Chapter 13 Present Day
PRESENT DAY
OSCAR
As Oscar walked down Main Street with his biological father to the Cowboy Café, his emotions swayed between wanting to punch the guy in the throat to curiosity and a glimmer of an odd desire—wanting to be accepted by this man.
They walked in silence, and Oscar couldn’t help but wonder what in the world the man thought.
At least he’d been nice enough to allow Buki to stay in the gallery while they went to breakfast.
When Pat Hoshed recognized him, Oscar worried he might have to recall his basic life support training and start CPR. The encounter stole the man’s breath. Fortunately, the gallery floor was not carpeted, so the dropped cigarette only put a stain on the granite.
Pat had taken a while to gain his equilibrium, looking back and forth from Oscar to the floor until his heart settled enough to talk. “Down deep, I always wondered about this possibility,” he said and finally asked for help to stand.
Oscar’s instinct screamed at him to refuse the breakfast invitation and flee the scene, but his desire to learn of his heritage overcame his negative emotions, and he accepted reluctantly.
Pat sucked down another smoke before reaching the café and threw the cigarette butt into the gutter.
Oscar’s jaw tightened. He hated the people who littered the streets with that annoying vice.
Pat caught Oscar’s disapproving glare and said, “Yeah, sorry…nasty habit.” He opened the door to the café and waved Oscar through.
The woman behind the hostess kiosk smiled and picked up two menus from the stack on the counter and a pot of coffee.
She looked past Oscar. “Mornin’, Pat.” Then she did a double take, looked from one to the other, and blinked her eyes as if seeing double.
Finally, she caught her breath and asked, “You and your son want a booth or a table?”
“Somewhere out of the way, Darla,” Pat said.
Pat grinned at Oscar. “I guess it’s that obvious,” he whispered.
Darla walked them back to a booth in the corner and put the menus on the tables “You both want coffee?” She smiled at Oscar and said to his father, “I didn’t know you had a son, Pat. Wher’ya been hiding this handsome one?”
Pat’s face turned crimson. “Eh…yeah.”
When he looked at him blankly, Oscar realized that his father didn’t remember his name. For a brief second, he wanted to let him stew in his own shit. But no use being a jerk. He replied to Darla, “I’m Oscar…and yes, coffee, please.”
She poured their coffee in silence, probably sensing the strain in their voices. “Your waitress will be here shortly,” she said and moved on.
Oscar wanted to follow her out, but Pat surprised him by grabbing his wrist. “I’m so sorry…Oscar. I’m such an idiot. This is incredibly brave of you. I’m sorry.”
Oscar noted his concern and the sincerity in his eyes, and his tension relaxed slightly.
“How is your mom?”
“Uh…married.” Oscar pulled his arm away.
Pat tugged at the pack of the cigarettes in his front pocket of his shirt. He pulled it out and set the pack on the table. His hand hovered over it with a tremor. He raised his other hand toward Oscar in defeat. “Okay, okay. I get it.”
Oscar wanted to bolt, but an older waitress came and blocked him in. “Your usual, Pat?” She turned to Oscar. “What can I get you, son?”
Oscar looked at her, trying to decipher if she used the term “son” as a pleasantry or again a comment on their similarities. He waved off any offer of food.
The waitress shrugged and looked at Pat, who said, “Just bring him the same.”
Oscar leaned back on the vinyl bench and crossed his arms.
Pat let go of the cigarette pack, rested his elbows on the table and squeezed his forehead with his fingertips.
Oscar frowned, recognizing the mannerism. Caroline had ribbed him about the same one when he studied. “You can’t squeeze anymore information into your brain,” she’d teased.
Oscar forced himself to abandon the memory of her and focused on the present. Here he sat across from the man who shared half his genetic code. This reality chipped off a portion of his anger. “Did you know about me?” Oscar asked, and his jaw tightened.
Pat instantly shook his head. “No!” He sat back and put his hands behind his head. “Well…I heard through the grapevine that your mom got pregnant soon after they married.” He pursed his lips. “I guess the thought crossed my mind.”
“But you never thought to ask?” Oscar knew the red in Pat’s face reflected in his own.
“Look, Oscar…I really screwed up. But if there is anything I want you to hear it is that I really cared for your mother.” Pat hesitated; then he looked right into Oscar’s eyes. “I wanted to marry her. I thought we were going to marry…until she met your father.”
Oscar shrugged, and Pat pulled his coffee cup toward him and cradled it in his hands. “I’m just not sure how much of this you want to hear. We were just young and dumb, I guess.”
Oscar bobbed his head in agreement with the sentiment. He too cradled his coffee cup in his hands, and they sat in silence reflecting into the dark brew.
Pat looked at Oscar again. “I’d like to hear about you.”
But Oscar pressed on. He still had more questions. “You married?”
The waitress interrupted before Pat answered and set down plates in front of each of them—two eggs over easy, hash browns, and crispy bacon. “You boys need anything else, just holler. Ketchup and hot sauce are there on the table.”
Pat waited for her to leave. “Twice…and divorced,” he answered Oscar’s question. “Kind of unlucky at love, I guess. I have two daughters in college…and now a son.” He raised his eyebrows at Oscar, indicating him with an open hand, chuckling nervously.
The thought never occurred to Oscar that he could have other siblings. Great! Oscar picked up his fork and stabbed at the eggs. The food smelled delicious, and he hadn’t eaten since yesterday. He bit off the end of a strip of bacon.
“And you? You have a girlfriend?”
Oscar bit the rest of the bacon strip and chewed fiercely. “Uh…no,” he said too sharply. Unlucky in love, chalk up another trait.
“You in college?” Pat asked.
Oscar swallowed hard, trying to decide how much he wanted this man to know about him, still not sure he could trust him. He shrugged. “I just graduated.”
“In?”
“Graphic Design.”
“Hm…a fellow artist.” Pat smiled and took a bite of his breakfast, a fork full of eggs and hash browns. He chewed and swallowed.
“You have a job yet?” Pat asked Oscar.
“I’m applying for a few in Seattle and Portland. Most of the good jobs are in video games.”
“You a gamer then?”
Oscar frowned. “Not really. It’s just where the money is right now. I wish I could do my own stuff.”
“I’d love to see some of your work.”
Oscar pulled his phone from his front pants pocket and turned it on. Like so many artists, he used his favorite piece as his screensaver. Oscar handed Pat his phone. He watched the man examine the picture.
“A samurai?” Pat raised an eyebrow at Oscar. “I mean, it’s really, really good. The subject surprises me a bit for a kid from Montana.”
“My freshman year, our school had a Japanese foreign exchange student. We had art class together…he was super dope. I guess that’s where it started.” Oscar shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve always had a fascination with the samurai. I think my dad always thought it was weird, too.”
“No, no…I think it’s great. You got to do what you feel passionate about. You play football?”
Oscar huffed. Another sore point with his dad. “No, I went out for it as a freshman and hated it. I’ve done martial arts ever since. Karate first and now kendo.”
“Kendo?”
“The way of the sword…learning to fight with a shinai and body armor.”
Pat raised his eyebrows. “Oh, that makes sense. Football was my thing and why my knee will never be the same. You’re probably better off.”
“I just earned my first-degree black belt.”
“Very cool,” Pat said and handed Oscar’s phone back. “Hey, can I see some more of the art you’ve done?”
Oscar took his phone and opened a file with his artwork and handed the phone back to Pat. “You can scroll right and see more.”
Pat examined the art, nodding his head at each one. “You do all this on a computer?”
Oscar nodded.
Pat stopped at one photo to examine it longer, zooming in and out. “I love this one of the samurai woman. What is the weapon she’s holding?”
“That is a naginata. The women samurai were especially fierce.”
Pat handed the phone back and sat against the backrest. “You have any of them printed on metal?”
Oscar frowned. “I wish. It’s pretty pricey.”
Pat rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. “Look, Oscar, not sure what you even want here. I would understand if you just wanted us to be this one and done thing.”
“Like with my mother.”
Pat frowned and nodded. “Touché. I probably deserve that. But look, I have a friend in California that I horse-trade with all the time who does metal prints. We could get, say, five to ten prints made up and I’ll hang them in the gallery.
I know it’s way different from what I do, but sometimes it’s good to mix things up.
” He raised both hands up. “Only if you want to, of course.”
Oscar sat back in his seat. He shook his head. “You don’t need to do that. I’m not asking anything of you. Truly. But thank you.”
“Well, think about it and just know the offer stands.”
Both men sighed and got lost in their thoughts. Neither of them had eaten much, and the silence between them grew awkward.
Oscar yawned and looked at the time on his phone. “Well, I guess I better go. It’s been kind of a long night.”
A shadow of sadness crossed Pat’s face. “When did you find out about me?”
Oscar looked at his phone again and calculated. “A whole eight hours ago, I guess.”
“Whew,” Pat blew from his lips. “You’re a brave one. Let no moss grow under your feet, huh? Will you walk back to the shop with me? I have something I think you’ll find interesting.”
* * *
Buki danced with delight as Oscar and Pat walked through the door. Pat had quickly inhaled the smoke of two cigarettes by the time they reached the back of the Hoshed Gallery. Thankfully, he’d placed both butts in an ashtray on his desk.
“I know it’s a nasty habit. I just need a good reason to stop.” He smiled at Oscar.
Pat sat down hard in his chair like his knee hurt him.
Buki sat at his feet, willing him with his eyes for another treat.
“Man, what a good pup you have here,” Pat reached to pet Buki. “What a fine looking dog you are.” Pat scuffed the top of Buki’s head. “What breed is he?”
“Probably aussie or collie of some kind, but definitely one hundred percent pure Heinz 57.”
Pat chuckled and Buki put a paw on Pat’s leg and cocked one ear. Buki had one ear that naturally stood erect while the other sagged. “Look at that face,” Pat said. “I love all the different colors and patterns.”
“That’s where his name comes from. One of my co-workers said his face looked like a kabuki mask.”
Pat nodded. “For sure. He is so healthy looking. How old is he?”
“The vet thought about four or five, but it’s hard to know for sure. He’s a real fighter; you should have seen him when the shelter first took him in.”
“Well, he’s certainly well behaved. You train him yourself?”
“Honestly, I’ve just loved on him. Everything else seems to come naturally to him.”
Buki let out a short bark to show that he knew they were talking about him and Pat gave him another treat from the dish on his desk. “I lost my pup last year at age fifteen,” Pat said with sadness in his voice. “I love when people bring their dogs in…at least the good ones.”
Pat turned quiet, then looked up at Oscar and said, finally, “I didn’t know my old man either,” he declared. “I’m afraid the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. He knocked my mom up in high school and then got himself killed in Vietnam the next year. My mom gave me to her in-laws to raise.”
“That in Missoula?”
“Yeah…raised in the rougher part of town. Just lucky to find art as an outlet, I guess. Your great-grandfather, who I called Pop, was a tough ol’ bird.
William Hoshed. He took no crap off anyone, especially me.
He served in World War II and helped capture the Yokosuka naval base.
Said his unit landed near Tokyo the day the Japs… er, Japanese surrendered.”
Pat reached for his cigarettes but changed his mind and pushed them away instead.
“Pop never gave me much except a kick in the ass to get me going, but before he died in 2005, he handed me this. Said it reminded him of the proudest moment of his life.”
Pat spun in his desk chair to grab an object that leaned against the wall in the corner. He turned back toward Oscar, stood, and held it out for Oscar to take. “Now I’m giving it to you, son.”
Oscar took a step back and raised his hands. His eyes felt warm with tears. “Oh no, I could never.”
“Take it son. I really want you to have it.”
Oscar searched the man’s eyes and saw the sincerity. He held out both open hands and his father laid an old samurai sword on them.