A half brother and two half sisters with cowboy names. He studied their faces. Melissa was blond and blue eyed, and two of the kids were as well, but Ransom looked like her father.
And like Josh.
How strange, to see someone who undeniably looked like him after thirty years of being an only child. Thirty-one, to be precise.
The café had closed two years later. Ah, well.
He Googled his father’s address, hit street view and saw that his father lived in a gracious old Victorian in Oak Park. Lovely neighborhood. A real estate search let him see the old listing and all the rooms inside. He saw the windows in the master bedroom, the smaller, cozy bedrooms his half siblings had. The kids had had to share a bathroom, and he could imagine the bickering that took place there. Big kitchen. A sunroom overlooking the backyard.
It was a nice house. Really nice. The kind he and Lauren might have bought.
A few more search terms, and Joshua learned that his paternal grandparents, Mike and Kerry Zane, owned a huge dairy farm in Rolling Prairie, Indiana. Two thousand cows, all the equipment and buildings necessary, everything very shiny and modern. There’d been a beautiful old home on the property as well, with a wraparound porch, four bedrooms and a six-stall barn for horses.
The farm had sold for $12.2 million fourteen years ago.
Funny, to think that his ancestors were wealthy.
Fourteen years ago, Joshua had been choosing colleges based on their financial aid packages and scholarships. Stephanie was frugal and had started saving money for his college before he popped out of her uterus, but her salary had never been anything more than modest until the past couple of years, when she moved into what might be considered comfortable. Before she’d gotten knocked up, Josh’s mom had planned to go to medical school. She was getting an online master’s degree now, thirty-one years after Josh had been born.
He clicked back on the two photos of his father.
He called Cookie Goldberg. “What do you want?” she said by way of answering.
“I’m going to Chicago tomorrow,” he said. “Book me a flight and find a quiet hotel, okay?”
27
Joshua
Month ten
Still December
SEVENTEEN HOURS AFTER calling Cookie, Joshua sat on a bench outside the building where Christopher M. Zane, PhD, was holding office hours. The sun was mercilessly bright, the sky a cold, brittle blue. The bench itself was iron, but Josh barely noticed the freezing temperature. No. He was watching the doors of the building where his father taught and held office hours.
Thank God Sarah had dropped the letter off early. Otherwise, he might have missed this window, since the semester was ending in a few days.
Right now, he was hoping that his father would use the main entrance when he left. He’d printed out the university’s photo and the one of his father’s family at the café and kept close watch on the door. Kids came in and out of the building, bundled against the cold. It was cold in a way the Northeast never was—a dry, biting cold that cut through every layer Josh had on. It was fine. He didn’t mind.
“Can I help you?” someone asked. She smiled and shifted her backpack.
“I’m waiting for Dr. Zane,” he said.
“Oh, he’s in office hours. He’s my professor.”
“Really.”
“Yeah. He’s great. One of the best in my program.”
Josh didn’t respond. She tilted her head, and he remembered to speak. “Glad to hear it.”
“Well. Happy holidays.”
He nodded. “You too.”
As she left, he returned his attention to the door, and right then, a man came out, dressed in a heavy winter parka. He held on to the railing, moving a bit stiffly. He was tall and held a briefcase in one hand. His hair was salt-and-pepper gray. He looked like George Clooney.
The man waved to a student, then took a left and started walking west.
Josh got up, grabbed his leather bag and jogged up behind him. “Professor Zane?” he said, his voice calm. He felt calm, too. He felt . . . nothing, really. A distant curiosity.
“Yes?” His father turned. Up close, he looked older than his pictures, shadows under his eyes, the skin on his face starting its downward journey into laxity. Still handsome, though.
“Joshua Park.” He didn’t put out his hand.
“Do I know you? Are you a student or alumnus?”
“No.” He paused. “I’m your son.”
That expression . . . the blood drained out of his face. Joshua watched as it happened. Christopher M. Zane’s face turned utterly gray. His eyes widened, and he bent over, hands on his knees. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”
Josh didn’t offer to help him. He waited, and after a few seconds, his father stood up, breathing heavily. He took a step backward, his breath fogging the air. His eyes were wet, Josh observed, and he was unsteady on his feet.
Which meant nothing, of course.
“Hey, Dr. Zane! You okay?” called a student.
“Yeah. Yep, fine, thanks. Thanks.” He shook his head a little, took a few deep breaths, then looked at Josh’s face. “My God,” he said, and his tears overflowed. “My God.”
“Can we go somewhere to talk?” Josh asked. “Or do you need an ambulance?”
“No, I’m fine . . . just . . . my God. I never thought . . . I never expected to . . .”
“Is there a café or a restaurant nearby?” There was. Cookie had researched it and sent him four places. She didn’t know the reason for his visit, and she’d kill herself before asking.
“Yes. Um, this way.”
They didn’t speak, though a few times, someone said, “Hey, Professor,” or “Hi, Dr. Zane!” Joshua’s father didn’t acknowledge their greetings. Maybe he didn’t even hear them. The cold air put some color back into his face, and he kept glancing at Josh, who returned his looks calmly. He waited for feelings to come. They didn’t. They probably would, he imagined. Just not yet.
On the next block was an Irish pub. Christopher Zane opened the door and held it for Josh. Inside was dark and warm.
“Chris! How you doin’?” called the bartender.
“I’m good, Tim, I’m good.” So he was a regular here. No introduction for Josh. “Hey, we’re gonna take a booth in the back, okay?” He turned to Josh. “What would you like to drink?”
“Coffee.”
“Coffee and club soda, Tim,” he told the bartender. “We’ll save you the trip and take them with us.”