Lightning Strikes (Hudson 2)

"This is very nice," I said. Everyone sat and Leanna poured us each a cup of tea to start.

"Please, take whatever you wish," she said.

I did so and began to eat, remarking on how good it all was.

"My husband tells me you actually audited his classes to help give you insights into your acting. That's very ambitious of you," Leanna said.

I glanced at my father who ate silently. William and Alexandra watched me eat and listened to my conversation as if they were just as interested in my replies.

"My drama teacher always talks about knowing the character before you actually memorize lines. He believes in improvisation, too. I suppose you become the character more that way," I said.

"Exactly," my father said. "That's especially true for actors in a Shakespearean play because of all the nuances, subtleties of meaning, the imagery, poetry."

"What made you want to study Shakespeare more than anything else?" I asked him.

How odd it felt to speak to my own father this way, to ask the most basic things, to watch every movement in his face, his eyes, the way he held his tea sandwich, sipped his tea, smiled and laughed. Some of it was a search for myself, to see

resemblances, to feel some linkage and be more positive about our relationship. What gestures did we share? Could anyone look at the two of us and see that I was his daughter? Would Leanna soon realize it?

If I had never known of him and Randall had never found him, would I have paused when passing him by in the street, or looked at him a second time somewhere, sometime? Was there something between a father and his daughter that couldn't be denied?

"I was always interested in that period, the Elizabethan Age, English history itself, I suppose. If I tried to analyze it deeply, I think I would conclude I was trying to escape from my own reality at the time. Being a lover of language and poetry, it was a natural marriage, Shakespeare and I," he said with a smile.

"My mother writes poetry," Alexandra revealed.

"Oh?"

"I just dabble," she said modestly.

"Hardly," my father said. "She's been published often in a number of prestigious literary periodicals; just this past week, matter of fact."

"Larry, don't make it sound like so much."

"It is to me. I'm very proud of her," he added and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.

Both Alexandra and William smiled softly at their father's show of affection for their mother. They were properly behaved, I thought, but they didn't stuff away their need for love and their happiness and contentment. The pretty and elegant home, the magnificent garden, the warmth and love that put light in all their eyes and glitter in their smiles was wonderful to see and feel; and yet, it also made me feel lonelier than ever.

There was a time when Mama, Roy, Beni and I had something close to this, but that seemed so long ago, almost another life and maybe just a dream.

How could I ever become part of this life? I wondered. My father's world was truly as perfect as a valuable diamond. There was no room in it for someone like me, someone so lost and confused I could only bring trouble and pain. Why, the moment my half sister learned she had to share her daddy's precious love with me, this diamond would shatter.

"I'd like to hear one of your poems," I told Leanna.

"Read her the one about the clown, Mummy," Alexandra coaxed.

"Yes, do," William said.

"Maybe later," she said blushing a bit.

"What's your favorite subject, Alexandra?" I asked.

"I like music. I play the clarinet," she bragged.

"She sounds like a foghorn," William teased.

"I do not."

"Children," Leanna said softly.