Chương 8
“I don’t know that either.”
“Dad says Arizona.”
“He might be.”
“You haven’t talked to him?”
“No.”
“When was the last time?”
Margaret hesitated too long.
Daniel’s face hardened.
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
Emily felt her stomach drop.
Daniel stood.
“You talked to him three years ago?”
“It was nothing.”
“What does nothing mean?”
“A phone call.”
“About what?”
Margaret’s voice sharpened.
“His wife died.”
Daniel went completely still.
Emily looked at him.
Margaret continued.
“I heard from a mutual friend. I called to offer condolences.”
“How long did you talk?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Did you tell Dad?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew he would turn it into this.”
Daniel laughed.
“Into finding out the man might be my biological father?”
“He had no reason to know.”
“I had a reason.”
Margaret’s voice broke.
“I was afraid.”
Daniel did not answer.
For the first time, Margaret did not rush to fill the silence.
When she spoke again, she sounded tired.
“I was afraid when I was twenty-two, and then I was afraid when I was twenty-three, and then you were five and you called William Dad like it was the easiest word in the world. Every year after that, telling the truth got harder. There was never a morning when it became easier.”
Daniel sat down.
Emily watched his anger shift.
Not disappear.
Shift.
He asked, “Did Stephen know?”
“I told him there was a possibility.”
“When?”
“Before he moved.”
“How old was I?”
“Four.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“So two men knew there was a chance.”
“No. William didn’t.”
“Right.”
Margaret inhaled shakily.
“I asked Stephen to stay away.”
“And he did.”
“Yes.”
“Did he want to?”
Margaret did not answer.
Daniel looked at Emily.
She could see the question hurt before Margaret finally said, “No.”
Daniel ended the call.
He did not say goodbye.
For two days, he barely spoke about it.
He changed diapers.
He answered work emails.
He made scrambled eggs and forgot to eat them.
He stood over Noah’s bassinet longer than usual.
At night, Emily sometimes woke and found him looking at his phone.
Not messaging.
Searching.
Stephen Mercer was not difficult to find.
He was sixty-two and lived outside Tucson.
He had worked for an insurance company before retiring.
His wife, Laura, had died three years earlier.
He had two daughters.
Daniel found photographs on a public social-media page belonging to one of them.
Emily knew the exact moment he saw Stephen’s face.
She was brushing her teeth when Daniel came into the bathroom holding his phone.
He did not say anything.
He handed it to her.
The photograph showed an older man standing beside two women at a backyard table.
Emily looked at the man.
Then at Daniel.
The resemblance was not magical.
There were no identical faces.
No obvious cinematic proof.
But the shape around the eyes was familiar.
So was the small crooked angle of the smile.
Emily handed the phone back.
Daniel sat on the closed toilet.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“No.”
“I could find a stranger at Target who looks like me.”
“Probably.”
“You’re supposed to disagree.”
“I’m brushing my teeth.”
He laughed despite himself.
Then his expression collapsed again.
“Do I contact him?”
Emily rinsed her mouth.
“What do you want?”
“I want to know if he knew about me.”
“Your mom said he did.”
“I don’t trust her.”
“That makes sense.”
“I want to know if he ever wanted to contact me.”
Emily sat on the edge of the tub.
“That answer could hurt.”
“So could not asking.”
“Yes.”
Daniel looked at his phone.
“What would you do?”
Emily thought about it.
“I’d wait one day.”
“Why?”
“Because right now you want information. Tomorrow you might know what you want to say.”
Daniel nodded slowly.
He waited one day.
Then another.
On the third, he wrote an email.
He showed it to Emily.
It was four paragraphs long, restrained, almost formal.
My name is Daniel Carter. I believe you knew my mother, Margaret Carter, when you were younger.
He did not mention DNA until the second paragraph.
He did not call Stephen his father.
He did not ask for a relationship.
He asked whether Stephen was willing to speak.
Daniel stared at the send button for nearly an hour.
Noah woke.
Daniel changed him.
Noah spit up on Daniel’s sleeve.
Daniel changed shirts.
The email remained unsent.
Finally Emily said, “You don’t have to do it.”
“I know.”
“That includes today.”
“I know.”
He looked at her.
“Will you press it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because then every time you regret it, you’ll get to blame me.”
Daniel stared.
“You’re a terrible support system.”
“I’m excellent.”
He pressed send.
Stephen replied forty-eight minutes later.
Daniel was furious.
“He replied too fast.”
Emily was folding baby clothes.
“You would have been furious if he waited.”
“Yes.”
“Good. Just checking.”
Daniel read the email standing up.
Then he sat down.
Stephen’s reply was short.
Yes. I knew your mother.
Yes. I have known since 1997 that I might be your biological father.
I have thought about contacting you more times than I can reasonably explain.
I did not because your mother asked me not to, and because every time I searched for you, you seemed to have a father who loved you.
If you want to speak, I will answer anything I can.
If you do not, I will not contact you again.
Daniel read it twice.
Then he gave the phone to Emily.
She read it.
“He searched for me.”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“I don’t know.”
“What does that even mean, I seemed to have a father who loved me?”
Emily folded a tiny pair of pants.
“It probably means he saw pictures.”
“That’s creepy.”
“A little.”
“What if he’s been watching me online for years?”
“Also possible.”
“Why are you not making this better?”
“Because you asked me not to lie.”
Daniel lay back on the sofa.
May you like
Noah was asleep beside Emily in the bassinet.
After a while Daniel said, “Dad taught me to ride a bike.”
