When I Found You (14 page)

“What’s the truth?”

“I’m sorry to have to tell you she died in prison. Just a handful of days after you were born. She had been bleeding. It had been a difficult birth. She developed sepsis.”

“Which is …”

“It’s a serious infection that gets into your bloodstream.”

“And they didn’t even help her?”

“She didn’t let anybody know she needed help.”

“Oh.” The boy picked up the bird again. Resumed plucking its feathers. “What about my father?”

“What about him?”

“I know his name. Richard A. Ford. Is he in jail?”

“No. He jumped bail. He’s gone.”

“I could find him. Maybe I could live with him.”

Nathan heard the hopefulness in the young man’s tone. Hated to dash it.

“The first is unlikely. He’s hiding from prosecution. If the police haven’t found him, it’s unlikely that you will. But I think the second half of that proposition is even more troublesome.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning … they say the best way to judge what a man will do is by looking at what he’s done in the past. He hasn’t exactly shown himself to be the loving-father type so far. In fact, at the risk of hurting your feelings or offending you, I’d even go so far as to say that your biological father is not a father at all. There are certain human qualities involved in fathering. I’d say that he’s more just a young man who accidentally got a girl pregnant. Look. Nat. You can try to find him. At some point in your life I’m sure you will. It’s the kind of thing people feel compelled to do. Just promise me you’ll be prepared for a disappointment.”

A long silence, during which Nathan couldn’t imagine this a fitting end to such a conversation. “I’m not sure why your grandmother didn’t tell you the truth. I think she had this idea that certain truths are not suitable for young people. But I feel differently. I feel that the truth is simply the truth. And that to shield someone from it is only a manner of treating that person with a lack of respect. I’m sure she didn’t mean it that way, though. I’m sure she was doing what she thought best.”

No reply.

“I’m sorry. I know these must be hard things for you to hear.”

“Yes and no,” Nat said. He did not elaborate.

Nathan chose to leave him alone about it for a time. In fact, for as much time as seemed warranted, however long that turned out to be.

•  •  •

They sat down together to a roast duck supper with applesauce and mashed potatoes.

Then they both stalled in a moment of strange reverence prior to reaching for the food. As if the situation at hand had stopped them cold, frozen them into the ice of it, like the surface of a lake in the dead of winter.

Then Nathan broke his own promise to himself. He asked, “Are you sorry I told you? Or is it better to know?”

At first, no reply. Still no reaching for food.

Then Nat said, “At least I know why she never wrote to me. Never sent me a birthday present. Or a Christmas present.”

“I did, though,” Nathan said. “I hope they were always passed on to you.”

“Yeah, every birthday and every Christmas my grandmother would give me a present, and she would say, ‘Here. This is from the man who found you in the woods.’”

His voice sounded different, which caused Nathan to look up, but the boy was looking down at his plate, expressionless.

“I’m surprised she told you about me at all.”

“I think she thought if she kept saying that to me … from the time I was old enough to talk … I wouldn’t think much about it if somebody else said it.”

“If she gave you a present from me every year on October first … then why did you act surprised that I still remember your birthday?”

The boy only shrugged.

“They may not have been the best, most appropriate gifts,” Nathan said. “I don’t know that I ever gave you what you wanted. Because I didn’t have the advantage of knowing you. Knowing your likes and dislikes.”

“I don’t think that’s the important thing, though,” Nat said. “I think the thing is, you never once forgot.”

“Well,” Nathan said, a bit embarrassed. “Let’s dig in, shall we?”

And he dished up the largest portion of duck on to Nat’s plate.

Politely using his knife and fork, Nat took a tentative bite of duck before even accepting the offered bowl of potatoes.

“This is good,” he said.

Nathan thought perhaps they had turned a corner. He expected that things might turn out all right between them after all.

25 September 1975   

The following day Nathan rose at seven, made coffee — which he’d grown quite adept at doing since Flora’s death — and ate a quick breakfast, pouring boiling water on to Cream of Wheat.

Before leaving for the morning, he rapped lightly on Nat’s closed bedroom door. He didn’t open it, because he wanted the boy to feel he had some privacy. Especially in light of how much was changing for Nat, and how fast. But he did want to remind the boy that he would be gone all morning.

The night before, when he’d told Nat his schedule, Nathan had been under the distinct impression that the boy had been only half-listening. If indeed he had been listening at all.

“Nat, I’m on my way. I’ll be gone all morning. As I told you last night. There are three kinds of cold cereal in the cupboard over the refrigerator.”

No response.

Part of Nathan felt sorely tempted to insist on some response. But he’d been doing so much insisting lately.

Later in the day he’d have to look into getting Nat registered for school in this new district, but after yesterday’s early hunting morning, it seemed that the kindest thing Nathan could do was to go away and let him sleep in.

•  •  •

Nathan drove an hour and a half out of town to the rural kennel. The same kennel, run by the same breeder, that had produced Sadie and Maggie.

Sam, the breeder, greeted him at the door to the barn. “How’s the girl?” Sam asked.

“Maggie’s fine. Thank you.”

“Glad to hear it. Scared me to see you. Didn’t think you’d be needing another dog so soon.”

“It’s not for myself,” Nathan said. “I have a young man in my care now. Just barely fifteen. Seems there’s not much he responds to. But he appears to like dogs. I know you specialize in fine hunting dogs, and that’s not quite what this situation requires, but I thought you might know where I could find—”

“Boy, are you in luck,” Sam said. “Got just the thing for you.”

He led Nathan over to a kennel cage in which lounged an adult curly-coated retriever and a half-grown pup that looked to be of indeterminate bloodline. His coat was longer and straighter, making him look like a poorly designed sheepdog. The liver color inherited from his mother was broken with patches of white. The hair on his face seemed to protrude in every direction at once.

“One of my best bitches got out and came home pregnant. Just my luck, had ten pups. You have any idea how hard it is to find homes for ten mutt pups? This little guy’s the only one left. Five months.”

“What kind of a dog did she breed with?”

Nathan peered deeply into the dark, solid eyes of the adult curly-coated retriever, who steadily returned his gaze. She reminded Nathan of Sadie, which was not entirely surprising; she was likely a relative.

“No idea. But the people who took the other pups say they’re pretty good dogs. Smart, with nice dispositions. I heard from three of the ones that took ’em, anyway. And none’ve come back.”

Sam opened the chain-link wire door of the cage. The pup came bounding out and jumped on Nathan, gnawing at his wrist as if it were a rawhide bone.

“Just needs someone to learn ’im some manners,” Sam said. “Boy, this is kismet if you ask my opinion. Not an hour before you showed up here I was looking in that run and wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do with ’im.”

Nathan sat the pup down on the concrete barn floor and looked into his eyes. He would be a handful for a time. But he would be Nat’s handful. And his eyes reflected intelligence and sanity. Maybe he would take after his mother. Maybe the champion genes would be stronger somehow.

“What do you want for him?”

“He’s a mutt. I want a good home for ’im. And I want ’im out of my hair. And that’s all.”

•  •  •

On his way back through town, Nathan stopped at the bank, leaving the new pup in a carrier crate in the back of his car. He could hear the puppy yelping even as he stood in front of the teller’s window.

He had just stepped out of the bank and was making his way down the leaf-covered sidewalk of Main Street when he heard a woman say his name.

“Nathan?”

Nathan turned.

It took him a moment to recognize her. In fact, she had to come several steps closer before he understood that it was Eleanor MacElroy.

“Eleanor,” he said, his pleasure at unexpectedly seeing her evident in his voice. And it was genuine. He did not assume a pleased tone just to be polite.

She hadn’t changed much, Nathan noted. Oh, she had aged. But gracefully. Not as much as he had, it seemed. She had foregone the vain coloring of her hair that so many women of a certain age favored. Yet she had only a dusting of gray, mostly in the front-most strands of hair framing her forehead.

Nathan fully believed the theory that people, as they grow older, acquire the faces they truly deserve. In her case, it was no tragedy.

“Nathan, I haven’t seen you in so many years. Twelve years, maybe. How are you? And how is Flora?”

Nathan didn’t even need to offer an answer to her second question. Apparently the look on his face said it all.

“Oh, Nathan. I’m so sorry. How long ago?”

“Three years.”

“And have you married again?”

Nathan was more than surprised at the question. He was, in fact, quite thoroughly taken aback.

“Why, no. I haven’t even thought of a thing like that. I’m not sure why you thought I would—”

“I guess I don’t, either,” she interjected. “After all, I’ve been widowed for fifteen years, and I haven’t remarried. It’s so good to see you, Nathan. Are you in a rush? Do you have a few moments? I’d just love to catch up and hear about your life. We could have a cup of coffee. Or, I guess it’s almost lunchtime. Not quite, but … well, an early lunch.”

Nathan stood still in the flurry of his own thoughts. Certain elements of this confusing conversation with Eleanor were clearing themselves. Coming out from hiding. But at the same time, he was involved in the weighing and measuring of how long he should be away. He actually would have enjoyed an early lunch with her. Very much. But he felt there might be a price to pay for leaving Nat alone too long.

And then there was the matter of the pup, howling now in the back of his car.

“I, uh …”

“Oh, never mind. I probably shouldn’t have asked that.”

“No, it’s not that at all, it’s just—”

“I understand. Really I do.”

“No,” Nathan said. “I don’t think you do. I just can’t get free right now, today. Not on this short notice. If I could just have a rain check …”

“Well. Of course. Dinner? At my house? I still remember how to cook. Or at least I think I do.”

“That would be wonderful. I’m still not much of a cook. I make an acceptable roast duck, but other than that I haven’t had a decent home-cooked meal since …” He trailed off, somehow not wanting to say Flora’s name.

“What night?”

“Well. Any night.”

“Tonight? Seven o’clock?”

Tonight. He would have to leave Nat alone again today. But he supposed that would be all right. So long as the situation came with advance warning. Besides, Nat would be busy with his new pup.

“Yes. I’d love to. Thank you. Tonight at seven would be perfect.”

•  •  •

When Nathan arrived home, he put the pup in the run with Maggie.

“Look after him,” he told her. Which she seemed already inclined to do.

Then he went inside to get Nat. But Nat was nowhere to be found.

Nathan opened the boy’s bedroom door to find the bed neatly made.

Was it possible that he had made the bed of his own accord before leaving? And then, of course, the obvious question. Leaving for where?

Nathan walked to the bed and checked the corners of the sheets. Perfect on one side, sloppy on the other.

No, Nathan realized. Much as he longed to think otherwise, this bed had not been slept in since the previous morning, when he had taken Nat hunting.

Had he tucked Nat in last night? Come in to say goodnight? No, he had not. He had simply handed him a towel and a washcloth and said he’d see him in the morning. Aware as he was that the boy was surely feeling overwhelmed. And never thinking to doubt that his simple prediction would prove true. He found the washcloth and towel sitting still folded, unused and untouched, on the sink of Flora’s old bathroom.

Nathan sat in the living room for a few moments, quieting his mind and asking it to take a more organized tack.

The boy might have run away, home to his grandmother’s house. After all, that was everything he had ever known. Nathan felt sure she would not take him in, but it was certainly possible that Nat would delude himself on that score. Could he have gone to classes at his same old school across town? Even though Nathan had not provided transportation or insisted? It seemed more than unlikely. No, likely he ran away. And not necessarily to his grandmother’s house, either. More likely to parts unknown.