Our Father Who Art a Mystery Part Six

[butterflyslinky]

                 

XXI.            The Other Guy

He did regret it sometimes, the fact that he had remained anonymous through it all. But there had been so many things to think of, so many people affected by the children, and he had to protect all of them. Yes, setting them up in a forest full of trolls probably hadn’t been the best move, but Zelda was tough, and she had said that it was all right, that all the weird shit that haunted Rob and his people wouldn’t think to look for them there.

He didn’t bother to knock on the door, just entered. “Hello, Zelda,” he said.

“Hello, Rob,” Zelda answered. There was an uncomfortable silence.

“Did you tell them?” Rob asked.

“Sort of,” Zelda said. “I told them their father was coming and I think they just put two and two together.” She bit her lip. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, they have the right to know,” Rob said. “Especially since you’re leaving.” There was another silence. “Zelda, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For leaving you here alone. But I had to see to all of the reviews and then I ended up in Japan somehow and Critic needed so much help and…”

“Rob, don’t worry about it. We’ve been well-taken care of. Your people have never abandoned us. And Critic took care of us, just like you took care of him.”

“Yeah.” Rob smiled. “He’s good that way, even if he doesn’t see it.”

“We’ve been very lucky. And they’re all good children.”

“I know. I’ve seen them. And I’m proud of them all.”

Zelda nodded. “And I’m sure once they get over the shock, they’ll be proud to be your children.”

Rob nodded. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes,” Zelda said, grabbing a suitcase. “The sooner the better.”

                 XXII.            Aunt Zelda

The children were all sitting in the living room, not saying much, when Rob came down, Zelda on his arm. She smiled as she looked at them all. Her children. Her lovely, creative children who would continue to tell stories and draw pictures and love each other. She was almost sad to be leaving them, but she knew they would be all right, and that she would be off having adventures with Rob, and that they would forgive them for all of it.

“Well, children,” Zelda said. “This is it. Come give your mother and father a hug.”

They went forward, one by one, and embraced their parents, whispering good-byes and promises to look after one another. But as Brill, the last one, stepped up, she made one little request.

“Can you tell us one more story?”

Zelda smiled sadly. “I don’t have any new ones.”

“That’s okay,” Brill said. “An old one will be fine.”

Zelda glanced at Rob, who nodded. “We have time,” he said. “The world will still be there in ten minutes, and we have years to fill.”

Zelda smiled and sat down in her chair. “All right,” she said. “Just one.” She thought for a moment before settling on a story that she knew they all loved, the very first story they had all heard. “This is called ‘Birthday Party, Cheesecake, Jelly Bean, Boom! Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Dr. Insano.’”