In His Image

She searched for an answer she already knew, for it had been sought many times. Still, she searched again, and again recalled a childhood night many years before, the night she learned her father could lie, and that she would do anything to please him.

His pick-up was old, not good for getting him somewhere fast, but rather eventually. When he steered to the roadside, it seemed natural for him to say, “We’ve broke down,” and she believed him; she was yet to consider he could utter anything untrue.

“What are we going to do?” she asked.

“I can try to fix it, but if I can’t we’ll have to use someone’s phone and call a tow truck.” He spoke with an easy tone - unworried, unrushed. His words and the way he said them relaxed her; it was well into the evening. He raised the hood and poked a light beam into the dark crevices. In his other hand he held a wrench, which he tapped against metal. The tinking sound delighted her, reminded her of the music from ballet class. Then, he said, “This is beyond me. We’ll have to call a tow truck.” It was said by her father, so it must have been the truth.

They walked past several houses until he seemed to choose one at random. “Let’s try here,” he said.

A knock brought an older woman to the door. Her creviced face peered out from the opening allowed by a safety chain. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, but my truck’s broke down, right up the street. It’s just me and my little girl. Could we use your phone to call a tow truck?”

Her eyes dropped to confirm his claim. Seeing the young girl quelled her misgivings and the door was shut long enough to unlatch the chain, and then opened again. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Of course.” She led him to the kitchen and pointed to the phone.

He picked up the phone and spun several numbers. “Where are we,” he asked the lady.

“Bainbridge and Fulton,” she said.

“Bainbridge and Fulton,” he repeated into the phone. “They’ll be here soon,” he said, once he had finished. “I hate to ask, but could I use your restroom?”

“Of course,” she said. “It’s just down the hall.”

“Wait here,” he said to his daughter. “I’ll be right back.” Within a few minutes, he was. “Ma’am, we’ll wait outside. Thank you.”

“Yes, of course,” she said and saw them to the door. “Good luck.”

They walked back toward the truck, neither saying anything. When they reached the truck, he said, “Get in.”

“Can’t we wait out here?”

“Get in,” he said again. When they were both inside, he started the engine and drove away.

“But… We didn’t break down?”

“No.”

She expected to hear no, as the truck was clearly running, but such an answer meant something she had never expected: “You lied to me. Why did you lie to me?”

He pulled from his jacket a handful of things. “Hold out your hands.” She did and he placed in them an assortment of jewelry, gold chains, rings. “She doesn’t need these things,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “She gave them to you?”

“Sort of. If you like, you can help me next time. I’d like that.”

“How?” There was no higher calling than to help her father.

“Remember when I went to the bathroom? All you need to do is keep her occupied, ask lots of questions, tell her you’re thirsty. Can you do that?”

She looked up at her father. Though frightened, she would do anything to please him. “Yes,” she said. “I can do it.” His lie had been forgiven, cased within the taste of something new, an excitement she liked, and soon would crave. They visited five houses that night, many more in the nights to come.

And now she sat alone on a bed’s edge and remembered. She did not know where her father lived, or even if he lived, but there was no doubt he was to blame. He had created her, not only as a person, but also the person she had become. She peered out the window of her motel – the sky was overcast, a wind blew and rain would follow. She looked at her watch: eight-forty. The bank would soon be open.