More research into the lyrical mastermind of Mr. Bob Dylan lent itself to finding a title to this post. The similarities are a bit uncanny, and once again I am entranced by the magnitude of his words.

“This song, which comes in at just under nine minutes, is well known for its rather befuddling plot. While Bob Dylan fans, nor Songfacts, are yet to come to a fixed decision on its one true meaning, this is what we have managed to decipher: The song is occupied by multiple archaic characters, including the enigmatic bank robber, “Jack of Hearts.” This charming rogue seduces two women, “Lily” and “Rosemary,” both of whom are romantically linked to “Big Jim,” the wealthiest, greediest man in town. Big Jim is ultimately murdered by Rosemary, who is subsequently hung for her crime. Meanwhile, Jack of Hearts escapes into the night having accomplished his robbery, leaving Lily alone to ponder the events that have taken place.”

I sat on the bed with Kim, wondering what could possibly warrant a conversation behind closed doors. What came to light next made me wish I hadn’t asked that question.

Kim explained to me that my father had been dating Kim McCraben* during the time of his death. I knew this name as soon as she uttered it, but I had a difficult time placing her. Let that be an insight as to how insignificant she was in my life. I had flashes of a local coffee shop, and a plain looking assistant. I remember thinking that she may have worked for my dad but she was so plain and ordinary that I couldn’t even recall an image of her face.

*name altered as not to protect identify

It was difficult to come to terms with the fact that my beloved father had taken a romantic interest in a girl my age. It was even more difficult to hear her role in the scene as Kim went on.

** It is important to note that as the story progresses I will refer to my wonderful, loving stepmother as Kim, and I will only acknowledge the hideous last name of the selfish little girl my father was dating; McCraben. **

Kim went on with the story she knew….That McCraben and my father had been fighting on the eve of his death. She had made some dramatic scene (as young women often do) about breaking up with him and so she proceeded to invite her friends to her house; the one my father paid for that was located 100yrds across the street from his current residence. My father was upset by their disagreement and was speaking to McCraben on the phone. He told her he had left a note for her on his mailbox and then she heard the gun shot. Her claim was that she had immediately called the police and asked them to respond to her residence. Prior to their arrival however, she went to retrieve the alleged note, which was indeed on the mailbox as he had stated.

I have to pause here and ask the question of the readers, if someone you loved, even someone you used to love, had shot a gun while upset on the phone and you were only 100 yards across the street, what would you have done? I have played this part over and over in mind and I know without a doubt that I would have been hauling ass across the street. Apparently, this was not in the selfish thoughts of McCraben because she sat and waited for the responding officers.

When they arrived and she finally disclosed the situation, the officers went to search my fathers house. Unable to gain entry to the front or back of the home, they finally check the garage. it was here that they discovered his body.

I must admit, the rest of that evenings’ details were either pieced together by the other “players” later, or read in the police report. But was was revealed was that the house appeared to be thrashed, alcohol was spilled around the home, and the hard drive to his computer was thrown outside into the snow rendering it unusable. Those details will be important later, I promise.

I can’t for the life of me imagine how I was able to sit on the bed and listen to this story as long as I did. I watched Kim go through the different states of grieving in a flash before my eyes. She cried, became angry, felt guilty and then cried once again. This was going to be a bigger undertaking than I had even imagined.

Being as it had taken me a few days to arrive in NY, there had been some legal proceedings already put into motion. Kim explained to me that I had to hire an attorney because she wasn’t sure how the estate would be divided. It was then that she disclosed that there was a missing page from the will that was recovered from the safe deposit box. I can recall the dry mouth feeling as I stared at her. What the hell was this, a Law and Order episode? I mean really, I had only mentally prepared for flower arrangements, service requirements and the verse that would be put on those little cards they give away at funerals. Secret young girlfriends, strange police reports, missing will pages; that was a whole mess of crazy that I hadn’t prepared for; but then again,let’s be honest, who could?

After Kim had stopped speaking, I questioned what the next thing to do was. She told me that we had to find out the truth so that the attorney’s could sort everything out. That seemed reasonable enough. The unfortunate portion was that the one person we had to get the answers from, was the one person no one wanted to contact; McCraben. I agreed to reach out to her and see what I could do to move things along. I mean, yes I found the thought of speaking with her and having to sit and breathe the same air as her repulsive, but she was the last person to talk to my father alive. Maybe she would be able to help me better understand the events of the evening and find some answers to the many questions that continued to fill my mind.
Thank goodness for text messaging because I don’t know that I could have achieved any success with a conversation on the phone. For those of you who know me, I don’t hide my emotions well. I worried that had I spoken her on the phone I would have had a temporary bout of turrets in which I would have repeatedly called her a home wrecking whore; clearly a temporary disability when speaking to a same ago woman who had been with you father. But alas, the voiceless messages had saved me and we had agreed to meet at a local wine bar the following evening to “discuss the matter.” Did she really have to phrase it that way? Why was she so void of all emotion anyways? How can you refer to the death of someone you “loved” as a matter? Well, I made sure to pencil her in on my calendar and confirm the time and date.

I realized I was going to have a sit-down with the girl who had last spoken to my father; alone. It was like setting myself up for a scene in a mob movie. I can picture it now, the restaurant would of course be empty, we would be alone and there would be no witness to bear of any conversation or otherwise. Well, maybe I watch too much TV, but I immediately called a friend for back-up anyways. Armed with a best friend and a Xanax, I counted the hours until I would have my first opportunity to hear what I expected was the truth.