He lets the answering machine record the too familiar voice of his wife’s personal assistant. ‘This is Christopher, Mr. Plath. Mrs. Plath asked me to let you know that her meeting is running late. She apologizes and expects to be home by 8:30 or 9:00 at the latest.’ He erases the message and stands, a tall broad shouldered man, still trim though his weathered face and graying hair and moustache put him somewhere in middle age. Placing the eyeglasses he has only recently needed for close work on the rosewood desk, he walks across the room to the liquor cabinet and pours a couple of fingers of Laphroaig, the most richly flavored single malt Scotch. It is not quite 6:00 p.m. If she had come home by 7:00 he would have waited for her. Crystal glass pleasingly smooth and heavy in his hand, he stands by the sliding glass doors to the balcony. The apartment is on the highest floor of one of the few tall buildings on the Cambridge side of the Charles and on this cold clear November night he. “I expect you to earn your keep while living with me. I am a real slob and I am pleased that I’ve finally got someone to take care of my needs.”I found his last sentence rather perplexing. Why hadn’t he rather said; ‘cook and clean?’ I thought to myself. In addition, there was something strange in his look as he kept glancing at me. I, naturally, realized that I was somewhat of a novelty to him, but I was sure I could detect salaciousness in his eyes. It was both disturbing and exciting to me but I kept reminding myself that he was, after all, my father.Another aspect of our journey that concerned me was that Reed was a heavy smoker. Neither my mom nor I smoked and it worried me how I would now have to get used to being around a person who smoked as he did. The rest of our journey was punctuated by the general chitchat of becoming acquainted.With a half an hour left to our destination, I decided to ask the question that had been on my mind all along. “Did you ever marry or have other.
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