko; his web of connections spread around other parts of Finland, even in Helsinki.

“I bet the wife did it,” Dad said. “Her alibi’s very weak.”

I didn’t know what he was talking about because my mind had been wandering, but I didn’t want to leave him hanging.

“That’s what they’d like you to believe,” I said, and wagged my finger.

“I know,” Dad said.

A half-hour later, as a frozen image of Jessica Fletcher laughing with the sheriff filled the screen, I got up and slapped Dad on the back. “Well, you were right, of course! Anyway, let’s go. I want to show you something. Put your shoes on.”

He grunted as he got up and walked to the hall. I wiggled the Volkswagen keys in front of him and told him I was driving.

“That way it’ll be a surprise to you.”

“Can’t wait,” Dad said. “You seem excited.”

There was no traffic, so what would have been a ten-minute drive during the morning “rush hour” now took seven. We sat silently in the car for a bit as Dad checked out his old ride.

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