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Myron nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate you telling me.”
“Sure.”
“Any idea where Ben Staples lives now?”
“I think he’s in the city.”
They both saw the headlights as a car pulled into the driveway. They walked together toward the front door. Emily opened it and stepped out onto the front yard. Myron followed her. They stood side by side as the back car door opened and their son stepped out. Jeremy wore a blue suit. The driver popped the trunk. Jeremy circled to the back to retrieve his duffel bag. As he did, Emily, her eyes on her son, her only son, tapped Myron’s hand with hers. Myron looked at her now. There were tears in her eyes. There were tears in his too. He knew what she was thinking because he was thinking the same thing. They had messed up. They had done some terrible wrongs in their life. But if they hadn’t, if they had done the right thing back then, this boy, this spectacular boy, would not be here.
Jeremy thanked the driver and started up the walk. When he spotted his biological parents standing side by side in the front yard, he pulled up. First, he looked at Myron. Then he looked at Emily.
“Ooookay,” Jeremy said, stretching the word out. “This is weird.”
Then Jeremy’s face broke into a smile, a huge smile, a smile that echoed the best part of both of his parents.
“Don’t worry, guys. It’s a good weird.”
Myron and Emily sat on opposite ends of the couch and waited in silence while Jeremy quickly showered and changed into jeans and a T-shirt. When he was ready, he came tripping down the stairs fast. Myron watched him. His hair was military-cropped and that made his ears stick out a little. Myron’s ears stuck out a little too. When Jeremy hit the bottom step, he looked straight at his mother.
“Mom, do you mind if Myron and I talk alone for a minute?”
“Oh,” Emily said. “Uh, sure.”
“It’ll only be a second.”
“Okay, no rush. You two talk.”
Emily rose from the couch. She kissed her son on the cheek as she passed him. Jeremy gave her a hug in return.
“I love you,” she said to him.
“I love you too, Mom.”
“I’m happy you’re home.”
“Me too.”
She headed up the stairs. Jeremy watched her until he heard her bedroom door close. Then he turned back to Myron with the hazel eyes of Al Bolitar, his paternal grandfather. Myron tried to turn it off, his constant searching for genetic echoes. He hadn’t seen his biological son in three years. The rules of the relationship had been set when Jeremy first learned the truth at the tender age of thirteen:
“You’re not my dad. I mean you might be my father. But you’re not my dad. You know what I mean?”
Myron had managed to nod.
“But… but maybe you can still be around.”
“Around?”
“Yeah.” That winning smile. “Around. You know.”
Age thirteen. So damn wise already.
In the present day, Jeremy said, “Myron?”
“What?”
“You’re doing it again.”
“Huh?”
