Chương 3
“No.”
“Then where?”
“Here.”
Ryan waited.
Walter walked to the small refrigerator against the wall, opened it, and took out two bottles of water.
He handed one toward Ryan.
Ryan did not take it.
Walter twisted the cap and drank from it himself.
“Your father had a calendar on that wall.”
He nodded toward a section of timber where rusted nails remained but nothing hung.
“Your mother called the pay phone at the marina after you were born. The marina owner came down here and told him. I wrote the date on the calendar because your father just stood there.”
Ryan looked at the empty wall.
“What did he do?”
“Nothing for about ten minutes.”
“And then?”
“He walked to the end of the dock.”
Ryan pictured the same narrow boards, newer then. A younger Walter. The man from the photograph.
“What did he say?”
Walter took another drink.
“He asked how much gas was in my truck.”
Ryan frowned.
“He wanted to go see me.”
“He did.”
“But you said he refused.”
“Later.”
Ryan’s pulse slowed a little.
Not relief.
Something worse.
Hope.
He hated it immediately.
“What stopped him?”
Walter’s eyes went to the case.
“He did.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It will.”
Ryan moved toward the box.
Walter straightened but did not interfere this time.
Ryan crouched and touched one of the latches.
Locked.
He pulled.
Nothing.
“Where’s the key?”
Walter lifted his chin toward the old navy cap hanging low over his brow.
Ryan stared.
Walter removed the cap.
From inside the lining, he took a small brass key.
Ryan held out his hand.
Walter did not move.
Ryan nearly laughed.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Your mother needs to be here.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I do until I give you the key.”
“That box has my name on it.”
“And your father gave me instructions.”
“My father, who apparently abandoned me, doesn’t get to decide either.”
Walter looked tired suddenly.
Not old.
Tired.
There was a difference.
“He knew you might say that.”
“I’m sure his magical cassette covers everything.”
“Ryan.”
“What?”
“He wasn’t hiding from you.”
Ryan’s throat tightened.
“Then where the hell is he?”
Walter said, “Prison.”
The word sat between them.
Ryan waited for the correction.
There wasn’t one.
“What prison?”
“Federal.”
“For what?”
Walter looked at the floor.
Ryan felt his stomach drop.
“What did he do?”
“I’m not telling you without Lisa here.”
Ryan closed his eyes.
A few hours earlier he had been deciding whether he could afford new tires before winter.
Now his missing father was alive in federal prison, his mother had apparently visited this boathouse twice, an old man knew Ryan’s birthday better than some of Ryan’s friends did, and there was a locked case under his knees with instructions written before Ryan learned to walk.
He stood.
“Give me the key.”
“No.”
“Give me the key.”
“No.”
Ryan grabbed Walter by the jacket.
Walter did not fight him.
That stopped Ryan more effectively than resistance would have.
The old man looked down at Ryan’s fists twisted in the fabric, then back into his face.
“You can take it,” Walter said quietly. “You’re stronger than me.”
Ryan held on.
Walter’s breath smelled faintly of coffee.
“Go ahead.”
Ryan let go.
He stepped back, ashamed and still furious enough to want to do it again.
Walter smoothed the front of his jacket.
“That was better than your father did.”
Ryan looked at him.
Walter put the key back inside his cap.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing you need tonight.”
“You keep deciding what I need.”
“I’m trying to stop one bad night from becoming something you can’t fix.”
Ryan almost answered.
Then his phone vibrated.
One bar of signal.
A text came through.
MOM: Storm bad up there? Please tell me you’re not driving home until it passes.
Ryan stared at the message.
Walter saw his face change.
“She text you?”
Ryan nodded.
The heart from that morning still sat above her new message.
He typed.
Do you know Walter Hayes?
His thumb hovered over send.
Walter said, “If you do it that way, she’ll lie.”
Ryan looked up.
Walter’s expression held no pleasure in the prediction.
Ryan erased the message.
Then typed:
I found Dad.
He looked at the words.
Deleted them too.
“What do I say?”
Walter gave a small shrug.
“For once, I don’t know.”
Ryan slipped the phone into his pocket.
“Call her.”
“Here?”
“Yeah.”
“She won’t come.”
“Then tell her I opened the box.”
Walter’s eyes narrowed.
“You didn’t.”
“She doesn’t know that.”
“No.”
Ryan stared at him.
Walter shook his head.
“I spent enough years lying for people.”
“Interesting time to discover principles.”
Walter absorbed that without complaint.
Ryan walked away.
He found the wrench under a shelf, picked it up, and set it on the workbench harder than necessary.
The ordinary weight of it helped.
Steel.
Grease.
Something whose purpose was obvious.
His boss, Mark, had given him the job because Ryan was good with old structures.
“You don’t yank an old board just because it looks rotten,” Mark liked to say. “Find out what it’s holding first.”
Ryan had mocked him for turning carpentry into philosophy.
Now the sentence returned unwanted.
He looked at the open plank.
Find out what it’s holding first.
“What’s his name?”
Walter’s brows moved.
“My father.”
“You know his name.”
“Daniel Parker.”
“Yes.”
“Middle name?”
Walter hesitated.
Ryan felt the answer before he heard it.
“James.”
Ryan swallowed.
His own middle name was James.
“Was that his idea?”
“No.”
“My mother’s?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Walter looked genuinely puzzled by the question.
“Because she loved him.”
Ryan turned away.
It was easier when people were monsters.
May you like
He had learned that young.
At eleven, when his mother’s boyfriend Greg broke a kitchen cabinet during an argument, Ryan decided Greg was bad. Two months later Greg taught him to change brake pads and remembered to buy the cereal Ryan liked. Ryan had resented him for making the category difficult.
