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“You had Grams to take care of you. It’s not like you were on your own.”
“Yeah, no nine-year-old needs her father,” I say sarcastically. “You didn’t even ask Grams to move away with you.”
At least that was what my Grams always said.
“No, I didn’t. I needed to be free to start over. Hard to do that with a kid. It was too much responsibility, and I knew I was meant for more. And I was right. Look at what I did here. I became successful.”
“While Grams worked herself to the bone to keep both of us afloat.” The punches keep on coming. I think sometime between entering his office and sitting on his chair, I became numb, which is just as good, because otherwise I couldn’t take this.
“Did it ever occur to you to reach out to us? After you built… all this?”
“I figured if you’d done well without me up to that point, there was no real need.”
“You figured,” I deadpan.
He shakes his head, avoiding looking at me. “It would have been hard to explain to my wife.”
“You’re married?”
Even through the veil of numbness, the words still hurt, like a knife being twisted around in my chest, again and again.
“Yes, I have a beautiful wife, named Tracy, and four children.”
“When did
that happen?”
“I married her nine years ago. The timing was right, you know… to start a family.”
Max told me his detective had a lot of information about my father, but after I learned about his bar, I didn’t want to know more. Now I wish I had asked. Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so much. Grams always said that Dad was a free spirit; that he didn’t want to be tied down. Little did she know. He did want a family; he just didn’t want us. He didn’t want me.
I look at him, dumbstruck. “I see.”
“You do, right? Explaining to them about you meant—”
“Having to admit what a lowlife you are.”
“Please, don’t tell them anything.” For the first time, he looks scared.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t come here to expose you. I didn’t even know there was anyone I could expose you to. God, I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have come.”
He throws his hands up in the air. “Why did you come? What did you expect? You’re past the age where you can ask for money.”
What the hell? How can I be related to this person? How can Grams be related to him? There’s not one mean bone in her body, while he seems to be made entirely out of poison.
“You’re a fucking idiot if you think I want your money. When I started searching for you, I expected to find out you’re dead, or at least had a very good reason for not showing your face for almost twenty years. I never thought I’d find this. You having a successful life, choosing not to have anything to do with me or your own mother. And I came for Grams, because she has Alzheimer’s, and she wants to see you again. I flew here hoping to convince you to pay her a visit.”
For the first time since I came in, a sliver of something crosses his face. “Mother has Alzheimer’s?”
“Yes. Do you want to see her?”
He shakes his head. “No point. I told Tracy I didn’t have any living family. Best if you tell Mother you didn’t find me.”
My stomach sinks, which only goes to show what an idiot I am. A tiny part of me still hoped the knowledge that his mother is sick would make him want to reach out to her. What kind of coldhearted bastard wouldn’t want to fulfil what is essentially his mother’s last wish? I rise to my feet, massaging my neck, which has grown stiff.
“That’s exactly what I’ll do, you bastard.” My voice is high now, but I don’t give a damn. I’m two seconds away from losing my shit and throwing something at him. Anger and hurt billow inside me. “I will leave now.”
“I hope you understand, but it would be for the best if you didn’t come again,” he says, his voice neutral.
