Robert had apparently
told Jonathan that if the truth ever surfaced, it would probably happen on my birthday.
Daniel looked at me.
I started laughing.
Even after he was gone, Robert was arranging everybody like pieces on a chessboard.
Daniel asked:
“Would you…”
His voice failed.
He tried again.
“Would you like to meet me?”
Jonathan was silent for a long moment.
Then he said:
“Son, I’ve been waiting three years for you to ask.”
Daniel cried.
I had seen grown men cry before.
Robert cried when Claire was born.
Michael cried when his first marriage ended.
But Daniel seemed almost embarrassed by his tears.
He turned away.
I put my arms around him.
And he held me as if forty-seven years of unanswered questions had suddenly become too heavy to carry alone.
We met Jonathan two days later.
At the lake house.
Daniel chose the location.
I think part of him wanted
