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Finally Joey said, "Noah isn't my brother. He's my son."
I tried not to look surprised. I shouldn't have been. It made more sense for Noah to be Joey's youthful indiscretion than Dennis's middle-aged one. It was hard, though, to imagine Joey ever being youthful enough to be indiscreet.
"Did you know about him?" I said when he didn't go on.
Joey shook his head. "I was with his mother for a few months, but I was very good about using condoms. Or so I thought. His mother... liked to drink. I'd join her sometimes, so I suppose it's not surprising that I might have forgotten a time or two. I ended the relationship because she wouldn't admit she had a problem, so nor am I surprised that she kept Noah from me. Dad was the one who found him, in a mall of all places. Noah was going to a movie. He was fifteen and starting to smell like a werewolf coming into his first Change. Dad followed him and we figured out who he was. Noah wasn't with his mom anymore. She'd sobered up and married a born-again Christian who didn't think 'love thy neighbor' extended to 'love thy new wife's son.'"
"So where was Noah living?"
Joey didn't answer for a moment, then said, "Noah has problems."
"Fetal alcohol syndrome?"
"More like FAE--fetal alcohol effects." A wan smile. "Yes, I've done my research. With Noah, it's mild symptoms. He's small for his age. He has some learning disabilities, some behavioral issues. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe just his home situation and the whole--" A glance around at surrounding tables. "The werewolf instincts kicking in and his confusion over that. When we found him, he was in a juvenile detention center. He'd been living in foster care and got mixed up with the wrong crowd, robbing gas stations. The day Dad saw him at the mall was a field trip. He still had a year left to serve, then another year in a halfway house."
Joey rubbed his hand over his mouth. "That was a tough time. Noah was coming into his powers, hormones going nuts, with no idea what was happen
ing to him. He'd acted out a couple of times in the center. Got into some fights. Given his strength--and the fact that he had no history of violent behavior--they presumed drugs, and he had to go through testing... It was hell."
"Were you able to speak to him?"
"Eventually. His mom admitted I was his father--I think by that point she was happy to dump him onto someone else. We eased him into the truth, which, as it turned out, wasn't necessary. He jumped at the explanation. He was thrilled, even. Not a split second of disbelief."
"At that age, I suppose hearing 'you're a werewolf' is much cooler than 'you're having a mental breakdown,'" I said.
Joey nodded. "That was exactly it and I... I didn't understand, which is where the problem began." He paused while the server refilled our coffees. "As I've said, my dad and I had increasingly different views on the best way to handle our condition. It wasn't always like that. Yes, for years we'd been on opposite sides of the center, and not by much. As I got older, though, I started chafing more against the restrictions. I lead a normal life--career, friends, girlfriends. Having to worry about Changing while on business trips or hiding my strength from my buddies in racquetball or being gentle with my lovers so I don't bite..." His gaze slid my way and he colored, as if he'd just jammed his foot in his mouth.
"If you're trying to live as human, there are a lot more disadvantages than advantages to being a werewolf," I said. "I've tried it myself."
"Then you know what I mean. My father always embraced that side of himself more. He's not as involved with the world as I am. Self-employed, poker buddies rather than friends, short-term girlfriends only... As he got older, he started getting into the wolf part even more. He bought the cabin, took up hiking, joined a couple of wilderness appreciation groups, got interested in our origins and mythology. My dad is... was, I guess, I should say..."
Joey's eyes unfocused, grief etching furrows around his mouth. Then he cleared his throat and straightened. "We were different. But it wasn't a big issue until Noah came along."
"Which to teach him," I said. "Overcoming it versus embracing it."
"As his father, I thought it seemed natural to teach him my way. Dad wasn't happy with that, but he couldn't argue with my logic. If Noah was going to straighten out--finish high school, maybe go to college--then 'normal' was obviously the way to go. Only Noah..."
He trailed off, his gaze going distant again.
"He'd just found out he was something special," I said, "and he wasn't interested in being normal."
"I can tell you're a mother. You understand kids a lot better than I do."
"No, but I understand the point of view." I hooked a thumb at Clay.
He attempted a smile. "I guess so. And if I'd been Clay, I'm sure I would have understood Noah's perspective better. I only wanted to make things easier for him. Instead I drove him to my father, which didn't help matters."
Joey sipped his coffee, gaze down. "I took it personally. My son was picking my father, and my father was happy to have him around. I felt left out. Silly for a man my age, but that's how it was. Everyone wants to belong, and that goes for Noah more than most. He wanted a place to belong. Dad gave him that. I should have backed off. Instead, I sulked like a teenager. In the last few months, I've hardly seen either of them."
"Was Noah living with Dennis?"
Joey shook his head. "He was going to, after he got his full release. There was no way his parole officer was turning a troubled seventeen-year-old kid over to a grandfather who'd just stepped into the picture."
Seventeen... I hadn't pictured him so young, but given everything that Joey had said, that made sense.
Joey continued. "For the last six months, Noah has been spending weekends with Dad. He'd just had his first Change, and Dad was trying to help him through it." He glanced at Clay. "He used all those lessons Jeremy did with Nick and me when we were that age. The rest of the time, Noah was in a group home. On Monday, Noah's parole officer phoned me and said he hadn't shown up Sunday night. I tried calling Dad. He didn't answer, which I figured meant he was still at the cabin. When Monday night came, I tried to drive up there but my car wouldn't make it. I wasn't worried yet. Just angry. I figured Dad had taken Noah into the backcountry and hadn't bothered coming out on time."
"Did he do that?"
