Joe Puckett was an angel. At least everyone in his congregation thought so. He attended church every Sunday and returned home with his gorgeous wife and handsome sons to a beautiful four bedroom home. He ran his own little grocer's market on the corner of Welsh and Sparrow Street, and he arrived promptly at 6:30 in the morning and closed his store when the last shopper left. Every night he helped his children with whatever homework they needed help with and always helped his wife with the dishes. He never missed a parent teacher conference and coached his sons' little league teams. And every night, Joe Puckett would say four prayers: one for his wife, two for his sons, and one for the little girl he'd left behind.
He'd been 18 when he'd met Alice. He was the son of a prominent business man, while she was the daughter of an absentee father and an alcoholic mother. He could still remember what his parents said, "stay away from her, she's nothing but trouble". He'd ignored them. Two months later, she's pregnant and he's running off, leaving her nothing but a forwarding address. 9 months later she'd sent him baby pictures. He'd burned all but one, a picture of his newborn child, a baby girl by the name of Samantha, and her mother. Samantha already had a full head of blond hair, but he didn't focus on that. Instead he stared at her mother. Bright brown hair, lovely blue eyes, and an irreplaceable smile on her face. He'd hidden this picture inside of his bible, which he then continued to hide under a loose floorboard in his store.
Every year, once a year, he'd get another picture. He would look at the picture for a few hours before placing it inside the hidden bible. Whenever he felt a rush of guilt about leaving them behind, he would open up the bible, its aged pages sensitive under his touch, and look at the fading pictures. He'd often felt the urge to send something back to them. Money, pictures, an explanation. Instead, he placed the pictures back in the bible and stored them once again.
His wife never knew, or at least that's what she let on. She'd often asked him about his life before he moved here. He'd shrug and answer, "the same as everyone else's" and return back to his store for his somewhat nostalgic ritual. One night, while her husband was sleeping, she snuck out of the house and drove down to the store. She searched for an hour before she'd found the floorboard. Tentatively, she'd pried it open. She'd found the aged bible with the faded pictures, and she found herself staring for hours as well. The baby girl in the pictures was angelic, bright blond hair and shining blue eyes. She had her mother's eyes and her father's hair. She'd wanted to confront him. Tell her husband she'd found proof of his infidelity, but the girl in the picture was much older than their marriage. So she'd kept her mouth shut and continued to pretend like she didn't know what was going. However, every year the new picture would come, and she'd steal the envelope and send 300 dollars she'd spent the whole year saving up to the return address. Her sister, the only person she'd ever told about her husband's secret, told her she was a fool. She'd reply, "it could have been me sending baby pictures couldn't it?" Her sister had shut up about it after that.
His two sons really were oblivious to the fact they had a half sister. When he was little, the oldest one, Sutton, could remember asking his mother for a baby sister when she was pregnant. His father had asked him quietly, "what's wrong with a baby brother?" Sutton shook his head and answered that sisters were supposed to be nicer. Joe would then mumble something about forgetting to lock up and rush of to the store. Sutton had been disappointed when his baby brother, Michael, had been born. His mother told him that he should love Michael anyway because there were babies out there that weren't loved at all. His father rushed off to the store again. It turned out Michael wasn't as bad as Sutton thought he'd be. However, in the back of his mind he couldn't shake the feeling that he still wanted a sister.
14 years went by since he left Alice, and he found himself looking at the pictures more often. Sometimes when he fought with his wife or his children screamed insults at him, he would pull out the first picture he'd ever been sent and picture how his life would have been if he'd stayed with them. So it came as a nice surprise, when his son showed him a website called , that he saw a 14 year old Samantha staring at him through the computer. Samantha, or Sam as her friends kept calling her, wasn't exactly what he expected. She was rough, abrasive, and not the girl he'd always dreamed off. After that night, he'd stopped looking at the pictures. The pictures still came, but by now he'd just tucked them in without even glancing at the pictures. Instead he opted for a bottle of aged whiskey he'd hidden, along with the bible, under the floorboards.
However, there weren't just pictures inside anymore. His own daughter had started writing him letters and sending her own pictures when her drunken mother had accidentally mumbled out his address. The next day her mother had tried to explain to her, but Sam refused to listen. From that moment on, she sent her own pictures and wrote her own letters. She hoped somewhere her father was reading them and thinking about her. He wasn't.
Sam didn't tell anyone, but Freddie knew. He knew that every year on her birthday Sam sat at home writing a letter to a father who didn't care. So it came as no surprise that eventually Sam would tell him about her birthday ritual. Send your dad a letter and an updated picture, wait a week, and then get an envelope with 300 bucks inside. She'd keep half and then watch as her mother blew the other half on alcohol and cigarettes. He asked if her dad ever wrote back. She didn't answer. He stopped asking about her dad.
After 23 years of alcohol, cigarettes, and a cocktail of whatever over the counter drugs she could get her hands on, Alice finally died. Leaving behind a 19 year old daughter to face the world all by herself. Freddie knew what had happened when Sam, her tear-soaked face showing no other signs of emotion, asked Freddie if he had any ham. He said he'd do her one better and took her out for fast food. Carly tried to tell her everything would be okay. She didn't believe her. Freddie told her it'd be okay. She believed him. So when Freddie told her she should go away for a while, it seemed only natural that she asked him to come with her.
She didn't tell him where they were going. She just told him to just shut up and drive down the highway until she told him to get off. He did. After about 7 hours of driving, he suggested they stop somewhere. She shrugged. He didn't really like quiet Sam anymore. They continued this string of endless driving and then crashing at whatever motel was closest. About 5 days in she finally told him to take get off the highway. Gathering up his courage he asked where they were going. "My dad's" she answered. He arched his eyebrow. She shrugged, "someone had to tell him she died."
Joe Puckett was just about to close shop for the day when the black pick-up truck had rolled in. Sighing, he checked his watch, and plastered a smile onto his aging face. He could see a young couple getting out. Tapping his finger impatiently, he heard the door jingle as they stepped inside. Letting his eyes casually glance towards them, he couldn't help but feel as if though he knew the girl, blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He shook of the feeling and continued to tap impatiently. After about 5 minutes the girl approached the counter, a pack of gum and beef jerky in her hands. "How much," she asked smiling at him. He mumbled out 5 bucks and held his hand out expectantly. The smile slowly dropped off of her face. She rummaged through her back pocket and fished out 4 crumpled dollars and 4 quarters and handed it to him. He grabbed it, nodded his head, and answered have a nice day. She stood there at the counter staring up at him. Sending her an odd glance, he turned his back and searched around for his keys.
"You don't even know who I am do you?" she whispered.
"Am I supposed to?" he replied. She swallowed. His fingers found the keys and he tossed them in the air.
"After all the letters and pictures, you don't even recognize me, your own daughter?" He dropped the keys. He turned around slowly to stare at her. She stared back, no emotion. No sense of fear or anger in her face, just blue eyes staring back at him.
"I stopped looking at those a long time ago," he mumbled. He walked around the counter and pushed past her. Sam took a deep breath. She watched as he walked towards the corner of the floor and kneeled down. She heard the pop of the floorboard being pushed out. He turned around to face her, a dusty bible in one hand and a near empty bottle of whisky in the other. He tossed the bible at her. "There all in there, every picture, every letter. They're in there collecting dust."
"Sam," the boy called out to her, but she ignored him. She flipped open the bible to look at each of the pictures. She let her fingers graze against the picture of herself and her mother. Her mother actually looked happy here. No dull, glazed over eyes or frazzled hair, just a woman happily holding her baby. Her letters were still folded over, no sign of ever having been opened.
"Why don't you and your boyfriend just grab your stuff and leave," he demanded as he tossed the beef jerky at her. She grabbed the package in one hand. By now, Freddie had inched forward to peer over Sam's shoulder. He stared at the pictures, half expecting Sam to snap at him to leave, but she remained silent.
"Yeah, you're one to know about leaving," she replied softly. She heard the sound of the bottle of whiskey crashing to the ground.
"Sam," Freddie tugged gently on her arm, "maybe we should." She cut him off.
"No, we're not going anywhere 'till this pathetic excuse for a father realizes just how pathetic he really is." She inched towards her father. "Nothing, not one phone call, not a single birthday card from you. All I ever got was 300 bucks. I used to think about what you'd be like. Some snazzy business man, doctor, lawyer, anything that had a legitimate excuse for leaving, but after a while I realized that my father wasn't anything but some coward who was to afraid to even see his own daughter. You didn't even read my letters. Do you have any idea how much time I put into these, thinking that it was the only part of me you'd probably ever get to see?" She threw the letters down at his feet. "I hate you. I really truly hate you." She grabbed Freddie's hand and headed towards the door.
"Why'd you even come back then? Why would you come down here to see a man you hate?" he taunted her. Sam stopped, her hand resting on the door. She turned around, pushing Freddie to the side of her.
"I came back to tell you Alice was dead and invite you to the funeral, but I realized that I don't want you there. I bet you she wouldn't either." She opened the door and she left, leaving a somewhat flustered Freddie with her father. He rocked slightly on his heels. He heard the slamming of the car door.
"What? You gonna tell me about how I missed out on something with her?" Joe said as he walked towards the refrigerators full of alcohol. He grabbed another bottle of whiskey and walked towards the counter. "That girl is crazy, just like her mother."
"You have no idea," Freddie mumbled under his breath, "and that's exactly what makes her so special because you are never in a million years ever going to find a girl like Sam. And I'm not going to tell you anything about how you missed out on something because I'm pretty sure you already know that." Freddie walked out of the store, leaving Joe standing there with nothing but his conscience and a bottle of whiskey.
Things were silent on the way back. She hadn't said a thing. Freddie tried to think of something, anything, to break the silence. There had been times when he'd opened his mouth and just closed it again. They were almost home and she still hadn't said anything. All she did was stare out the window at the passing landscape.
"We're going to have to have to stop soon for gas," Freddie told her. Sam nodded at him before returning her gaze back to the window. He stared at her. After about a half hour of driving, he finally managed to find a gas station attached to an old-school diner. He pulled over. The parking lot was empty, with the exception of a green minivan. "I'll get the gas and you can get a seat." Sam turned around to stare at him. "What? You don't want to get food? Are you sick?" He placed a hand on her forehead. She smiled before swatting away his hand.
"Fine, I'll get a seat," she said as she opened her door. Freddie smiled before opening his door. It took about 5 minutes to fill up the gas tank, in which he stared blankly at the dent on the side of his car. Sam had done that. She'd gotten irritated him one day so she'd hit his car with a frying can. He'd never bothered to get it fixed. As he stared at the dent, he really hoped that Sam would return to normal soon.
After paying for the gas, he'd entered the diner to look for Sam. He saw her at the first booth, right next to the door. He slid into the booth to see Sam staring blankly past him. He turned around to see himself with the proud owners of the green minivan. A family of three, a mom, dad, and their son sat at one of the other booths eating pancakes. The mom sat opposite the father and son who were laughing about something she'd just said.
"Sam," Freddie started. She mumbled something about not being hungry, grabbed her jacket, and dashed out. Sighing, he grabbed his own jacket and followed her out. He was still struggling to put his jacket on, when he spotted her walking down the side of the highway. "Sam!" She kept walking. Groaning, he ran after. Finally catching up to her, he grabbed the side of her arm. "Where are you going?"
"I don't know," Sam replied angrily, "I'm just going. Just deal with it. If you want you can even follow me in your car like a stalker." Freddie rolled his eyes. "Listen, I just saw them, that picture perfect family and all I could think of was the fact that somewhere out there that dad had some freak child living out there."
"Sam," Freddie tried to calm her down.
"Don't Sam me Freddie. Anyone could tell that my dad couldn't give a crap about me or my mom." Freddie didn't respond. They stood there staring at each other in silence. She reached into her back pocket. "I stole his picture, the one with my mom and me when I was first born." She offered it to him. Freddie took the picture from her. He couldn't help but smile.
"It doesn't even look like her," Sam started again, "I've never seen her smile like that. Not even the day I graduated. In that moment, I think she really believed that this picture was going to get him to come back to her. She was so deluded. She wanted so badly to think that he was in love with her. Well, wasn't she completely off? He doesn't care at all. He put the pictures and letters I sent him under the floor. The floor!"
"Why are you obsessing over it then?"
"What?"
"He's obviously not worth the time. Like you said, he's so completely deluded and so completely moronic that you shouldn't even give him the satisfaction of know that you're thinking about him. Look at your mom; she spent her whole life thinking your dad was going to come back to her. No matter how much she wanted him to come back, he never came back. So no matter how many times you wish your dad could have actually been a dad, he's never going to turn into the dad you want. So just forget about him. I mean, I know he's your dad and that you're supposed to love him but after all the stuff he's done, but he's not your family. I mean you and Carly are already like sisters, which makes Spencer your dysfunctional older brother, and you've got me, cause I'm pretty sure you don't want my mom."
There was a tense silence; just Sam's bright blue eyes staring into his brown eyes. Then Sam kissed him. No warning, no awkward pauses. She just leaned over, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Freddie was stunned. He stood there awkwardly, his hands glued to his sides. It took him a good fifteen seconds before he could even start to process what was happening. He managed to pull his arms away from his sides and put them around her. About 2 minutes later, they finally broke apart. Sam put her head into the crook of his neck. Freddie wanted to say something.
"Sam," he started.
"Freddie, shut up. Don't ruin the moment." Freddie closed his mouth and let out a little laugh.
Joe Puckett was no angel. Everyone in town thought so. No one knew what had happened. Joe stopped attending church, his wife and sons left him. He arrived at work whenever he felt like it, usually when his hangover subsided, and left once there was no more whiskey in the store. Every night, he'd drink himself to sleep leaving a pile of unwashed dishes and microwave TV dinners in the sink. He still looked at the pictures of his daughter, even more than those of his sons. He finally read the letters. He wished he'd read them sooner, but nothing comes of wishing. So it seemed like no surprise that when Joe Puckett drank himself to death that nobody missed him. That no one attended his funeral or visited his grave. Not even the wife who always felt second best, the sons who felt betrayed by their father, or the daughter that had moved on. No one missed Joe Puckett. No one missed him one bit.
A/N: Yeah, hope you like it... i don't really know where it came from, but review and tell me if u liked it. Thanks :)