Second Chances (10 page)

“How did you get this?” she asked examining it for legitimacy.

“I hired a private investigator. He found this birth certificate from 1979 certifying that a boy was born at Brigham and Women’s Hospital in June and listing me as his father. The mother on the certificate is the woman I was in a relationship with but as I said, she never told me anything.”

“The investigator also learned that someone had registered with your agency to exchange information. I assume it was Pashmina trying to find our child too. What I need to know is if you have any information you can share with me?”

Merrilee studied him carefully. Clearly this wasn’t a joke and judging from his expression he was seriously determined to find his son. “Ok George,” she said at last, “I need your personal identification and any other relevant information you have on this. I’ll run it through the computer and see what we can find out.”

For the first time in weeks he felt relieved. He had a partner now, someone to share the burden, someone who could help. “Thank you,” he choked.

Helping people like George was one of the few perks of Merrilee’s job. Swallowing the lump in her throat she said, “I’m going to need a little time to work on this. Why don’t you go take a walk, grab some lunch and meet me back here at 12:30?”

George grabbed her hand tightly. “Thank you Ms. Swanson. I’m so grateful, more than you’ll ever know.”

Merrilee watched him go with a bounce in his step she hadn’t noticed earlier. It was up to her now to keep it there. No pressure. She sat down again facing her computer. “Ok,” she whispered, “let’s see what we can find.”

*   *   *

He stepped outside breathing deeply, filling his lungs with Beantown air. Since running into Sofie, George felt like he’d been holding his breath waiting to learn the truth but he felt better now thanks to Dimitri and Merrilee. Glancing at his watch and mindful of the time he began to walk not caring which way he went as long as it was forward.

The streets of Boston were a nice change of pace from the docks and decks that shaped his world at home and George was eager to explore the city where his son was born and Pashmina had settled. It was easy to see its appeal. On a trolley tour he discovered the diversity of its neighborhoods like the quaint Beacon Hill, the historic North End and the homey familiarity of the Seaport District. City life wasn’t for him anymore but it was certainly a nice place to visit.

The food here wasn’t too shabby either with countless restaurants, cafes, delis and bakeries, each one looking more delicious than the one he’d just passed. But it was getting late and he was hungry so in the interest of time he ducked into a small sandwich shop to grab some lunch. He ate at a counter lined with stools and a large window looking out on a busy street filled with cars and people walking alone, in pairs, and even groups all in a hurry to get somewhere.

What about Pashmina? Was she somewhere out there too? Not for the first time he wondered what she’d do if she saw him here. Not happy was probably an understatement judging from their last encounter but he didn’t give a shit. Not anymore. Not since he found out she’d deliberately kept him in the dark all these years.

He glanced at his watch. Time to get back to Merrilee and her magical computer. Excitement began to build inside him as he tossed his sandwich wrapper in the trash and headed back to the agency.

A short time later he let himself back into Suite 302 surprised to see the waiting room bustling with people talking quietly or zoning out, lost in their own private worlds. He marched confidently this time up to the registration desk and asked to see Merrilee who called to him from her office. “Come on back George.”

Nervous again, he made his way back to her office hoping for the best but bracing for the worst. Merrilee looked up at him and smiled. “Well George,” she said pulling papers from various piles on her desk, “I have some good news for you. I have the name of your son.”

He’d imagined this moment so many times but still it caught him off guard as tears spilled down his cheeks and his heart lifted like a helium balloon.

“George? Are you ok?” Merrilee asked pulling a box of tissues from her desk.

Ok? George laughed out loud sounding a little hysterical, happy hysterical. “Never better. I have a son!”

“You do indeed,” she affirmed, “and his name is Timothy Smith.” She let it sink in before continuing. “In 1979, private adoptions or children who were wards of the State typically had sealed birth certificates that were closed and inaccessible to everyone. So even if you’d been looking for your son when he was little, it would have been almost impossible for you to find him. Fortunately, times have changed and although technically these records are still sealed, when someone registers with us, they can provide us with whatever personal information they want.”

“When I checked the birth date you gave me against the hospital’s records, I found that someone had registered new information into our Open Adoption Records databank.” George stared at her blankly and she hurried to explain. “The databank holds names, dates, and places that birth parents or adoptees can provide in case someone is looking for them. In your case, Timothy Smith’s name and birth date were entered into the system ten years ago. It appears no one has tried to access the information before today but someone’s been hoping to put the pieces of the puzzle together for a long time.”

George paused for a moment. “Pashmina? She must have looked for him. Does it say if she ever found Timothy?”

“No George,” she answered quietly sensing his disappointment. “No one by the name of Pashmina has ever contacted our organization. The data bank information was left by Timothy Smith.”

For the second time that day George’s emotions did a free-fall. He didn’t know this Pashmina who kept secrets, who gave up their child and never looked back. Poker-faced he looked down at the paper Merrilee had given him.

“That’s the information your son left with the Agency,” she pointed out. “As you can see it’s his name and an update with what looks like a work address. Makes sense if you want to be found but aren’t sure what kind of a person might be looking for you. Can’t be too careful with family you know,” she joked feebly as George continued to stare at the paper and she tried again to boost his spirits. “Look, George, I know it’s not a lot to work with. Timothy may not even work at this address anymore but you have his name and that’s a great place to start.”

The cloud covering George’s face made way for his bright smile. “Merrilee, honestly I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me today, I promise I won’t let your hard work go to waste. I will find Timothy.”

Merrilee stood and shook his hand. “That’s thanks enough for me, I’m just happy for you. Now go find your son.”

*   *   *

CHAPTER NINE

Returning to his office, Tim barely noticed the lone figure sitting in Trillingham’s reception area, he was still thinking about the meeting he’d just left. The last of his account wrap-ups, these ‘good-bye’ meetings were protocol when an account manager moved on and he’d been having a good time with it, feeling like weights were being lifted as he geared up for his big move to Brown Books. But this last one had been hard.

From his earliest days on the Dewes account, Stuart Gold had taken him under his wing, mentoring and teaching him all about the publishing industry, and how did he return the favor? By taking everything he’d learned about marketing for publishing and putting it to work for the competition. He knew some people would see it as a harsh move and he’d been nervous about breaking the news to Stuart. But he shouldn’t have worried. Stuart was his usual classy self, making Tim feel guilty and relieved when he said, “Brown’s lucky to have you Tim. I know you’ll do great things for them.”

It was the kind of thing a father would say and his chest puffed slightly at the thought. “Tim,” the receptionist called him over. “There’s a man waiting to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment and wouldn’t let me schedule one. He says it’s important.” Shrugging, she pointed towards the waiting area.

He turned to look at the only other person in the room, a man neatly dressed in khakis and a plaid button down shirt. Casually flipping through the pages of a magazine he seemed relaxed despite his left leg bouncing up and down like a jack hammer. It was hard to get a good look at his downturned face, but he didn’t look familiar. “What’s his name?” he asked the receptionist.

“Levendakis. Do you know him?”

Shaking his head, “I don’t think so but I guess I’ll find out,” and he walked over to the magazine-reading, leg-tapping man. “Mr. Levendakis?”

Hearing his name, George’s head snapped back so he was face-to-face with Timothy Smith. He stared hard not wanting to look away from his son. His son! Who was looking back at him, curious but guarded, with his mother’s beautiful brown eyes. Grabbing his extended hand like a lifeline, George moved in for a closer look. The dark, wavy hair, the muscular build, the confident set of his shoulders; it was him twenty years ago. Almost. Unlike him, this young man emanated a cool reserve that warned ‘don’t get too close’ instantly squelching George’s impulse to wrap him in a fierce bear hug.

“Yes, that’s me. And you’re Timothy Smith?” Obviously.

“Call me Tim,” he said creating a little space between them. Levendakis was staring at him like a big, juicy steak. “How can I help you?”

“I’d like to talk to you if you have a minute,” George answered looking skeptically around the lobby. “Somewhere a little more private maybe?”

A small frown formed between Tim’s eyes as he considered George’s request reminding him of Pashmina weighing her options before making a decision.

“Sure.” Tim offered at last. “We can talk in my office. This way.” He turned leaving George to follow, his heart pounding, mind racing. All the times he’d imagined this moment, he’d never gotten past this point. What did he do now?

In Tim’s office, he offered George a seat then sat himself keeping the large, wooden desk between them. “So,” he started, “are you looking for an advertising agency Mr. Levendakis?”

“Not exactly.” George’s palms were damp with sweat his mouth was dry as a bone. “I’ve actually been looking for you.”

Keeping his face carefully blank Tim studied the man more intently. Who was this guy? He shook his head confused, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Just three little words and both their lives would be changed forever. George was tongue-tied. And terrified. Hiding from his past seemed like a piece of cake compared to confronting his future. Did he really want this? Could he handle being a father now, after all this time? Most guys had a chance to grow with their kids but Tim was no kid. He was an adult, a grown man and George knew absolutely nothing about him.

Walk away. That’s what he should do before he screwed everything up. Like hell. He’d come too far to leave now. “There’s no delicate way to say this so I’m just going to say it: Tim, I’m your father.”

There it was. With a sigh of relief, he glanced anxiously at his son, still expressionless and silent. He seemed to be taking it well. Or maybe not. A burst of hysterical laughter suddenly filled the room.

“Good one,” Tim applauded. “So, where’s the camera?” Still laughing he searched his desk, looking inside his coffee mug and under the calendar blotter. Giving up he looked at George. “And what talent agency are you from? I’ll admit there’s a good resemblance. Thanks for giving me an idea of what I’ll look like in another twenty years or so.”

Bemused, George could barely answer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My farewell video, you know, good-bye, good luck in the new job. That’s what this is right?” Thank God, cause he was starting to get a little creeped out by this guy.

Listening to Tim, he understood. His son was leaving the agency. Well thank God he’d found him first. “Congratulations on your new job.” He smiled, “But I’m not here for a video and I’m not an actor from a talent agency. I’m your biological father.”

The shock was obvious, Tim looked stunned like a gaping fish and George kept talking giving him time to catch his breath, “I just found out too,” he explained. “How, it doesn’t really matter, but as soon as I knew, I did everything I could to find you. And now here we are,” he smiled anxiously, searching his son’s face for signs of life, wondering if he’d heard a word he said.

Tim’s head was about to burst with everything that was happening. He’d hoped and prayed for this or something like it but never believed it would really happen. Didn’t they always say be careful what you wish for? “What makes you think I don’t have a father?” he questioned taking stock of George with fresh eyes. He looked honest and sincere.

George stood. Removing a folded paper from his back pocket he smoothed it open with shaking hands and handed it to Tim. “This is your birth certificate. As you can see, I’m listed as your birth father.”

It looked official enough with the insignia of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. He could see that he was born at Brigham and Women’s Hospital and the date of birth was the same as the one he celebrated every year. “Where did you get this?” he asked, his voice a strained whisper.

George’s heart went out to him. He knew all too well what it was like to have your world turned upside down without warning. Another thought struck him. What about Tim’s family? Did he know he was adopted or had he just delivered the one-two punch himself with the birth certificate? What they needed was time to sort through this together. “It’s a long and pretty incredible story,” he said answering Tim’s question carefully. “Have dinner with me and I’ll tell you everything I know.”