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to get to the truth. Thatcher? You can't live in limbo
with this, and we can't let it hover over our heads like
ominous storm clouds forever."
"I know. I know." he said. squeezing his
forehead with his thumb and forefinger as though it all
gave him a constant headache. I did feel sorry for him. Are you going to have a blood test or
something like that?" I asked.
"I'd have to tell my father everything. How can
I do that?" he practically cried. "How can I be the one
to tell him that my mother was once unfaithful? Even
if it was only once." he muttered as far under his
breath as he could, realizing that the couple at the
nearest table had turned our way.
He looked desperate, distraught. defeated. "I feel like I'm boxed in, and that is not
something I have experienced much in my life." "I'm sure you'll find a way to make sense out of
it all. Thatcher," I assured him, and put my hand out
to touch his.
Here I was again, finding myself in the role of
cheerleader, with all my heavy baggage to carry.
Daddy once told me it was sometimes a blessing to
have other people's problems on your mind-- it kept
you from fretting too much about your own. Solving
someone else's difficulties often brings more pleasure
than solving your own. Still. I felt a little bit like the
patient telling the doctor he would be fine. Thatcher
was the man of action here, the person with all the
resources at his beck and call. Who was I to advise
him or predict anything?
He leaned toward me to whisper. "I'm tracking
him down." he revealed. "You are?"
