created.
Father.
Son.
Enemy.
Victim.
Now suddenly they were none of those things.
Samuel’s voice broke.
“I am sorry.”
Daniel said nothing.
Samuel nodded.
Then left.
I watched him disappear down the corridor.
Daniel still held the address.
“Margaret.”
“Yes?”
“I’m forty-seven years old.”
“I noticed.”
“My father might be alive.”
“Yes.”
“What am I supposed to say?”
I took his hand.
“The truth seems fashionable lately.”
He laughed.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown Wisconsin number.
Daniel frowned.
He answered.
“Hello?”
A man spoke on the other end.
Daniel’s face went white.
“Yes. This is Daniel.”
A pause.
Then:
“Who is this?”
He looked at me.
His eyes filled with tears.
And he whispered:
“Oh my God.”
PART 8 — THE BIRTHDAY I THOUGHT EVERYONE FORGOT GAVE ME BACK AN ENTIRE FAMILY
The man on the phone was Jonathan Hale.
Daniel’s father.
His real father.
He was seventy-one years old.
