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“What about the equipment?” I ask, pointing to the bag at my feet.
“I can take it back to the hotel with me when I’m done here.”
I hesitate.
“Sasha, really. Go have fun,” he tells me before walking back over to the group of people he was chatting with before.
Sebastian giving me the evening off might just be the nudge I’ve needed to get the answers I seek. The address for Peter burns a hole in my jeans pocket. There was my life before knowing about Peter and my life afterwards, the two starkly different. He’s not far from here, and it’s as if fate is pushing me in his direction.
I put the camera strap over my neck and walk out into the VIP area. It’s less crowded because everyone is on the riser to the right of the stage. The rest of the crew is here, but I don’t bother looking for them. Food and drink tents line the perimeter, and I make my way to the exit.
Resolved, I reach into the pocket of my jeans and pull out the piece of paper to make sure I haven’t rubbed off the ink. The Peter that Cash knew was a man who was haunted by his past. The remorse he felt was deep enough to write songs about it, even dedicating his album to my mom. It makes me wonder if it wasn’t all bad; that they had loved each other. I could see it in the picture he took of my mom. I don’t know what kind of person Peter is now or if he will welcome my intrusion, but I have to find out.
I’ve come to realize that nothing in life is ever black and white. We all make decisions that we feel are best at the time. My grandparents did what they thought was right. There are still so many unanswered questions that only Peter has the ability to answer.
Heaven’s A Liewas a popular band in the early two thousands and lasted through the decade, but nothing was ever as successful as their third album, the one dedicated to my mom. Through the online research I did, I learned that the group disbanded after only putting out five albums, and a couple of the members went on to work with other bands, but not much is mentioned about Peter Hayes. It’s like he blurred into obscurity. Cash was able to get Peter’s address through a mutual connection, and the moment he gave it to me, I finally felt like I was in charge of my own destiny.
Standing by the curb, I pull my phone out of my back pocket. Nervous energy courses through me. This is a man who probably has a family, a wife and kids - my half siblings. The thought causes a rock to form in my stomach. I have no idea what I’m going to say, because every time I run it through my head, I draw a blank. How do you tell someone you’re the daughter they never knew they had?
I hold my phone in the palm of my unsteady hand and text Cash.
Me: Hi
Cash: Hi. Are you on your way to see him?
Me: I’m nervous.
Cash: Understandable. I wish I was there with you.
Me: It’s something I need to do on my own.
Cash: Stubborn.
Me: I know.
Me: What if I don’t like the person he is?
Cash: You don’t have to. But the Peter I knew was a decent guy.
Me: I feel like I’m disrupting his life. I don’t know how to do this.
Cash: With grace.
Those two little words hit me hard. I don’t have expectations; I’m just taking it one step at a time. The only thing I want are answers, nothing else, not right now.
As the car travels down the packed freeway, I try to think of a scenario where Peter and I each get the answers we need, where we can accept each other. The closer we get to his house, the more my heart hammers in my chest. I touch the old Kodak resting on my lap, and I don’t feel so alone.
We pull in front of a two-story bungalow house on the outskirts of San Francisco. The neighborhood is full of beautiful tree lined streets, and on the way in we passed a park. I wonder if Peter’s kids played there, or if he pushed them on the swings. When I get out of the car, I take an emotional walk up the steps to Peter’s door. I can’t imagine what he will think when I explain who I am, if he will believe me or slam the door in my face. I am the storm he never saw coming, the one that lifts his whole house up and crashes it back down in the Land of Oz.
Before I knock, I notice a pot filled with purple cornflowers next to the door, just like the ones that bloom wild in our pasture during spring. I blink at the coincidence of it, but realize coincidence is just fate in disguise.
I knock on the door and wait a few moments. Looking around, I see his house is like any other house on the block, with a wide porch, white siding, and trees and flowers in the front yard. So seemingly ordinary for something that could possibly change my life forever. And his.
I tap my toe nervously on the wood planks. Maybe no one is home, and I start to walk back down the steps, my heart heavy because I might not get another chance. When I hear the door open, my heart beats wildly and I hold my breath as I turn around. On the threshold stands a man, tall and lanky, with brown eyes just like mine.
I’ve often wondered if I ran into him on the street, would I know if he was my father. It’s odd that I can look at a stranger and see so much of myself from the shape and color of his eyes, and the slope of his nose.
“Can I help you?” I recognize his voice as the man singing on the album that I’ve been listening to over and over again.
