Chapter 5
I nearly dropped the phone.
"Died?"
Dr. Allison Reed was silent for a moment.
Then she answered.
"Yes."
I sat down on the porch steps.
Maya grabbed my arm.
"Marcus?"
I couldn't look at her.
I was staring at the pavement.
Trying to understand what I'd just heard.
My mother hadn't simply told Jonathan she wasn't pregnant.
She'd told him his child had died.
I pressed the phone tighter against my ear.
"When?"
Allison's voice trembled.
"About six months after Jonathan moved to California."
My stomach twisted.
"But Arthur said she told him she wasn't pregnant."
"She did. At first."
I closed my eyes.
Allison continued.
"Jonathan began hearing rumors that Diane had given birth. He tried contacting her."
I felt sick.
"What happened?"
"She refused to speak with him."
"Then?"
"He received a letter."
I swallowed.
"What letter?"
"A letter claiming the baby had been born prematurely and passed away."
My breath caught.
A dead baby.
My mother had invented a dead baby.
To keep my father away.
I covered my mouth.
Allison continued.
"Jonathan was devastated."
I stared at the street.
"Did he believe her?"
"For years."
I closed my eyes.
"What changed?"
"Seven years ago, he learned that Diane had a son named Marcus."
My heart raced.
"Seven years?"
Allison sighed.
"He tried to find out whether you were his child."
"And?"
"He hired an attorney."
I felt anger rising.
"Then why didn't he contact me?"
Allison hesitated.
"Because Diane's attorney sent documents stating that you were not Jonathan's child."
I froze.
"What documents?"
"A genetic testing report."
My stomach dropped.
"Was it real?"
"We don't know."
I looked toward Maya.
She was watching me with tears in her eyes.
Allison continued.
"Jonathan never received the original laboratory records. His attorney tried to verify them, but the listed clinic said it couldn't locate the file."
I felt sick.
Someone had been controlling the truth for years.
Not just Diane.
Possibly Patricia.
Possibly others.
"Does Jonathan know you're calling me?"
Allison hesitated.
"No."
I frowned.
"Why not?"
"Because he's already on his way to Atlanta, and I don't want him blindsided by another painful revelation."
I swallowed.
"He's coming today?"
"Yes."
My heart began racing.
"Okay."
Allison's voice softened.
"Marcus, I know this is overwhelming."
I stared at the ground.
"That's one word for it."
She sighed.
"I just wanted you to understand something."
"What?"
"Jonathan didn't stop caring because he thought you weren't his."
My eyes filled.
"He kept a box."
I frowned.
"A box?"
"Every year, he bought a birthday card for the son he thought he'd lost."
Tears streamed down my face.
Allison continued.
"He never mailed them because he didn't know where you were or whether he had the right."
I covered my mouth.
Nineteen birthdays.
Nineteen years.
A father who thought his son was dead.
Then thought he wasn't his.
All while I believed he had abandoned me.
I started crying.
Hard.
Maya wrapped her arms around me.
Allison waited quietly.
When I could finally speak, I whispered, "Thank you for telling me."
"You're welcome."
Then she added, "Marcus?"
"Yes?"
"Please don't let Diane decide what you believe about yourself."
I closed my eyes.
"I won't."
After the call, I told Maya everything.
She was horrified.
"Mom told him you died?"
I nodded.
Maya covered her mouth.
"Oh, my God."
I stared at the street.
"How could she?"
Maya shook her head.
"I don't know."
For a long time, we sat together.
Then Arthur came outside.
He saw my face.
"What happened?"
I told him.
His expression changed from shock to anger.
"She told Jonathan you died?"
I nodded.
Arthur sat heavily in the porch chair.
"Lord, have mercy."
I looked at him.
"Did Grandpa know?"
Arthur shook his head.
"Not that I know of."
I believed him.
But a part of me wondered how many more secrets were waiting.
That afternoon, Evelyn arranged for us to meet Jonathan at her office rather than at the gala hotel.
She wanted a calm, private setting.
I appreciated that.
I didn't want cameras.
I didn't want strangers whispering.
I didn't want Diane anywhere near us.
I just wanted to meet my father.
At four-thirty, I stood outside Evelyn's office building.
Maya stood beside me.
Arthur waited near the entrance.
I kept adjusting my suit jacket.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
"What if he doesn't like me?"
Maya looked at me.
"Marcus."
"What?"
"He's flying across the country to meet you."
I swallowed.
"What if we're too different?"
She smiled sadly.
"Then you'll learn about each other."
I looked toward the street.
A black car pulled up.
My heart stopped.
The rear door opened.
A tall Black man stepped out.
He wore a navy jacket and dark pants.
His hair was cut close.
His face looked older than the photograph.
But the eyes were the same.
Mine.
He looked around.
Then he saw me.
He stopped moving.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he whispered, "Marcus?"
I nodded.
"Yeah."
His face crumpled.
He took one step forward.
Then stopped.
"Can I?"
He opened his arms slightly.
My throat closed.
I walked toward him.
Then I ran.
He caught me against his chest.
And for the first time in my life, my father held me.
He was crying.
So was I.
He kept saying my name.
"Marcus."
Over and over.
Like he was afraid I'd disappear.
I held him tighter.
"I'm here."
His shoulders shook.
"I know."
We stood like that for a long time.
Then he pulled back.
He looked at my face.
Touched my cheek gently.
Smiled through tears.
"You look so much like my father."
I laughed.
"Really?"
He nodded.
"Especially your eyes."
I wiped my face.
"You have my eyes."
He laughed through his tears.
"Guess we do."
For the first time in nineteen years, I felt like a missing piece had found its place.
Inside Evelyn's office, we talked for hours.
Jonathan told me about growing up in Oakland.
About his engineering career.
About his sister Allison.
About the years he'd spent wondering whether he had a son somewhere.
I told him about school.
My friends.
My love for mechanical engineering.
The old car I was restoring.
He laughed when I told him about the engine rebuild.
"That's exactly what I did at your age."
I smiled.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
Then he reached into his bag.
He removed a small wooden box.
My heart began pounding.
"What's that?"
He opened it.
Inside were birthday cards.
Nineteen of them.
Some were slightly faded.
Others looked brand new.
Each was addressed to Marcus.
I stared.
Jonathan's voice broke.
"I didn't know your name at first. I wrote 'my son' on the earliest ones. After I learned about you, I started using Marcus."
I picked up the first card.
The handwriting was careful.
My little boy,
I don't know where you are, but I hope you're safe.
I hope someone is holding you tonight.
I hope you know you are loved.
Dad.
I began crying.
Jonathan placed a hand over mine.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there."
I shook my head.
"You didn't know."
He nodded.
"But I'm here now."
I looked at him.
Then I asked the question that had been haunting me.
"Will you stay?"
His eyes filled.
"As long as you'll let me."
I smiled through tears.
Then Evelyn entered.
Her expression was serious.
"Marcus, Jonathan, we have an update."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
She placed a document on the table.
"The financial investigator found a transfer connected to the trust."
Jonathan frowned.
"What kind of transfer?"
Evelyn looked at me.
"A substantial payment was made to Patricia Wells."
My heart raced.
"When?"
"Shortly after your grandfather died."
Arthur leaned forward.
"How much?"
Evelyn answered.
"Three hundred thousand dollars."
I stared at her.
"For what?"
She hesitated.
"The payment description says confidential family services."
Jonathan's face hardened.
I looked between them.
"Does that mean Patricia helped hide me?"
Evelyn answered carefully.
"It means we need to find out what those services involved."
Then she added something that made my stomach drop.
"Patricia has requested a meeting."
I stared at her.
"Why?"
Evelyn's expression darkened.
May you like
"She says she has evidence that Diane wasn't acting alone."
And suddenly, I realized my mother's betrayal might have been part of something much bigger.
