by Seven Steps
"What's so nice about him?"
"Why do you need to know?"
"Just wondering if this was just tea or something more?”
"And if it was?"
"If it was, I would say that I don't think Mogul’s the right guy for you."
I tried to keep my growing anger under control.
"And why's that?"
"He's just not."
"Well, thanks for your opinion. I'll take it into consideration."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"Why are you going out with him?"
"Um, because I can. I don't have a boyfriend and the last time I checked, single girls were allowed to drink tea with a friend."
"What about your whole no dating thing?"
"It’s not a date. We're just getting a cup of tea."
"Well, I’m just letting you know that I don't like it."
"Why, Joe? Do you think that just because you don't want me that no one else will?"
"Who said I didn't want you?"
"You did. When you said we were just friends."
"Sophia, it’s not like that."
"Then what's it like?"
"It's just... it’s just... I just can't."
His words stung, and I sucked in an angry breath.
"Then don’t get upset when someone else can."
And with those final words, I stormed off.
36
Shawn Mogul was as sweet over tea as he was on stage.
What I liked most about him was his stories. His adventures growing up in New York. His trips to Africa. He'd seen places I'd only heard of. The pyramids of Egypt. The Sahara Desert. The Ivory Coast. He even planned to spend the entire summer on a safari. His life seemed so magical, but he wasn't pompous about it. He was humble. Kind. Considerate. And his mom was even nicer.
When we’d both finished our tea and scones, he walked me to my car and gave me a side hug goodbye.
And while there wasn’t a spark between us, tea with Shawn proved to me just how much I'd changed. For the last year, whenever I'd go out with a guy, it was with an understanding that something romantic would happen. If there was no spark, I didn't hang out with them. But, even though I knew that nothing would happen, that didn't make me want to stop hanging out with him. I wanted to be Shawn’s friend because he was down to earth. I wanted to hear more of his stories and drink more tea, which was surprisingly delicious, by the way. He was like my first true guy friend, and not just my best friend's boyfriend.
I pondered this as I walked into my apartment.
The second I stepped through the door, I got a text from Joe.
Joe: Meet me at my place. We can start working on our secret project.
It took me a moment to realize what he was talking about. He was going to help me look for my father. And we were doing it at his house because, duh, my mom would blow a gasket if she caught me looking for my dad on the computer here.
I texted back that I'd be there then pushed the door open.
Shock glued my feet to the floor.
Mom was there, with Quincey and a few other people I didn't recognize. They were all sitting around drinking coffee and eating cake in the living room. When Mom saw me, she smiled wide and waved me over.
"Sophia. Come and say hi."
I would have, if I could move.
Mom NEVER had friends over. And when I say never, I mean never. I didn’t even know Mom had friends. All she did was go to church.
Her brow ticked, drawing me out of my stupor. I dropped my bookbag by the door and walked into the living room.
There were two couples sitting next to each other, as well as three other women spread out between the couches.
Mom introduced each one as I stiffly shook their hands.
"Sophia, it’s so nice to see you again," a shortish man with a mustache said. He was dark-skinned, and his wife was almost ghostly white, with short, white, curly hair.
"Thanks."
"We don't see you at services anymore," he said. "We miss you being there."
I put my hands behind my back and nodded. Did he mean he missed me sleeping? Because that's basically all I did when I went.
"Maybe you can join us on Sunday? We have a special sermon about youths, and there'll be food afterward."
My eyes flitted to my mom, then back to the man.
Did she put this thing together to get me to come to her church? Or was this man really inviting me because he wanted to? I couldn’t be sure.
"Yeah. Maybe. I'll let my mom know."
He smiled, and I took a step back.
"I have some homework to do. I'll see you all soon.” I turned to Mom. "Is it okay if I go study with Joe? It’s kind of crowded in here.”
She looked slightly disappointed, but Mom was not the one for a public outburst. She jerked her head toward the table. "Don’t you want some cake?"
"I just had some scones, so I'm okay. Plus, I have this big test tomorrow so..."
She stared at me, letting the moment stretch. Then she took a sip of her coffee.
"Fine. I'll see you later."
"Okay." I turned back to the crowd. "Bye, everyone."
They all waved at me as I jogged to my room, quickly showered, and changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. I pulled my hair up into a high bun, then speed walked past the party in my living room and out the door.
When did Mom start having company over? Don’t get me wrong, I was happy for her. I always thought that one of her main problems was that she was lonely. I never saw her hang out with anyone or do much of anything except go to church or talk to my aunt and uncle on the phone. She did like to decorate and cook, but that was all indoor and solitary stuff.
Maybe this new church was good for her? Especially if it allowed her to socialize with other human beings.
I jogged down the steps and knocked on Joe's apartment door. He answered on the second knock.
"Hey."
"Hey."
He stepped out of the way and I walked inside. It was sparse. A few paintings, white walls, minimum furniture. There was nothing about it that spoke to what he or his uncle were about.
Maybe it captured my attention because it was like my room. Impersonal.
I followed Joe to his room, the sole place of personality in this apartment. A messy bed, posters, a TV, a gazillion trophies and football cleats showed what this boy was really about. Sports. Football in particular. But that wasn't all he liked. Photos of his family decorated one wall. A harmonica sat on top of a bookcase filled with books. School textbooks and thrillers mostly. Even the powder blue carpet told me his favorite color.
Everything about this room screamed Joe, right down to the Irish Spring scent coming from his bathroom.
"I have everything set up over here," he said, waving me to his computer.
He'd put two chairs in front of the screen, along with a few sodas, nachos and cheese sauce, and a box of donuts.
"Wow, that's quite a spread."
"Yeah. It’s more of an I'm an idiot and I’m sorry spread." He pulled off his hat, ran his hands through his hair, and replaced it. Then he crossed his arms. "I shouldn’t have given you a hard time about having tea with Shawn. You're right. You're allowed to hang out with anybody you want, and I'm sorry for butting in. We're friends. And friends support each other."
Why did that feel like a warm hug and a slap in the face at the same time?
I swallowed my confusing emotions.
"Thank you. I accept your apology."
He rocked back on his heels.
"So, are you going to be seeing Mogul again soon?"
I pulled out a chair and sat in it.
"Definitely." I dipped one of the nachos into the cheese dip, then took a big bite, enjoying the crunch and the warm, salty, savory flavor. "As a friend."
I swore I heard Joe sigh.
Or maybe it was just my imagination.
I examined his face when he sat
down, but it didn't look any different from when he was apologizing. Maybe I had imagined it.
"Okay. Let's find your dad."
The first thing we did was Google military records. That led us to our first road block. Apparently, you couldn't obtain military records without a date of birth and social security number. That led us to our next rabbit hole of finding a social security number with only my dad’s name.
"Do you think your mom has his social?" he asked.
"Doubtful. And, even if she did, it’s not like I could ask her for it."
"Maybe it’s in her office?"
"We checked there on Sunday, remember? There’s barely any mention of him except for two birthday cards he gave her.”
"Well, maybe she has it someplace else. Like her bedroom or something?”
"I don’t think so. Mom is a creature of habit. She always keeps her papers in her office."
"What about your aunt or uncles?"
“I can't mention this to them. If they knew, they'd tell my mom in a heartbeat. This is the only way, Joe."
He frowned and nodded.
"Fine. What else can we search?"
We thought a minute.
"What about the obituaries?" I asked.
"How will that help us find his social security number?"
"I don't know. There's always stuff in there. Maybe it will give us his town or mention me and my mom. It’s worth a shot."
And so, the rabbit hole deepened. We went from obituaries to somehow ending upon Ancestry.com where it allowed us to search by name, state, and date of death.
I was born in Louisiana, so I figured he must've lived there too.
Turns out, there were over a thousand James Johnsons who died in September 2002, but none of them were from New Orleans, Louisiana.
I calmed my growing frustration with a jelly donut while Joe polished off the rest of the chips and cheese dip.
"This feels impossible," I whined. "How are we going to find one James Johnson if there are literally thousands?"
Joe placed his hand on top of mine and squeezed. "Don't worry. We'll find him."
"But how do you know?"
"Sometimes, you just have to have a little faith and know when to leave things in God's hands."
"Now you sound like my mom."
Joe laughed. "Can't help it. I’m a Texan. We do three things really well. Make ribs, play football, and be soldiers for Christ."
I laughed out loud. Then sighed.
But Joe was silent. His eyes and mouth opened wide.
"What?” I asked. “What is it?"
"Soldiers," he said. "There's a site where you can see all the soldiers who died in wars going back for, like years. I had to use it as part of a project when I was in the ninth grade."
He keyed in the site and pulled up the crisp white page. On it were a list of soldiers who'd died in combat listed by date, country, name, rank, age, and branch.
"If we can find your dad's name on here, we can have a starting point. We'll know where he was stationed and what his unit was. We can call and get more information about him. This may not be the whole bull, but it’s the tip of the horns. "
I threw myself into his arms, squeezing him tight.
"Thank you, Joe."
"You're welcome, Soph."
We held on longer than we should have, and when we pulled away, we set to the task at hand. Searching through hundreds and hundreds of records, looking for my father's needle in a haystack of graves.
There were men who were my father's age.
Men from Louisiana.
Men from New Orleans.
Men with my father's name.
Seeing them all made my heart ache. These weren't just names on a page. These were husbands, sons, fathers, uncles, and friends. They were someone’s true love and someone’s future love. These were human beings and they were gone. Dead. It made me want to hold on to Joe tighter. To keep him safe in my arms and never let go.
But I couldn't do that. We were friends. Only friends. And friends didn't do things like that.
Did they?
We leaned closer to the screen, scanning each name until, deep into the night, we came to the final name on the final page.
"How could he not be here?" I asked. "He died in Afghanistan. How could his name not be on this list?"
Joe shook his head. "It doesn't make sense."
"Do you think he was one of those people who are MIA? Like his body is lost somewhere?"
"For sixteen years? I don’t know."
He took off his hat and messed with his hair before putting it back on.
"Do you still have your dad’s picture?"
I pulled out my wallet and handed him the picture inside. It wasn’t official. I’d photocopied it a while ago and kept it in my wallet, along with the picture of my mom, my friends, and Quincey. Joe glanced at it, then placed it next to the keyboard.
"I'll hang onto this. Give me a day or so. I'll see what I can dig up."
"Okay."
He held out his arms, and I fell into them without thinking. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Why did it feel like the most natural thing in the world?
He held me tight, rocking me slowly. "Don't worry. We'll find him. I promise."
I believed him. Because no matter what Joe said or did, he’d never lied to me. Which left me with just one question.
What would happen when I found my dad? What if he wasn't dead? What if he was alive? And, if he was, would he want to see me? Did he know I existed? Would he want me at all?
37
For the next week, Joe was a ghost. He no longer came upstairs to visit Quincey. Or me. It was like one minute he was there, and the next minute, poof, he was gone. Had he and Quincey argued again? I tried to ask Quincey if something had happened between them, but he just rolled his eyes and said he didn't want to talk about it. Then we’d play Mario Cart in silence and I’d go to bed.
Even during play rehearsal Joe was distant. Yes, he played his role, but there was something missing there, and I didn’t know what it was. When I asked about Quincey, he’d mumble something about people changing and walk away from me.
I didn’t know what was going on, but after a week of it, I was tired. I wanted to know what happened between Quincey and Joe. I wanted to know if Joe had found out anything about my dad.
And only one person had the answer to both of those questions.
When Joe texted me to come to his apartment, it took me all of two minutes to shove my feet into my shoes and race down the stairs.
He opened on the second knock.
I could tell from his face that I would not be receiving any good news tonight.
I silently walked past him and into his bedroom where we’d searched for my father. It felt like it was a million years ago, even though it’d only been a week.
I plopped down on the computer chair, planting both of my feet flat on the floor.
"So, did you find something?” I asked, still breathless from my run.
Joe rocked on his heels. He didn't have his hat on, and his curly black hair looked wild. My father's picture hung from his fingers.
"I want you to know that whatever happens, I'll be right here for you," he said.
My gut immediately clenched.
"Way to not sound ominous."
"I'm not trying to be. I'm just letting you know that I'm here."
I wrapped my arms around myself and took a small step forward. "You're scaring me, Joe."
"I'm not trying to." His eyes looked so sad. What could he have found? How could things get worse?
"Tell me what you found,” I said. “Please.”
He swallowed but didn’t answer. His eyes drifted from me to somewhere farther off in the room.
Fear exploded through me. What was going on? What did Joe know? What had my mother kept from me?
"Is my father dead?" I demanded.
Joe's frown was deep.
"Your
father… he's alive."
All the breath left my body.
My father was alive. He was out there somewhere. Doing what? Did he have another family? Did he know I was alive too? Why didn’t he come for me?
I turned from Joe and placed my hand on the wall. My knees suddenly felt weak.
My father was alive.
I couldn’t tell if this was good news or bad news.
Was he in New York? Could I see him? When did he come back from Afghanistan? Did Mom know?
"But, there's something else."
I turned back to Joe, preparing for the worst.
"What? What is it?"
He held up the photo of my dad. "The man in this picture… he isn't your father."
My gut rolled. My head ached as Joe held up another photo. It was grainer, and in black and white. A man dressed in all black held a gun pointed at the head of a convenience store clerk.
"This is your father."
My world felt like a taut thread cut in two.
"The clerk?"
Joe shook his head. "No. The man with the gun."
The room spun. My gut heaved. I stumbled into the bathroom, threw open the trash can, and vomited up hot bile. I felt like I was going to faint. Snot and tears mixed together as I choked and sputtered.
I'd never been so confused. So hurt. So angry. Misery surrounded me like a dark cloud. I felt like I'd never make it back to the light.
Someone held my hair and rubbed my back.
Joe.
"It's okay. Let it out. I’m right here."
What was he saying? This was not okay. Nothing about this was okay.
My dad was my hero. The man I aspired to be like. But it was all a lie. This war hero wasn't my dad at all. It was an imposter. A fraud. My dad was a criminal who held up convenience stores and scared the clerks. How could this have gone so wrong? How had my life turned out so backward?
My gut emptied, and I sank against the toilet bowl, hugging my knees to my chest. Joe handed me a wet paper towel and I wiped my face and hands clean with it.
"My life is a lie," I whispered, tears streaming down my face. "Everything I believed in was a lie."
"No. Not everything. You still have your family. Your friends. Me. We all love you."
"My family?" I looked at him, my bottom lip quivering. "Do you think they know?" Suddenly, a horrible thought entered my mind. "Do you think my mom knows?"