CHAPTER NINE
You found me,” their father said. “All of you.”
“We did,” Rube said, stepping forward. “It was not easy. You didn’t make it easy.”
“How did you find me?” their father asked. “Did you all work together … how did you … ? I’m confused.”
“Some rich lady gave us your address,” Tom said. “She lived in a mansion. She knew you.”
Their father nodded, as if this made perfect sense.
“Yes, but that was just today. I hired a private investigator after … after Mom died. She tracked you down, all the places you’d been. And she helped me find my brothers and sisters, who, incidentally, I had no idea even existed.”
“I’m sorry about your mother, Rube,” he began, but Rube cut him off.
“I don’t want to talk about that. Why did you leave me? Why did you leave Mad? And Pep? And Tom?” He gestured to his siblings. “Why did you never come back to us? Or tell us where you were?”
Their father seemed to genuinely consider these questions as if he’d never once imagined he would be asked them. Like he had just been picked out of a studio audience to play a quiz show that he’d never seen before. Or maybe he was weighing how badly the answers would make all of them cry so damn much.
“Could we not do this here?” their father asked.
“Here, like, this weird sacrificial structure? Or here, like, this day and time?” Rube asked.
“Could we just go back to my place and sit down? I can make coffee. We have a lot to talk about.”
“Rube,” Mad said. “We need to talk to him. Let’s go back. We all have things we want to say.”
“Does your house have enough chairs?” Rube asked. “Do you entertain?”
“There’s enough room for us to talk,” he said. The little boy hovering over their father in his backpack made noises of irritation, rocking as if their father was a horse and he was spurring him forward. “C’mon, let’s walk.” And though it pained them to allow it, they let their father lead them back to his house, each one of them following behind, the sound of birds echoing through the trees.
BACK AT THE CABIN, AFTER QUITE POSSIBLY THE MOST AWKWARD AND SI lent family hike in human history, their father carefully shed his backpack and removed the little boy, who Mad still believed might not actually be their sibling. Seeing her father now, recognizing his age, made her hope that he was not still making children that he would subsequently leave. Even as they traveled closer and closer to him, even as she learned about the versions of him after he left her, she wasn’t prepared for the realization that her dad was freaking seventy years old. He was an old man. And here he was, delicately removing the cute little hiking boots of a toddler who she was not convinced could actually walk.
“What’s his name?” Pep asked, looking at the boy.
“Rooster,” their father replied, and the boy smiled at the sound of his own name. “Say hi, Rooster,” their father said, and Rooster said, not quite verbal, “Ha.”
“How old?” Mad asked.
“Rooster is two years old,” their father answered.
“He’s your kid?” Pep asked, and their father, after a second of hesitation, merely nodded.
“Rooster is kind of a cool name,” Tom said, who was blinking back tears. Mad wondered what it was like for Tom, still a child, to see how easily his father had moved on, had started over. It was still so fresh. He was still expecting their father to come back to him. And now, here was this little kid. It was not the toddler’s fault, but Mad kind of blamed him.
“What’s his real name?” Rube asked. “I’m assuming Rooster is his nickname.”
“It is,” their father said. He looked uncomfortable. “His name is … it’s Reuben.”
Rube’s face revealed his confusion. “What?”
“I’m sorry. Yes, his name is Reuben. It’s a good name.”
“It’s my name!” Reuben said. “It’s the name you gave me.”
“But we call him Rooster,” their father lamely offered.
“You’re reusing names?” Pep asked. “There are, like, a million names in the world. You’ve used”—she took a second to be sure of the number—“Four of them and now you’re plagiarizing the names of your other children?”
Mad wasn’t sure what she wanted this reunion to be like, but she realized now that, if someone didn’t get control of the situation, it was going to be a lot of this dynamic, their father trying to explain himself, poorly, and the kids rotating in and out to make him aware of how much he’d messed them up. She wanted to step in, to try and find a way to have a real conversation, to start from the beginning, but she realized that their father had escalated the emotional stakes with this naming mistake. He’d gone and put the end back at the beginning, and now they were stuck in a loop.
“Reuben was my uncle’s middle name,” their father finally said. “I didn’t have a father. He left before I was even born. I never met him. My mom’s brother helped take care of me. For a while. Then he died when I was seven.”
“I never knew that,” Rube said. “You never told me.”
“I don’t like to talk about my past,” their father said.
Mad wasn’t sure if this was a joke, but it actually made Rube bark with laughter. Their father looked sheepish. “Sorry,” their father said. “I know this is really fraught.”
“It’s fine. I’m not going to make you change the kid’s name,” Rube replied, gesturing toward the little boy. “Rooster, Rube, Reuben, whatever. It’s just, god, this is all starting out so badly. I think it was coming out of that weird tunnel and finding you. I wasn’t ready.”
“Well, also,” their father continued, “I … nothing.”
“No, what?” Rube asked.
“I failed you. I failed all of you, obviously. I wanted to try again, and somehow I thought that if I named him Reuben, it might be nice to finally be reminded of you and that life instead of trying to always forget about it.”
“The way you could have been reminded of me and that life was just to call me and let me know that you weren’t dead or in the Witness Protection Program and maybe just have come to see me anytime in the thirty-some-odd years since you left.”
“Yes, obviously, but—”
“And you called our moms,” Mad added. “You called them but not us.”
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No! You should have! You should have just called us, too,” Pep said. “Just say, ‘hey, here I am. Maybe we can meet up at the zoo sometime and hang out.’”
“Look, Rooster needs his lunch. Do you want anything to eat? He has to eat and then he needs a nap. Maybe after his nap we can restart.”
“ Are you hungry, Rooster?” Tom asked the boy with great suspicion, but the toddler nodded emphatically.
“Ya,” he replied.
Their father walked over to Rooster and picked him up, grimacing a little from the effort, and then held the boy on his hip as he awkwardly shuffled past Pep and into the kitchen. Mad wondered if they should go outside, sit in the car until lunch was over, and then knock on the door as if none of this had happened. But then Pep whispered to her, “I’m kind of hungry, actually.” And then Tom walked over to her, as if she was somehow the envoy for the Republic of Abandoned Children, and said, “I don’t want to just sit here and watch that baby eat. Can we eat, too?”
And then, noticing that they were all talking, Rube huddled up with them. “This baby is the worst!” he whispered.
“Our brother,” Mad reminded him, and Rube made an expression of exasperation.
“He’s not really our brother until Dad leaves him and starts a new family.”
“We’re hungry,” Pep told him.
“Are you guys hungry?” their father called out.
“Yes,” Pep and Tom replied at the exact same time.
“I’ve got the staples,” their father offered. “Some good sourdough and cheese and pickles and some mortadella. I’ve got eggs, too. Some arugula for a salad.”
“You could make those shirred eggs that you made for me and my mom,” Mad whispered to Rube.
“Absolutely not,” Rube said.
“It worked on me,” Mad said. “They were so good. It kind of convinced me to come on this trip.”
“Well, I’m not trying to impress our father,” Rube replied. “He needs to impress me.”
“What is the kid gonna eat?” Pep asked their dad. “Like, what does he like?”
“Grilled cheese,” their father said.
“I’ll have that,” Pep said, and then Tom said, “Me, too!”
“Rube? Mad?” their father asked.
“If everyone is going to have grilled cheese,” Mad said, “I’ll eat one, too.” It would be too weird to watch everyone else eat while she stood over them.
Rube then said, “What kind of salad would be possible?”
“There’s some good options. Come look,” their father said, and Rube paused.
“I’ll just have a grilled cheese, too.”
“That’s, let’s see, one-two-three-four-five-six grilled cheese sandwiches. This cast-iron skillet is going to be working overtime. Let me just use the restroom real quick, wash my face and hands from that hike, and then I’ll get started.” He put Rooster down on the floor and then sideways-stepped through the crowd of his children. He smiled at them and then closed the door to the bathroom. Mad heard the lock click on the door.
“So you like grilled cheese sandwiches?” Pep asked Rooster, who only stared at her. Tom lifted his camera and observed the boy through his viewfinder before letting the camera fall limply at his side.
“I don’t like this,” Tom said. “I thought he’d be happier to see me.”
“I think he is,” Mad told the boy. “I think he’s less excited, you know, to see me and Rube and Pep, because we’re adults and he doesn’t know us as well anymore. I bet if it was just you, he’d be different.”
“Maybe you guys should take Rooster for a hike, then,” Tom offered, “and then when you come back, things won’t be as weird.”
Just then, they heard a slamming sound from the bathroom.
“Jesus, did Dad just fall in there?” Pep said, rushing over to the door. “Hey, are you okay in there?”
“Yes, it’s fine. I dropped a big bottle of moisturizer on the dang floor. Hold on.”
Without thinking, Mad ran out of the cabin, down the stairs of the porch, and around the back to find her father, staring out the open window of the bathroom.
“Dad,” she said. “Please.”
“This goddamn window,” he replied. “I haven’t opened it since last summer. The wood warped or something.”
“Go back into the kitchen,” Mad said. “Go make grilled cheese sandwiches for your children. And then we’re going to talk. And you’re going to listen.”
“This is difficult, Mad,” he said. “It’s a lot to handle, and there are things—”
“GO. MAKE. GRILLED. CHEESE. SANDWICHES. FOR. YOUR. CHILDREN,” Mad repeated, and their father sheepishly closed the window.
Back in the house, Pep asked, “Did he try to climb out the bathroom window?” and Mad nodded. “Dad!” Pep said. “It’s been like fifteen minutes.”
“I was getting some air. I was having, for your information, a panic attack, I think. I wasn’t going to jump out the window. This is my cabin. Where would I go?” Mad was about to remind him that his entire modus operandi was to leave a place where he lived and simply start over, but he started slicing the bread, buttering it, organizing all the slices of cheese. “I just wasn’t expecting guests.”
“We’re family,” Rube said, “it’s different.”
Mad walked over to the stove. “Here, I’ll help. I’ll cook them and you do the prep.”
Pep offered to take Rooster back into the living room to play, to clear out the space, and Tom offered to help. “Does he have real toys?” Pep asked. “Or is it, like, corn cob dolls or something?” Their father said Rooster liked a marble run that he had built for the boy, which was near the fireplace.
Rube said he was going to sit on the porch, and then he took two steps outside and stood right in front of the doorway, staring up at the sky.
“You’ve got a Lodge cast-iron skillet,” Mad observed. The factory that made these was less than an hour from their farm.
“Only skillet worth a damn,” their father said.
“So you buy a new one each time you leave? You have to start over completely?” Mad asked.
Their father stopped slicing the bread and considered the question. “I guess so. You kind of learn to focus on the essentials, a few things you truly need. But, honestly, life has a way, whether you like it or not, of accumulating. You always end up with more than you need.”
“But not everything,” Mad offered.
“Right. Not everything,” their father replied, shaking his head.
As she toasted the bread, the cheese beginning to soften, she asked him, “Do you remember me?”
“I do,” he answered. “I really do. Not everything. Probably not as much as I’d like. I’m old. But I do remember you.”
“Back then,” she said. “You remember me from back then.”
“Yes,” he said, “of course I do.”
“Do you know me now?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you know what I’m doing? Have you checked up on me?”
Her father paused. She knew what the answer was. She didn’t let him answer. “I run the farm,” she told him. “Me and Mom. It’s successful. It’s a big deal. We’ve been in magazines.”
“I’m not surprised,” he said. “That’s great.”
She plated three of the sandwiches and started toasting the last three. She felt so embarrassed, how badly she wanted him to know that she was okay, that she’d been okay without him, and she didn’t know why she couldn’t say that he had made her life so much less than it should have been. She didn’t know why it was so hard to look at him, nearly a stranger and yet so familiar to her that it made her want to cry, and just say, “You shouldn’t have left us. And if you were going to leave us, you shouldn’t have left us like that. And you should have written me a single letter in all these years to say that you missed me, and that you loved me, and that, even though you weren’t a part of my life anymore, you hoped that someday you could be again.”
And then she realized that, actually, she had just said all this. Out loud. To her father. In that moment, he was only her father, not everyone’s but just hers.
“I know, Mad,” he finally said. “I know.”
“You are seventy years old, Dad,” she said. “You would have died without ever knowing who I was if we hadn’t found you.”
“I know,” he said again. “Don’t let those sandwiches burn, Mad.” She looked down at the skillet and flipped them.
“Grilled cheese sandwiches are ready,” their father called out, and he turned away from her to set the table. She looked at the cast iron, the soft bubbling of the remaining butter turning brown. She thought about what it would feel like to place her open palm on the skillet. She remembered old comic strips where angry wives would hit their drunk husbands with a frying pan, but she knew they couldn’t have been a cast-iron skillet because this thing was heavy as hell. Her father was safe, and she would keep herself safe. She turned off the stove and walked over to the table, where her siblings looked at the five seats, the exact number necessary for them to share a meal. Their father placed Rooster in the high chair and occupied the seat next to him, already slicing the sandwich into triangles. Rube sat farthest from their father, and Pep and Mad took up spots beside their brother. Tom tentatively sat next to their father, who then turned to him. “You want me to cut up your sandwich?” he asked, and Tom hesitated.
“I guess so,” Tom replied, and his father sliced the sandwich into perfect sections. This was something that Mad had to remember, which was difficult. Their father had never been a bad parent. He had always been attentive, loving, and patient. He had only become a bad parent when he disappeared, when he ceased to be a part of their life. Still, it was strange for Mad to watch this man, so many years beyond the man who had been her father, attending to his kids.
Pep took a bite of the sandwich. “These are good,” she said.
“Your sister made them,” their father replied.
“I think you’re just starving,” Mad allowed, and Pep nodded as if this was also true.
Mad imagined that, in some other reality, this would have been a regular occurrence, the sharing of holidays, the summer vacations where all the half siblings made their way to wherever their father was now residing, sitting at the table and eating as a family. This was just how children of divorce lived, maybe, but it wouldn’t quite be the same. Children of divorce, upon arriving at their dad’s place, didn’t have to learn what name he was now going by, what identity he had fashioned out of thin air. It wouldn’t hold together. Their father had made it too hard to imagine a normal interaction with him. And so Mad just ate her sandwich, which was good, expertly made.
“Where is Rooster’s mom?” Rube asked. “Was that woman we met at the mansion his mother?”
“No. It’s a bit complicated. But Rooster’s mother is around. She actually owns all this, the ranch. Her family. She and her two sisters, one of whom you met, I guess, kind of equally share custody of Rooster.”
“What’s her name?” Pep asked.
Their father sighed. “Lucky,” he finally said.
“Rooster’s mom is named Lucky?” Rube asked. “Is that a nickname?”
“It’s complicated,” he replied. “Lucky changed her name. All the sisters did.”
“Okay,” Rube said. “I’m just going to ask. Dad, are you the leader of a cult?”
Their father laughed. “Are you serious?”
“That is kind of the vibe that you’re giving off,” Pep interjected. “The whole place, honestly.”
“No. You couldn’t be further from the truth.”
“Wait,” Rube asked, “What is your name? Here, I mean. What name do you go by?”
“Charles,” the father replied, and Rube tilted his head as if he’d misheard.
“Your name was Charles with us,” Rube said, and their father nodded.
“I got tired,” their father replied.
“It’s not the name of a cult leader,” Pep offered.
“I’m a groundskeeper,” their father said. “I’m kind of the caretaker of this whole property.”
“And then you married a woman named Lucky and you two had a baby.”
“No, not exactly.”
“Did you marry all three of the sisters?” Rube asked.
“I’m not married to Lucky or Haze or Moon,” their father replied. “And I’m not in a romantic relationship with any of them. I’m not sure this is productive.”
“Their names are Lucky and Haze and Moon?” Rube asked.
“Yes.”
“Those sound like the names of horses, Dad,” Rube replied.
“It’s complicated.”
“They must just be the richest women on earth to have names like that,” Pep said. “Am I right? We saw the mansion. Was that Haze or Moon?”
“Moon. And they are very wealthy, yes,” their father allowed. “They’re of the Chelmsford family.”
“They own the Golden State Warriors?” Pep asked. “And they’re, like, pharmaceutical billionaires.”
“I think the Warriors are owned by their uncle, but, yes, that’s the family.”
“And so Rooster just kind of happened?” Rube asked.
“Listen, maybe let me get Rooster settled for his nap, and then … well, how long are you planning on staying? Is this just an afternoon visit?”
Mad considered the logistics of this for the first time. She had imagined that they would confront their father, and either he would say something heartfelt and apologetic and they would instantly leave or he would refuse to acknowledge his actions and they would beat him up and then instantly leave. Either way, she had never imagined staying with her dad. But she hadn’t yet thought about booking a hotel room in the area. Maybe they could sleep in that strange outdoor art colosseum they’d found earlier.
“Do you have some kind of pressing engagement that requires your attention?” Rube asked.
“Rube, please,” their father asked.
“Can we spend the night here?” Tom finally asked.
“Oh, now, Tom, I don’t know if that’s such—” Mad said, but then Pep said, “I feel like we should stay a little longer. I haven’t even had a chance to talk to Dad.”
“A sleepover!” Tom said.
“Why don’t I put Rooster down for a nap and the four of you can discuss your plans. I’m not going to tell you what to do.”
“That’s good,” Rube replied.
“But if you’re planning on staying here for longer than today, let me know so we can make arrangements for you. Does Trista know that Tom is here? How did you meet up? Okay, never mind. I guess maybe we can talk more. Maybe you should stay a little longer.”
“We’ll talk it over,” Rube said.
“C’mon, son,” their father said to Rooster, who lifted up his arms to be carried away to his nap. As their father walked toward the bedroom, the little boy watched his siblings with curiosity.
As soon as they were out of earshot, the siblings hashed out a plan. It was determined that there were simply too many questions that each child would want to ask their father, and a lot of them would overlap. They would force their father to explain himself, in chronological order, and then, if that satisfied their general need for answers, they would have individual time with their father, where he would have to answer specific questions about the years where he was with each child.
“And I need him to help me finish my movie,” Tom said.
“Okay, well, you can use your individual time with Dad to do that, for sure,” Rube allowed.
Their father returned from the bedroom. “He’s a good sleeper,” he offered. “Rooster.”
“Were we not good sleepers?” Pep asked.
“No, all of you were good sleepers, honestly,” he allowed.
“Are you a good sleeper?” Pep asked him.
“No. I am not a good sleeper,” their father answered.
“We have questions,” Rube interjected.
“Yes, I know.”
“About what you did.”
“Of course.”
“And why you did it.”
“Yes.”
“And why you kept doing it.”
“Yes, Rube, of course.”
“So tell us.”
Their father looked around at them, and then smoothed out the wrinkles in his cargo shorts. Mad noticed that his legs were hairless. “Do you guys want coffee or tea?” he asked.
“Dad, please,” Rube continued.
“Okay, okay. I kind of wondered if one of you would find me. I expected it, honestly. Pep, I thought for sure that your mom would have a team of people tracking me.”