Forbidden

Sheep's Clothing

Van

"So, when you said you wanted to show me a place Mom loved, I expected something cliche like a bench in a park."

Van shivered as wind whipped around her hunched form. It was so cold, the flurries landing in her hair didn't melt, making it look as though she had placed white flowers in the copper strands. At her side, Abe appeared quite comfortable despite his thinner dress coat, and he shook his head in amusement at the sight of his daughter's dramatic discomfort.

"Xandra did love to spend a lot of time outside," he admitted, opening the door to the Colonel's Arcade. Pinging and punching sounds filled the space, and the air smelled like stale popcorn. "But whenever she needed to unwind, she came here. This is where... never mind. Can you guess which game was her favorite?"

Van wanted to press her father to finish his last thought, but fearing it might conjure the return of the brooding tyrant, she let it slide. While her body came back to an acceptable temperature, she perused the games, gasping with delight when she spied the right one.

"Air hockey," she shouted, grabbing her father's hand and dragging him to an empty table. "We moved around a lot when I was little, but when we finally settled in Colorado, Mom bought one of these and put it in the house. We used to play for hours. Until our arms hurt."

He grinned and slid four quarters into the payment slot. The table whirred to life, and air blew from the holes dotting the surface. The puck dropped into the slot in front of Van with a click. Pulling it out, she waved it in front of her father while arching an eyebrow.

"It's only been a few months for me, old man. How long has it been since you played?"

"Old?" he growled. "Thirty-eight is hardly old."

"I just call it like I see it."

He snorted while drawing up his sleeves. A shadow skittered through his eyes, but he banished it before Van could ask what troubled him.

"The last time I played was with your mom, but they call it muscle memory for a reason."

To the side of them, someone burst into laughter, making both Van and Abe startle. An elderly gentleman leaned against the food service counter and tugged on one end of a thick, white mustache as he studied them.

"It's the Colonel himself," Abe said, crossing the distance to hug the old man. "How have you been?"

"Same as always, though I have to say seeing you here is making me feel years younger. This one must belong to you and Xandra? Looks like someone split you two in half to make her."

Van blushed and reached to shake his extended hand. All her life, she had been told by other people she looked identical to her mother, and she accepted the words as a compliment despite feeling like there was a part of her they didn't see. The shape of her jaw. A flash in her emerald eyes. The length of her fingers. 

None of those belonged to her mother, and there was a time in her life, Van would study the differences for hours, wondering at the stranger who'd given her his likeness. After meeting her father, she'd marked the physical connections between them, but hearing another confirm them shifted something inside of her. Something that scared her.

"It's nice to meet you," she said.

Abe put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Recently she would have caused a scene if he dared touch her- at the very least, she would have flinched and glared. Now, she leaned into him, loving the comfort.

"I heard you two had a kid together after I found she died." The twinkle in Colonel's eyes faded. "I was real sorry to hear about that. It's been almost eighteen years since she left, and I still look for her at the air hockey table throughout the day. Bout cried when I spied your girl here."