Chapter Three
“Dad?” Micah was frozen to the spot. He’d only ever seen his father cry once, and that had been the day Mom died.
At the funeral, it had been as though he’d kept a tight grip on his emotions.
Micah had expected tears, anger, frustration, but instead had been met with a calm that was almost frightening.
Watching the tears crawl down his dad’s cheeks now was torture.
Dad glanced up, savagely wiping away the moisture with his hand. “Stupid old fool. Blubbering like some snot-nosed kid. Ignore me.” He regarded the letter, holding it limply in his hands.
Whatever Micah had wanted to say was lost when a young man came into the room, carrying a clipboard. “Mr. Chambers? We need your address and insurance information.”
Greg’s face fell. “Oh. Yeah, of course.”
Micah caught the flash of panic across Greg’s face.
Dad jerked his head up. “Are we talking hospital bills? I’ll take care of those.” He straightened in his chair.
Micah stared at him. What the hell?
“Excuse me, but no.” Greg spoke quietly, but there was a hard edge to his voice, as if he was trying his utmost to shake off the effects of the drugs.
“You don’t know me from Adam, and there’s no way I’m going to let a complete stranger take on my debts.
” He set his jaw and met Dad’s gaze with a resolute stare.
He swallowed. “I’ll need to make a phone call first.”
Dad lurched to his feet. “No, Greg. I’ll foot the bill. It’s the least I can do for… Hayden’s son.”
The billing clerk gave a discreet cough. “If this is a bad time, I can come back later.”
Dad gave him a smile. “That might be best.” The clerk nodded and left the room.
Micah blinked as several thoughts collided in his head. Hayden? Did he save Dad’s life? Donate a kidney? Introduce him to Mom? Who the hell is Hayden?
Dad took another glance at the letter before meeting Greg’s gaze. “He is dead then.”
“Yes, sir.” Greg swallowed hard. “Last month.”
“I see. Well, that doesn’t change anything. I still want to do this.” When Greg made an unhappy sound, Dad turned to him. “Please. You have to let me do this.”
Heaven knew what Greg saw in his dad’s face, because Greg stilled, as immobile as a statue. “Okay,” he whispered. “But… promise me we’ll talk about this?”
Dad nodded. “I promise. And when they discharge you? You’re coming home with us.”
Greg’s mouth fell open. “I can’t… I mean, I—” He snapped his mouth shut.
Dad gave a slow nod. “When you can’t even say where your home is? Yeah, right. Like I’m gonna let you just leave. Not Hayden’s child. No, sir. You’re gonna need to recuperate, probably for a couple of weeks at least, and you can do that in our home. We’ll make sure you’re looked after.”
Micah saw the range of emotions that crossed Greg’s face, and sighed. “Don’t even try to argue with him. You’ll lose, every time. And I speak from experience.”
Greg gave a half smile. “I believe you. Besides, I recognize that expression. I saw it enough times on my dad’s face when he…” He took a breath. “Never mind.”
Dad got to his feet. “We’re gonna go home now, but we’ll be back later, all right? Once we know what the visiting hours are. Is there anything you’d like us to bring you?”
Greg shrugged. “Something to read? They… stole my backpack, so I’ve got nothing, not even clothes.”
Dad nodded. “Leave that to me. What do you like to read?”
“Murder mysteries.” Greg smiled. “I was kind of brought up on Agatha Christie.”
Micah laughed. “Oh, I think we might be able to find you something, right, Dad?”
Dad gave him a sharp look. “Very funny.” He turned to Greg. “I have a couple of Agatha Christies at home.” Micah snorted, and Dad speared him with a glare. “Okay, more than a couple.”
Even Greg managed a chuckle. “That would be great, thank you.”
Micah held out his hand. “Later, yeah?”
Greg clasped it firmly. “Sure. Thanks again.” He released Micah’s hand and sank back into the pillows.
“Mr. Chambers? There are two detectives here to speak to you.” The nurse stood in the doorway.
“And that’s our cue,” Dad said, patting Greg on the shoulder. “See you later, okay?” He straightened and headed for the door, Micah following, just as two guys entered the room, one of them clutching a black backpack, the shoulder strap torn away at one point.
“Oh my God, you found it!” The joy in Greg’s voice was impossible to miss. “Thank you.”
Micah paused at the threshold, watching as Greg opened the pack, delved inside it, and brought out a wooden carved box, wrapped in cellophane. Greg stared at it, his chest rising and falling rapidly, making no move to open it.
That box was clearly important.
“Come on.” Dad tugged his elbow. “You want Naomi more pissed at us than she already is?”
Micah chuckled. “Good point. Let’s go home.”
“But first, we’re gonna stop by Billing, once we know where it is.”
That didn’t come as a surprise to Micah. Dad could be stubborn when he wanted to be. The mystery of Greg’s box would have to wait until they returned. Right then, he had another riddle waiting to be solved.
Who was Hayden, and why was he so important to my Dad, that he’d pay for Greg’s hospital bills?
Micah knew why he couldn’t sleep, of course. Dad hadn’t said a word so far about the letter. Not a single goddamn word. They’d driven home separately, but once they were inside the house, Micah had fully expected his dad to sit down and tell him everything.
Nope. Not even close. Dad had simply gotten on with his day, withdrawing into his office to work on his software designs.
Even that was weird. Naomi was home for the weekend, and usually that meant Dad didn’t work, but spent time with her.
Micah could tell by the perplexed glances she kept throwing at the closed office door, that Naomi was at a loss too.
Dad emerged for lunch and dinner, but that was all they saw of him for the rest of the day.
No wonder I’m not sleeping. Too much going on around here that’s upsetting the routine.
Lying in bed staring at the ceiling was accomplishing nothing, so Micah decided to get up and make himself a warm drink.
Maybe that would help. He threw back the covers and hastily pulled on his robe, before the chill night air got to his…
extremities. He put on a pair of thick socks and crept out of his room, heading for the stairs down to the kitchen and praying he’d miss the one stair that always creaked.
But when he reached the bottom, he saw the light seeping from under the door to Dad’s office.
Huh?
Micah walked as silently as he could up to the door, and opened it.
The room was bathed in the warm light of the corner lamp, and Dad was sitting on the small couch beside it, his robe tied around the waist. In his lap was the letter and what looked like a strip of photos, like the ones you got in photo booths.
Dad jerked his head up, and Micah saw the tracks of tears on his cheeks.
“Why aren’t you asleep?” Dad wiped his face hastily. “Do you know what time it is?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Micah explained. “I was actually worrying about you. And now that I see you?” His heartbeat raced. “Yep, still worried.” He came fully into the room. “Dad, what’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Dad folded the letter, slipping the photo strip inside it. “Go back to bed.”
Micah had had enough. “Do not treat me like a child. Not when it’s obvious that something is really wrong.” He cocked his head. “Is it so bad that you can’t tell me?”
Dad shivered. “What if… what if I tell you, and you find you can’t look at me the same, ever again?”
“Is that what you’re afraid of?” Micah gazed at him incredulously.
“Well, unless you’re about to confess to being a serial killer, I think it’s a safe bet I’m gonna look at you the same as I’ve always done.
You’re my dad and I love you.” He forced himself to take a couple of deep breaths.
“So why don’t I sit down, so you can tell me who this Hayden is—or was—why you just offered to pay a stranger’s hospital bills, and why you’re crying over that letter? ”
Dad gulped. “I think… I’m gonna need a drink.
” He left the letter on the arm of the couch, got up, and walked over to his filing cabinet, on top of which sat a half full bottle of what looked like whiskey, and a glass.
He gave Micah an apologetic glance. “I’ve only got the one glass, so if you want one, you’ll have to fetch your own. ”
Micah waved his hand. “I’m fine, but you go ahead.
” If his dad needed fortifying, this had to be some revelation that was coming.
He walked over to the couch and sat at the opposite end, pulling his legs up onto it, and grabbing a cushion to hug.
Dad poured himself a glass, maybe a couple of fingers, and after screwing the cap back on, rejoined Micah on the couch.
He took a sip. “Do you know how long I’ve lived in Wyoming? Since I was seventeen. My parents moved here when your grandad got a new job in Casper. Before that? We lived in Sylacauga.”
Micah frowned. “Where on earth is that?”
“In Alabama, on the edge of the Talladega Forest.” He gave a wistful smile. “Great place to be a kid.”
Despite the nervous knot in his belly, Micah smiled. “I know you said your family came from the South, but Alabama? You’re a real Southern boy, aren’t ya? Well, I guess that explains Granddad’s and Grandma’s accent. It’s a whole lot stronger than yours.”
Dad chuckled. “I think I lost mine years ago.”
“I catch a twang every now and then.” Micah wondered where this was leading. “Okay, you’ve started now, so keep talking.”
Dad regarded him in silence for a moment, then removed the strip of photos and handed it to Micah.
He gazed at the images of two young men.
They were clearly goofing off in a couple, laughing and pulling funny faces.
But that last two photos… Micah peered more closely.
“That’s you, isn’t it? The guy in the blue shirt? ”