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I taught an introductory English literature class at Jacksonville University, a small private liberal arts college across town, but I liked the Mandarin neighborhood better for the boys than the area around JU so I put up with the hour-long daily commute.I opened the closet door and in the back found the two suitcases Diane and I had used for our last cruise two years ago to the Bahamas. Then I started opening the drawers and taking out as much of my underwear as I could find. I took a week's worth of slacks, shirts and suit coats out. I had to remember to pack a razor, toothbrush, toothpaste, a few medications, all the things I'd need for a trip away from home.I leaned over the dresser and felt the urge to vomit. I fought it back. Only this trip was never going to end. It was an exile from everything I loved, or had loved, and I was never going to come back.If I let myself think about it too much I knew I'd freeze up. So I very methodically went about packing up everything I'd need. I promise." I expected him to be angry, but he merely looked at me a long time and a great sadness seemed to come over him. "You've met him, haven't you. The Collector?" "You know him?" I couldn't believe my Dad knew the Collector and had never told me. "Yes. I met him once," my Dad said. "Where is The House of Forgotten Cameras these days?" "I'm not really sure. Somewhere south of the Presidio," I told him. "And the… " he started to ask something, but his words were choked back by a sudden surge of emotion. "The woman?" "Jillian?" I asked, wondering how my Dad could possibly know about her. He didn't seem to recognize the name, but he pointed to the inside of his thigh, and we both knew what he meant. It was the exact location of Jillian's birthmark. "Yes…" I stammered. "I know her." I had never seen my father cry before. He collapsed on my desk, put his head on his arms and sobbed. Eventually, he wiped his face and regarded me with a lost, pitiful look that shook me to my core..
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