THE TODD DISCOVERY
It was an understatement to say that Martin Funderburk was disappointed when the red Ford F-350 with dual rear wheels and cab roof lights raced up the driveway to his mother’s house. He was unloading the groceries that he and his twin sister Marcia had just purchased at the Super Walmart in Toledo Town. Marcia did a little dance when she saw the truck. She waved her arms in the air like she needed rescuing, like she was waiting for a hero.
“It’s Todd,” Marcia turned and shouted in Martin’s face, as if he didn’t already know. Todd tooted his novelty horn which played Dixie just like the car in the Dukes of Hazzard, and Marcia cackled and slapped her thigh.
“Isn’t he for the world like Daddy?”
Martin carried in the groceries while Marcia ran beside Todd like a puppy, snapping selfies that she would later be posting to Instagram and Facebook. “I’m making my famous pecan pie just for you. I learned the recipe from my grandmother – I mean our grandmother,” she said and then paused and pouted, angling her phone to capture both her head and Todd’s.
“That’s great, honey,” Todd said. He patted Marcia on the head. He was 6’4 like their father and towered over her.
“What’s up, Marty?” Todd said, extending his hand. Martin took it and debated whether to tell Todd not to call him Marty.
“I thought you weren’t going to be able to come,” Martin said.
“Well my little sis here talked me into it,” Todd said. He gave Marcia a bear hug and lifted her up so that her toes grazed the ground. He’d seen his father perform this maneuver a thousand times. Martin disapproved of physical displays of affection. He winced a little and backed away.
“Are we watching some football today, or what, Marty?” Todd said and reached out as if to wrap Martin up for a tackle.
“Sure,” Martin said, side-stepping as Todd charged towards him.
**
Todd had “come into their lives,” as Marcia put it, when she sent her DNA off to be tested by a genealogy company. “All I wanted to know,” she told their neighbors and friends, “was whether that story about Granny Belle being part Indian was true.”
“Native American,” Martin would correct her.
“Whatever,” Marcia would say with a glare. “Stop interrupting.”
“She was looking for Indian blood, but she got so much more,” their mother put in.
“We got so much more,” Marcia said and she and their mother would gaze into one another’s tear-brimmed eyes.
“It was like Daddy came back from the dead,” they said, sometimes in unison, as if they shared a brain, Martin observed.
Martin remembered every unfortunate detail of the Todd discovery. Marcia was in the study staring at the computer. He noticed her that evening when he came home from the bank where he worked as a teller. Her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open and her forehead was creased, the same way she used to look when she tried to solve algebra problems in high school.
“You okay?” Martin asked and poked his head in the study.
“I’m not sure I understand these DNA results,” Marcia said. “Come see.” Martin walked around the desk and stood beside Marcia. She pointed to a name on the screen. “See, it says Todd Reynolds, probable first-degree relative. What does that mean?”
“Must be wrong. A first-degree relative is a parent, child, or sibling.”
“Blood doesn’t lie, Martin.”
Marcia printed out the results and went to the den where their mother was watching Jeopardy and sobbing because Alex Trebek had pancreatic cancer, the same disease that had killed their father.
“They might as well end the show,” she said, yanking another Kleenex from her sea-shell covered tissue dispenser. “There will never be another Trebek. Or another Felix Funderburk, for that matter.”
“Mama, look at my list of relatives from the DNA test. Do you recognize that first name – Todd Reynolds.”
“No,” their mother said, wiping her eyes with another Kleenex and blinking. “Never heard of him. What’s a first-degree relative?”
“Martin says it means parent, child, or sibling.”
“Well, then we know that’s got to be a mistake. There’s only our dear Daddy and us.”
“Isn’t it possible that our ‘dear Daddy’ had a child out of wedlock?” Martin asked the obvious question. Anyone who knew their father would not have been surprised by the possibility.
“What are you saying?” their mother asked. “Our dear Daddy would never have run around on me, nor would he ever hide something like that. We were soul mates of the closest sort. And our Daddy had such a big heart – he would never neglect a child of his.”
“I think Dad’s death has caused you to place him on a pedestal. I mean – look at the facts.”
“What facts?” both women spat out in unison, their brows identically furrowed.
“Don’t you remember how Dad spent every Friday evening at the Pass Time Lounge? Don’t you remember calling the bartender when we were kids? What was his name? Freddy? You’d say, ‘Freddy, is Felix there?’ And then you’d say, ‘Tell Felix to come home.’ And he wouldn’t, and you’d stay up all night pacing the floor.”
“That only happened a couple of times,” their mother said, and Martin looked at Marcia who stared at her feet.
“No, Mother,” Martin said. “You know that’s not true.”
“So,” Marcia said, her voice lifting, “we have a brother.”
“No,” Martin said, “I’m not saying we have a brother. All I’m saying is it’s within the realm of possibility considering our father’s irresponsible behavior when we were kids.”
“I will not hear you speak ill of the dead, Martin,” their mother said.
Meanwhile, Marcia was already back at the computer, contacting Todd Reynolds through the genealogy website with a message entitled, “Are you my brother?”
*
It was an understatement to say that Martin never liked his father. That’s not to say he didn’t love his father. He did. But he didn’t like him, and he didn’t trust him. Perhaps it began when Felix Funderburk threw Martin into a motel pool at the age of five in a sink or swim test. Or maybe it was when Felix Funderburk swore he’d hold on to Martin’s bike after the training wheels came off and Martin immediately fell and broke his collar bone. Or dressed him up in football pads and a helmet and promised getting tackled wouldn’t hurt. Or told him jalapeño peppers were sweet like pickles. Or all of these things and other things like them that were repeated and repeated and repeated until Martin avoided Felix Funderburk and kept his bedroom door locked and only came out for dinner.
Felix Funderburk was tall and muscular and tanned golden brown. He styled his hair, wavy and blonde, with more gels and mousses than his wife or daughter used. He was a former high school quarterback, and whenever they left their twenty-acre plot on the outskirts of Toledo Town to shop at the Super Walmart or Lowe’s, at least ten people would call out to Felix Funderburk and recollect the last regular game of the 1985 football season when Toledo Town won the state championship. This was the game where Felix threw six passes for touchdowns and carried in another two touchdowns on his own, stiff-arming an opponent and giving him a concussion. “Yep, that guy was seeing stars,” they’d say.
Martin was nothing like Felix. He and Marcia were both short and dark-haired like their mother. Martin had no interest in sports or hunting or fishing or anything else Felix Funderburk liked. His interests lay in mathematics and science fiction novels. Often at the dinner table, he caught his father staring at him, as if he was an incomprehensible alien child who only spoke Klingon or Vulcan and had bizarre habits. “Who are you?” his father’s eyes seemed to say.
When Martin and Marcia were seniors in high school, Felix began to lose weight. He had no appetite and would lay in his recliner watching Clint Eastwood movies and dozing. It seemed like every afternoon, when they arrived home from school, Bronco Billy was playing on television and their father was either snoring or smiling and watching through half-closed eyes.
“Did he lose his job?” Martin asked their mother.
“No,” she said. “He’s taking sick leave. Says he’s so tired he doesn’t trust himself to drive to the plant.”
“I think it would be wise to take him to the doctor,” Martin said.
“You know Daddy and doctors – they don’t mix.”
By the end of the summer, Martin Funderburk was in the hospital dying of stage IV pancreatic cancer, his face as yellow as a banana-flavored moon pie. “Take care of your mother and sister,” Felix told Martin from his hospital bed, and Martin nodded and said he would. They shook hands and in that brief moment, it seemed as though they understood each other, that they’d made peace.
While Martin’s mother made do with Felix’s retirement funds and life insurance proceeds and with the money Marcia contributed from her earnings at the coffee shop, Martin worked as quickly as he could to acquire an accounting degree at Louisiana Tech. After graduation, he took a teller job at one of the two banks in Toledo Town with the understanding that he would have the opportunity for advancement. He kept his promise to Felix. He’d taken care of his mother and Marcia for the past seven years and, without comment, listened to them prattle on about how much they missed Daddy.
On the bright side, he’d begun dating a co-worker, Kara Sue. Soon, the two of them would be flying to Orlando, Florida to attend a Star Wars convention and, with any luck, meet Mark Hamill who played Luke Skywalker. “The Trip of a Lifetime,” Kara Sue had labeled it.
It was an understatement to say that the Todd discovery had disturbed the flow of Martin’s routine and his expectations about the future.
“I’m meeting him at the coffee shop,” Marcia said. She wanted to know if Martin wanted to be there. He found himself saying yes. Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe it was the paternal bond they shared – an unseen force drawing siblings together. May the force be with us, Martin thought.
Marcia reserved a table for them at the coffee shop. They sat in silence for twenty minutes, waiting for the emergence of Todd, and she stirred too many teaspoons of sugar in her coffee. “I’m nervous,” she said. “Are you?”
“Where is he?” Martin said.
“Late, like Daddy. Daddy was always late. Drove Mom crazy.”
Martin was about to get up and return to the bank when Felix Funderburk threw open the coffee shop door and bear-hugged Marcia and slapped Martin hard on the back.
“Can you beat this?” Marcia said. “He’s just like Daddy, just for the world like him.” And Martin had to agree that he was.
Todd became a sporadic visitor at their house that summer and into the fall, charming Martin’s mother, who at first was reluctant to accept the product of her husband’s unfaithfulness. “If he weren’t so much like Felix, I couldn’t bear to look at him,” she said, her voice trailing off and her mouth forming a smile. “He’s irresistible, just like our Daddy.”
**
“You sit at the head of the table like Daddy used to,” Martin’s mother said as Todd made his way to the dining room table. “It’s just so sad you never got to meet him.”
“Oh, I got to meet him alright,” Todd said.
“You did?”
“He came over at my mom’s house at least every other week. I just thought he worked out of town or offshore or something. He took me to a lot of my little league games and my peewee football games.”
“Oh,” Martin’s mother said. Her brow creased a little. “Did your mother attend those events too?”
“Heck, yeah,” Todd said. “I thought they were married. Wasn’t until I heard he was sick that I learned they weren’t.”
“And what is your mother doing for Thanksgiving today?”
“She’s on a cruise, probably looking for another sugar daddy,” Todd said, winking at Marcia.
“You are too much, Todd. Looking for a sugar daddy – yeah, right,” Marcia said.
“No, I’m serious,” Todd said. “Dad treated us like royalty. He bought me a new truck, bought my mom a house, jewelry.”
“Let me get this straight,” Martin said. “While Marcia and I were still taking the school bus in the 12th grade, you were driving a new truck.”
“I guess so, Marty,” Todd said, smacking his lips. “Sorry ‘bout that, buddy. These sweet potatoes are something else, ma’am.”
“I’m so glad you like them,” Martin’s mother said and sunk back into her chair with lowered eyes. “I was under the impression you didn’t know who your father was, and that’s why you had your DNA tested.”
“Oh, no ma’am, Dad and I were the best of buds.”
“How come I never saw you at the hospital?”
“He asked us not to come, told us all about y’all. Said you and especially Marty here might not understand.”
Martin’s mother picked up her water glass and then slammed it down, sloshing water all over the casseroles and into the gravy. “Well I can’t imagine why he would say that,” she said, eyes blazing.
Marcia patted the table with a dish towel. “Let’s not get all riled up, Mom,” she said. “Look at all the water in the cornbread dressing.”
“So why did you have your DNA tested?” Martin asked. He was feeling a little peeved that his father had perceived him as sensitive, as if he’d have given a hoot what Felix Funderburk did behind their backs.
“To find the other ones.”
Martin’s mother shoved her chair backwards, threw her napkin on her plate, and stalked out of the dining room. Marcia stared at Todd, her mouth hanging open the same way it had when she’d discovered his name on the genealogy website.
“Of course, there are others,” Martin said. “And why wouldn’t there be?” He imagined a dozen other Todds of various permutations, some male, some female, all blonde and golden and outgoing and athletic, all assessing him the same way Todd was now – as if he was some kind of genetic aberration, a freak. “Who are you?” their eyes seemed to say.