by Hart, Jerry
Dad was just cracking an egg into a pan when he noticed Don standing next to him. “Mornin’, son.”
“Morning.”
“You’re up early.”
“I had a nightmare.”
Dad took his eyes off the eggs long enough to say, “Those again?”
“This one was different.”
Dad went to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice for his son. “Different how?”
“I dreamt about a guy I didn’t know and he said he was my dad.”
Dad immediately dropped the glass meant for Don, splattering orange juice all over the floor. He stared at Don for a moment, and then grabbed a dish towel to wipe up. “That’s a weird thing to dream about,” he said nervously. “What did I do wrong?” He grinned.
“Are you all right, Dad?”
“Yeah. The glass just slipped through my fingers.”
Don watched his father pick up the broken glass and throw it in the trash under the sink. Then he returned to the frying pan.
“What did your dream dad look like?” he asked Don.
Don studied his father’s movements; they were hesitant, distracted. Something was wrong. “Dad?” he called.
“It was just a dream, son.” The response was immediate.
Oh, yes, something was definitely wrong.
* * *
At least Dad was true to his word about Six Flags and the baseball games. The walks to and from the stadium were enjoyable and managed to take Don’s mind off Dad’s strange behavior. All this fun could only work for so long though. Eventually, Don would start asking questions again.
Deep down he knew what the dream meant; Dad’s reaction only confirmed it. Don didn’t know how to feel about it, though. He wasn’t completely sure he was correct about his theory, but he knew he should be traumatized.
Dad possibly wasn’t his real dad.
Don wouldn’t have even come to that conclusion if not for Dad’s reaction, though. What else could that mean?
Don thought of the man from the dream, with his distinctive white hair. There had been a man in Connecticut, near the playground, with that same hair. He’d been staring in Don’s direction just before Zeke showed up and bullied Don and Ethan on the swings. Maybe Don’s subconscious simply supplied that image for the dream….
Over the course of a week, Don studied Dad’s facial features more closely than he ever had before. There were similarities (hair style, nose shape) and differences (eye color, lip and ear shape), but there was nothing incontrovertible.
Whatever the answer may be, Don loved his father. If Dad wasn’t his true father, however, that would go toward explaining a lot. Was it possible his real dad had also been cursed?
As Don tried to come up with a way to discuss this with Dad, he enjoyed Texas as much as he could while his summer vacation lasted. Pretty much every state had its own atmosphere, depending on what he did while visiting those states. In Connecticut, there was the boxy apartment complex, Yvonne’s lonely department-store job, and the trees and fireflies. Don missed it up there.
Florida had the beautiful beaches, devastating hurricanes, and scenic highways with boiled-peanut stands.
Don didn’t favor one state over another, and he hoped Texas would garner wonderful memories. He knew he would never forget being able to see Rangers Stadium from Dad’s apartment. He hoped Dad would make this his permanent state.
* * *
With only a few days left before they were to head back to Augusta, Don decided it was time to ask Dad the big question. Yvonne and Beth were at the grocery store, and Ethan was in the living room, speaking with Mom on the phone. Dad was in his room, working on his computer, when Don tapped lightly on the door.
Dad spun around in his chair. “Hey, son.”
“Can I ask you something?” Don stepped into the room, which was lit only by a single lamp.
“Sure you can.”
Don steeled himself, taking a few deep breaths. Then, finally, he asked, “Am I adopted?”
The silence that followed went on for so long Don thought he’d gone deaf. Only when Dad cleared his throat roughly did he realize he hadn’t.
“What makes you think you’re adopted?” Dad asked.
“Just a feeling.”
“You mean a dream,” Dad guessed.
Don nodded.
“Son, you’re not adopted.”
Don wanted to feel better but found he could not. Dad was leaving something out. Don could tell by the sound of his father’s voice and the way he wiped his hands on his lap. Don decided to rephrase the question: “Are you my real dad?”
Dad hesitated even longer this time. “Have you talked to your mother about any of this?”
“I didn’t think of this until now. Are you my real dad?”
Dad sighed. “No, I’m not.”
An unpleasant sensation coursed through Don’s body, but he ignored it. “Do you know who is?” He tried to get past this revelation as quickly as possible; he needed to know more. He had steeled himself for that answer already.
“No. I never met him, and your mom never told me anything about him.”
Don nodded again. He wasn’t surprised.
“How did you know?” Dad asked quietly. “Was it really the dream, or are you just using that as an excuse to cover for someone?”
“Who would I cover for? Who else knows?”
“Any number of people might know. There’s no telling.”
“How did you find out?” Don asked.
“Your mom told me.” Dad ran his fingers through his hair. “She was a few weeks pregnant when we first met. We...you know...on our second date. She could have easily passed you off as mine, but she told me the truth a month before you were born.”
“Did you get married before I was born?”
“Yes.” He chuckled. “In fact, when your mom told me, I almost divorced her. I was so angry.”
“At Mom?”
“Yes. But then I realized it didn’t matter, because I would love you no matter what. You’re my son.”
Don grinned, but a question nagged at him, one he just had to ask. “Dad,” he said, “do you think the...other guy had the—”
He stopped abruptly because Dad had suddenly taken on an incredibly ugly, angry expression.
“There is no curse, son.”
“Okay. Dad.”
Chapter 13
Getting back to his old routine proved difficult for Don once he got back to Augusta. It wasn’t every day you found out the only father you’ve ever known wasn’t your real father. Don wasn’t terribly upset by this revelation anymore, but it was incredibly distracting; he could think of nothing else.
Another distraction was the absence of Adrian. He hadn’t stopped by the house at all since the boys returned from Texas two weeks ago. When Don asked about him one day, Mom only said she didn’t know where he was.
The house had become even trashier than before summer vacation. Dirty dishes spilled out of the sink and the trash can overflowed. Luckily, the kitchen was worse than the living room, and Mom had put up a curtain divider between the two rooms to hide the mess from Dad. That hadn’t stopped him from eyeing the living room warily, though. Receipts, newspapers, magazines, fast-food bags, coffee cups. Don was embarrassed.
Dad had decided not to tell her that Don figured out the secret involving his real father. Not yet, at least. She would have to be told eventually, though. Don had trouble keeping it to himself, wanting to know who his birth father was and whether or not he was cursed as well. Only Mom could provide answers.
* * *
In February of ’98, Don rode his bike to the laundromat where he and Nick used to play the arcade games. The place held a lot of great memories but Don also felt saddened and wound up leaving after only a few minutes of playing. Instead of going back home, however, he decided to ride through his old neighborhood.
The main street into the neighborhood was very long and went past his old
street before ending at the intersection that led to Clark’s house. Don stopped at the tip of his old street and looked at his old house. He didn’t want to risk Nick seeing him.
He then looked at his old house directly across the street from Nick’s. The new owners had cut down the big oak tree from the front yard. What a shame.
He shook his head and continued down the long street. He briefly looked up at the cloudy sky, wishing the sun would come out and chase away the gloom.
“Hey, you!” a familiar voice called.
Don stopped directly in front of a house built on a medium-sized hill and saw Monica Harris waving down at him.
“Hey,” he called back as he got off the bike. That old familiar burn coursed through his legs as he hiked up the driveway and joined Monica in her carport. “I’m glad I lost weight over the summer; I probably would’ve had a heart attack getting up here.”
She laughed as she sat down on the steps that led up to her kitchen. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Good, I guess. How are you and Nick?”
“We’re good, too.”
Don looked to the front yard around the corner and remembered how he, Ethan and Monica used to roll down to the street (against Mr. and Mrs. Harris’s protests). And then there was the trampoline in the backyard, where Don once hit his head on the steel frame. All these memories came rushing back to him, making him feel surprisingly worse.
“You look glum,” Monica said from what seemed like far away.
A cold wind rushed through the carport, stinging his face. He looked at her and said, “I am.”
“You never came to church with us when you lived over there.” She pointed past the trampoline, to his old house. “You should go with us tomorrow. Your mom and brother can come too.”
“Ethan would probably catch on fire if he stepped in there,” Don said, and Monica laughed. “Will it make me feel better?”
“It sure will,” she assured him.
“Okay; I’ll go.”
“Cool. I’ll tell my parents.” She was about to stand up, but stayed put. “What is bothering you, anyway?”
Don thought about telling her what he’d found out over the summer, but decided against it. “Nothing,” he finally said.
* * *
As soon as he got home, he told Mom about his plan to attend church with the Harrises. She asked if Ethan could go as well, to which Don reluctantly said yes. He then picked out the only suit he had: a white shirt, gray trousers and a black jacket with shoulder pads. He looked awful in them, but tried not to care.
The next morning, the Harrises swung by and picked the boys up. Mom waved goodbye as she got in her car to go to work. The church was on Fort Gordon, near Don’s dojo, and was pretty nice. This was the first time Don remembered ever going to church, but he did know that black churches were incredibly fun.
Ethan, by the way, did not catch on fire. He did, however, keep falling asleep during the service. The collection-plate lady sneered at him as she passed, and Don apologized for his little brother. There were cookies and punch after the service, to which Ethan showed more interest.
“Are you guys going to the bowling lock-in?” Mr. Harris asked the boys.
“I didn’t know there was one,” Don replied between bites of his lemon cookies.
“It’s on the thirtieth, I think,” said Mrs. Harris.
“I’ve never been to one before,” said Ethan. “What is it?”
Mr. Harris explained that it was like a sleepover, but at the bowling alley.
“That sounds cool,” Ethan said, his eyes wide.
“I’ll ask Mom,” Don said. He hadn’t heard of the lock-in, even though he went bowling every Saturday morning. Monica wasn’t on the league, but she was going.
* * *
Where the hell was Adrian?
Don wanted to call him and see if he was still alive, but didn’t know his phone number. There was a phone book in the living room—Don had seen it while cleaning up—so he quietly opened his door and made his way down the long hallway to the living room.
The ceiling fan was on in there, along with the light attached to it, so the bulb swayed along with the blades’ rotations. It was a slightly disorienting effect, and Don wanted to be back in his own room as soon as possible. He searched for the phone book in the crook between the couch and love seat, where he’d seen it last.
There it was, on the floor. He had to reach down over the armrest to get to it, and as soon as he had his hands on it, he rushed back to his room and locked the door. He didn’t want Mom to know what he was doing.
What was Adrian’s last name? Don was astounded at the fact he couldn’t remember; he’d known the man for years. He was fairly sure it started with an “L.” And it was Italian.
Don turned to the “L” section and began leafing through until he found “LeBlanc.” There was only one name: “LeBlanc, Adrian.” Don dialed the number on his clear plastic phone he still hadn’t grown too old for and waited while the other line rang and rang. Don told himself this meant nothing, Adrian just wasn’t at home.
After the twentieth ring, Don hung up. He would try again later.
* * *
Days went by, and on each one Don called Adrian. No one ever answered. After a week of this, he gave up and tried to put it from his mind. If something bad had happened to Adrian, it was because Mom found out about the other woman he’d been seeing.
* * *
Uncle Johnny stopped by unexpectedly in early March, much to Mom’s consternation, just to say hello. It seemed plausible enough, considering he only lived ten minutes away, but Don didn’t believe his uncle’s alleged motive for visiting.
Uncle Johnny was checking in on them.
Don had spoken with Dad a few times since summer vacation. He even told Dad about Adrian’s disappearance.
“You haven’t seen or heard from him in months?” he asked Don during their last phone conversation.
“No. Do you think something happened to him?”
“It’s probably nothing,” Dad muttered, more to himself than to his son.
Don groaned; he was getting tired of this skepticism.
But then a thought came to him and he said, “You’re thinking about Agatha, aren’t you?”
There was a very long silence on the line before Dad said, “Agatha?”
“You know, the lady you cheated on Mom with.”
“I know who you mean.”
“Were you thinking about her? About how she died?”
“Yes, son, I was.”
“You think Mom killed her, don’t you?”
Another silence. Then Dad said, “Do you think that, son?”
“Yes,” Don answered bluntly.
“So do I.”
Don tried to think of how to respond. That was the first time he’d voiced his suspicion about his mother in Agatha’s death. And then Dad announced he shared the same thought. It was progress.
“Why would she do that, Dad?”
“Because she was mad at me for what I did to her back then.”
“Then why didn’t she kill you?” Don couldn’t believe they were talking about this so casually.
“Because I’m the father of her children.”
“But I’m not yours,” Don said before he could stop himself. “Dad, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yes, you did.” Dad chuckled. “You weren’t being cruel; you were just stating a fact.”
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, son.”
“What are we going to do about Mom?”
Dad sighed. “Do you like staying with us during your summer vacations?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think you’d want to live with Yvonne and me permanently?”
This wasn’t the first time they’d had this discussion, but it was the last. Don loved his mother and the thought of leaving her all alone didn’t sit well with him.
“I want to s
tay here,” he finally told Dad.
And now Uncle Johnny sat on the couch in the living room, pretending not to be uncomfortable with the mess. Don and Ethan sat on the love seat next to the couch, and Mom sat in a recliner, rocking back and forth. She didn’t look a bit pleased by this “visit.”
Uncle Johnny pretended not to notice as he said, “You guys feel like strangers to me, and I live right down the street.” He laughed at his own joke.
“I know why you’re here, Johnny,” Mom said quietly, still rocking.
“I’m here to visit my family,” he said with a cool grin.
“Tell you brother things are just fine here.”
Uncle Johnny looked briefly at the kids to his left before returning his gaze straight ahead, to Mom. “Patrick didn’t ask me to come over here.”
“Sure he did. It’s just like him to want to control things, no matter where he is.”
“I’ve never known him to control anything, and I’ve known him longer than you have.”
Mom stopped rocking. “Yes, you have. But I still know him very well, and I recognize his tricks when I see them.”
Uncle Johnny looked around the trashy living room again and said, “Can you blame him for worrying?”
Don and Ethan watched this war of words between the adults, wondering how it would end. What did Dad hope to accomplish, sending his brother over here? What would Uncle Johnny report back that Don hadn’t already?
“He wants to take my children away from me,” Mom said.
“They’re his kids, too,” Uncle Johnny replied.
Mom suddenly smiled.
“To be honest,” he continued, “I don’t see the harm in letting the boys live with their father for a while. The summer visits aren’t long enough.” He cleared his throat after he finished; he was nervous now.
“They don’t want to go,” said Mom. “They already told me.”
“Is that true, boys?”
They nodded. It was true...to an extent. Don wanted to live with Dad, but he didn’t want to leave his mom alone. He also didn’t want to leave his friends and start a new life in some new state, with new schools and new kids.
Or did he? Suddenly the thought of starting over appealed to him. He’d lost the girl he really liked to his best friend. What else was there to stay for?