Page 63 of From LA to London, With Love

After my success finding Alfie, this felt like a mystery just waiting to be solved…by me. I couldn’t believe that the man staring at Chris with such adoration in those photos wouldn’t want to be reunited with him, assuming he was still alive.

I turned to Julie. “How would you feel if I did some digging when I got home to London? It probably won’t come to anything, but if I did find out what happened to Robert, as you said, it might give Chris some closure. I’ll check with Chris, too, of course.”

Julie considered my question for a minute. “I don’t think it would hurt to try again. It would give me some closure too, to be honest. After all these years, I still often wonder what happened to him.”

“Would you mind if I photographed some photos of Robert in the albums? And I should also ask, what was his last name?”

“His last name was Sherman, Robert Sherman—the ‘Sher’ is spelled with an ‘e’—and that’s fine to take some photos.”

I breathed a sigh of relief his last name wasn’t Smith or Jones. Sherman wasn’t likely to be a very popular name, which would make searching more straightforward.

I kept flicking through the albums. The year after Robert left was marked with fewer photos, almost all of them of Chris playing alone. But then photos of Julie and Chris standing together, smiling, reappeared, and Steven began to feature in them. Before long, there was a photo of eight-year-old Chris peering at his new baby sister in a cot. And then there were photos of Chris performing in school plays, playing with their dog, a Hungarian Vizsla, and family holidays with the five of them happily smiling. I couldn’t help but smile too. I was looking forward to trying to solve this mystery, which had haunted Julie and Chris for thirty years, assuming Chris gave me his blessing.

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHRIS

WHILE THE SKY was blue and sunny, the wind was bone-chilling. I glanced over to Elliot, who looked like a little Cheeto ball on Sophie’s hip, in his orange puffer jacket and hood, worried he might be too cold. Sophie had just finished sipping the pumpkin spiced latte I’d gotten her, the sixth of the trip. As the tour guide started talking about the history of the elegant white Wrigley Building, Sophie pointed to its clock face, and I caught a glimpse of Elliot’s toothy grin as he turned his head. I relaxed. The icy breeze didn’t seem to be bothering him in the slightest.

I’d arranged for a private Chicago River cruise so Sophie and Elliot could see Chicago’s iconic buildings without the risk of being harassed by fans. As much as I appreciated my fans, the thought of ninety minutes stuck on a boat with them, with nowhere to hide, sent shivers down my spine. They could be a bit intense.

“We are now approaching Marina City. Built in 1968, these two reinforced concrete towers were designed to entice middle-class Chicagoans back to the city…”

Mitch sidled up to me. “I’ve never been a fan of the concrete corn cobs. Give me a nice, shiny, soaring glass skyscraper any day of the week,” he murmured while the tour guide continued to talk.

I chuckled. I’d invited Mitch and Liz, as well as Mom and Steven, along for the cruise. I was keen for Sophie and Elliot to see Chicago and also spend time with my friends and family, so I was trying to combine sightseeing with socializing where possible.

“So, how are you doing? Sophie seems great! I take it she isn’t gay after all?” Mitch said with a smirk, leaning on the boat railing.

I rolled my eyes. I’d had many conversations with Mitch since the night of the London premiere, but he continued to tease me about my idiotic mistake.

“Nope. And yes, I’m still annoyed that I spent all that time pining after her, thinking she was unattainable because of my own stupid assumptions, so no need to go on about it. But it all turned out well in the end. Better than I could have ever imagined.” I glanced over to Sophie, who was talking animatedly with Liz, Elliot still Cheeto-balling on her hip, and smiled, warmth spreading across my chest.

“You guys must be pretty serious if you’re already bringing her to meet the parents. Didn’t you wait over a year with Vanessa?” Mitch adjusted his scarf, trying to better protect his face from the freezing blasts.

“Yeah. I know we’re moving quickly, but I just couldn’t wait for everyone to meet her, and Elliot, too, of course. Yes, I’m pathetic. To be honest, it almost seems too good to be true.”

My stomach had been slightly unsettled since Sophie mentioned Mom had pulled out the old photo albums and told her about Dad leaving. Any mention of my father always threw me. I’d been trying not to think about him, but it was too late. The worries that had been percolating in the back of my mind for some time became too strong to ignore.

“Uh oh. What’s wrong?”

God damn, Mitch could read me well.

Merchandise Mart’s imposing art deco facade came into view, triggering the tour guide’s spiel on its history as a wholesale warehouse. I lowered my voice, not wanting to interrupt the guide or for Sophie to overhear me.

“Just…well, could it be too good to be true? After being burned by my dad leaving, by Vanessa betraying me, I’m still a little wary about letting my guard down in case I get hurt again. And I’m also worried about hurting them too. I really want to be a good father, a good partner. But what if I turn out like my dad? Could some sort of abandonment gene take hold one day and result in me leaving them? Or, even though I adore him now, what if the fact we’re not genetically related affects how I feel about Elliot when he’s older, and I can’t be the parent he deserves?”

“Hey.” Mitch put his arm around my shoulders before going into full lawyer rebuttal mode. “To your first point, for a relationship to work, you need to let your guard down, be yourself, be vulnerable. Sure, there’s a risk you might get hurt. But the alternative, not having love, seems a whole lot worse to me. And, to your second point”—Mitch stared at me sternly and shook me gently as he continued—“you are not your dad. There is no ‘abandonment gene.’ You had, and still have, an awesome father figure in your life, someone who’s had far more influence on you than a man you can barely remember. A man who, while not related to you by blood, raised you, supported you, loved you, and helped make you the man you are today. Someone you bonded with so strongly, even as a kid, that you took his last name. The fact you are so worried about hurting Sophie and Elliot tells me you’re not a Robert, you’re a Steven.” Mitch looked over at Steven, who was showing Elliot the American flag flying at the back of the boat.

Gratitude washed over me. For Mitch, for Steven. Of course, Mitch was right. Steven had shown me that you didn’t need to be related by blood to be a good father. Deep down, I was sure I could be that to Elliot, if that was what Sophie wanted.

“Thanks man. You’re right. I’m being an idiot. Speaking of amazing dads, how are you feeling about the impending arrival?”

* * *

SOPHIE

The boat had turned around, and we were heading back to the dock. I was enjoying seeing the striking buildings from a different perspective, and also having the icy wind behind us.