Chapter 3: The Son Who Already Knew

My oldest son, Robert, stood in the doorway.

He looked at the photograph in my hand, then closed his eyes.

“You knew,” I said.

“Dad, let me come inside.”

“You knew.”

Robert stepped toward me, but I backed away.

“Is that you in this photograph?”

“Yes.”

The word struck harder than any shout could have.

I put one hand against the wall to steady myself.

“Then Thomas Mercer is your father?”

“He was the man listed on my original birth certificate.”

“That is not what I asked.”

Robert’s mouth trembled.

“I don’t know if he was my biological father.

Mom never knew for certain.”

The lawyer pulled out a chair.

“Please sit down, sir.”

“My name is George Hale,” I snapped.

“If you are going to tear apart my life, you can at least use my name.”

He lowered his head.

“My name is Daniel Reed.

Irene hired me nine months ago.”

Robert reached for the photograph.

“Mom was nineteen when I was born.

Thomas disappeared six months later.

His car was found near a river, and everyone believed he was gone.”

“But he wasn’t.”

“No.”

“When did you find out?”

Robert stared at the floor.

“Ten years ago.”

I gripped the photograph until it bent.

“You sat at my table for ten years.

You called me Dad.

You watched your mother and me celebrate anniversaries.

And not once did you tell me?”

“She begged me not to.”

“So you chose her lie.”

“I chose to protect you.”

“From what?”

Daniel placed a second envelope on the table.

“From Thomas.”

Robert caught my wrist before I could open it.

“Dad, wait.”

“Don’t call me that unless you mean it.”

Robert’s eyes filled.

“You are my father.

You taught me to ride a bicycle.

You stayed beside me after my divorce.

You took a second job when I wanted to attend college.

Thomas gave me nothing except a name on a piece of paper.”

“Then why was Irene afraid of him?”

Robert released my wrist.

“Because he came back thirty-one years ago.”

Daniel opened the second envelope.

Inside were copies of checks made out to Thomas Mercer.

I counted the amounts with a shaking finger.

“Five thousand.

Eight thousand.

Twelve thousand.

Irene sent him all this money?”

“Over thirty years,” Daniel said.

“He convinced her that if the truth came out, you would lose the house, her estate, and possibly your veterans’ benefits.”

“She believed him?”

“He had documents that appeared genuine.”

I turned on Robert.

“Did you give her money too?”

“Once.

He demanded twenty thousand dollars.”

“And you paid him?”

“I thought he would leave her alone.”

“Men like that never leave.”

Robert’s face folded.

He sat down and covered his mouth with both hands.

“I know that now.”

A knock sounded behind us.

Daniel looked through the window and went pale.

“Were you expecting someone?” I asked.

“No.”

Robert glanced toward the black sedan still parked outside.

“That isn’t my car.”

The knocking came again, three slow blows against the front door.

Then an old man’s voice carried through the wood.