Something Like Thunder (16 page)

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Laura placed a worn and wrinkled hand over his, patting it a few times. “I understand now.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I didn’t realize they had told you. I know it’s a big adjustment, but honey, there’s more to family than blood. Heath raised you. He works hard to provide you all with a good home. That makes him your father. That’s what counts. And I don’t know what you and Dwight are struggling with, but believe me, even biological siblings drive each other crazy. Coming from the same womb doesn’t mean you’ll get along.”

Nathaniel remained very still, which was difficult because he felt very much like jumping to his feet or spluttering a number of questions, all of which boiled down to wanting to know what the hell she was talking about. In the end, he managed to utter one hoarse word. “What?”

His grandmother searched his eyes, realizing her mistake. “I thought they told you! Why else would you say— Why would you be living with another family, especially so close to graduation when you’ll be moving out anyway?”

Nathaniel pulled his hand away. “He’s not my father?”

“Of course he is!” Laura said. “That’s what I was trying to tell you. Let’s calm down, shall we?” The suggestion could have been directed at herself, since her hand was now placed over her heart.

“He’s not my biological father,” Nathaniel said, refusing to let the truth be swept away so easily. “If he’s not, then who is?”

Laura opened her mouth a few times, then looked toward the living room, calling her husband’s name. “Joe!”

“Who’s my real father?” Nathaniel demanded.

“How could I be so foolish?” His grandmother leaned back in her chair. “I’m sorry for dropping it on you like that. I thought you knew!”

“Just tell me,” Nathaniel pleaded. “Who?”

“I think it’s best if we get your mother on the phone.” Laura stood and went to the kitchen counter. “We’ll do this the right way.”

Nathaniel watched her pick up the phone and punch in the number. Once the receiver was pressed against her ear, she looked back at him as if he might bolt. She needn’t have worried. Nothing would get him to leave this room. Not when he was so close to the truth.

“Voicemail.” His grandmother made it sound like a cuss word. She set down the phone reluctantly before turning to him. “This needs to be done the right way.”

“You keep saying that, but I don’t know what it means.”

“That the rest of the story needs to come from your mother.”

Nathaniel eyed her disbelievingly. “You won’t tell me who he is?”

“It doesn’t matter,” his grandma said pleadingly. “The man who raised you
is
your father.”

But it
did
matter, because Nathaniel felt like the world had kept spinning without him, leaving him scrabbling to catch hold of anything solid. He needed something to anchor him again—a name, a location, a physical description. Or a photo. He stood, the chair skidding across the floor before it tilted and fell. Then he rushed from the room. The bedroom door was cracked when he reached it, so he used his shoulder to shove it open, surprised to find the room occupied.

Caesar spun around, arms hanging limp, a cell phone in one hand. Then he smiled. “I broke up with her.”

“What?”

“With Steph. I broke up with her.”

“Why?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Nathaniel pushed past him to get to the far side of the bed where they had left the photo albums on the floor. He knelt to grab one of them, tossing it aside when he saw it was the wrong one. Once he had the other open, he flipped through each page impatiently until he found a photo of a punky-looking guy standing next to Star, his expression cool, like all this drama didn’t faze him. Nathaniel tore back the protective layer of transparent plastic and snatched the photo free. Then he stood, finding Caesar in his way once again.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Nathaniel snapped. Then he sighed. “Everything. I don’t know. Just stay here, okay?”

Caesar seemed unhappy, but he nodded.

Nathaniel squeezed past him, noticing his expression. “Sorry about your girlfriend,” he said, before his mind returned to the dizzying truth. He glanced down at the photo as he left the room and walked down the hall. Were they a couple? The guy wasn’t holding his mother’s hand. He didn’t have an arm around her possessively. Their shoulders weren’t even touching.

When he returned to the kitchen, Gramps was there, listening intently to his wife’s hushed words. When he turned around, his features showed pure concern. Then he opened his arms, as if expecting a hug. Nathaniel ignored him, tossing the photo on the table but not watching where it landed. Instead he examined their faces closely, his grandmother’s in particular as she turned it over. Her eyes widened enough to know he was right—that Caesar had been correct. This man was his father.

“What’s his name?” Nathaniel demanded.

His grandfather, arms at his side now, gave him the answer. “Victor Hemingway.”

“And where is he now?”

“Joe,” his grandma said, her tones concerned. But why?

“Does he live in Warrensburg?” Nathaniel asked.

Gramps shook his head. “No.”

“Where is he then?”

“You’ll have to ask your mother about that.” His grandfather gestured at a chair, but Nathaniel was too on edge to sit. “We’re not trying to be difficult. We’re respecting Star’s wishes. I hope you understand. She was awfully young when she had you, and this other fellow wasn’t ready to be a father. Your mother wasn’t ready to raise a child either. Not on her own. We helped until she met Heath.”

Nathaniel strained, trying to find any memory, no matter how foggy, to support this story. He couldn’t remember a time when his father—or at least Heath—hadn’t been around. Then again, Nathaniel did have fond memories of being at his grandparents’ house. More than normal perhaps, and in most of those memories, he had been their sole focus. King for a day. For many days. He hadn’t shared the spotlight with his brother. Not back then. That had come later. Speaking of which…

“Dwight,” he said.

“Heath’s boy,” Gramps said. “I don’t know much about his mother.”

“But he has a different mom,” Nathaniel said, mind racing. “And a different dad. That means he’s not my brother!” The realization summoned a manic smile, but also a sinking sensation. It took him a moment to recognize why.

While his grandfather gave him a pep talk on what constituted a family bond, Nathaniel searched his heart until he understood. All he had suffered through, all the abuse he had taken, had been at the hands of a stranger. Not his brother, but some other kid Nathaniel was forced to live with. Why? The reason was simple. His mother had chosen the wrong person to fall in love with. If she had walked away the first time Heath hurt her, she would have spared them both so much pain. Or at the very least, had she been honest with him about his true father, Nathaniel would have had somewhere else to go. Another home, one where he was safe.

“I want to see him.” The words cut off his grandfather’s lecture, but he didn’t care. Nathaniel’s need was too strong. “Right now.”

“We don’t know where to find him,” Gramps said. “That’s the honest truth.”

“Why didn’t she stay with him? With Victor?” Nathaniel’s voice cracked. “Why’d she have to choose Heath? Victor couldn’t have been worse. Believe me.”

His grandparents looked concerned, but he stopped caring what they thought when they gave him the same old answer.

“You’ll have to talk to your mother about—”

“Fine!” Nathaniel said, turning away. “Then I’ll go ask her.”

He swept from the room, pausing briefly in the hallway to wipe at his eyes. He clenched his jaw a few times, summoning up anger again so he wouldn’t be weak. When he barged into the bedroom, Caesar was sitting on the bed, his legs pulled up to his chin.

“Pack your things,” Nathaniel said. “We’re going home.”

Caesar’s eyes went wide. “Is this because I… Did I mess up?”

“This has nothing to do with you,” Nathaniel insisted, grabbing his backpack and shoving yesterday’s outfit into it. “Hurry up!”

Caesar had just hopped out of bed when there was a knock. Gramps was standing in the doorway. He gestured for Nathaniel to join him in the hallway. Nathaniel knew what was coming, but he followed on the off chance that he was wrong.

“Heading home?” Joe asked.

Nathaniel nodded, “Yeah.”

“It’s a twelve-hour drive. Don’t you think it’s too late to start?”

“Not that long,” Nathaniel replied. “I drive fast.”

“Even if you don’t take breaks and you manage not to get pulled over, you’ll be lucky to reach Houston by three in the morning.”

He shrugged. “I’ve stayed up later than that. I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will, but your grandmother doesn’t. She’ll be worried. You might be used to staying up late, but she’s not and won’t get a wink of sleep until you’re home. God forbid anything happens to you! She’ll only blame herself. She’s already sick with guilt, so I’m not asking you to stay for your own benefit, or even for mine. But if you respect that woman, you’ll stay and show her you’re okay. And that you don’t blame her.”

“I don’t,” Nathaniel mumbled.

“I know, but she needs more than just words to reassure her. One night won’t make a difference. I’ll even wake you tomorrow so you can get an early start. Deal?”

Nathaniel took a deep breath. Then he exhaled and nodded.

“That’s my boy.”

Gramps opened his arms for a hug again, and this time there was no getting around it. Nathaniel stepped forward, holding back tears as his grandfather squeezed him affectionately, which was weird because this was good news, right? He despised Dwight and had all but disowned the man he had once considered his father. Now he had discovered that he wasn’t related to either. And yet, a strange sense of loss hung over him.

Gramps patted him on the back a few times before ending the embrace. “Now go be a good host to your friend. He looked scared out of his wits.”

Nathaniel composed himself. When he returned to the room, Caesar was indeed a little wide-eyed, like he didn’t know what mood to expect next. After staring at him dumbly, Caesar resumed rushing around the room, gathering his things.

“Forget it,” Nathaniel said. “We’re staying another night.”

“Oh.” Caesar opened his mouth, no doubt about to ask what was wrong, before he thought better and snapped his jaw shut.

Nathaniel felt a twinge of guilt. “Later,” he said. “I need to get things straight in my head. Then we can talk.”

Caesar nodded, occupying himself with unpacking. Nathaniel watched him work, wondering how he would explain a situation he barely understood. And couldn’t. Not completely. Not until he had the missing puzzle pieces.

* * * * *

They tried to pass the evening as if nothing had happened. With Caesar there, neither Nathaniel nor his grandparents felt comfortable discussing the topic openly. Probably for the best, since all Nathaniel had were questions, and all they had were secrets. Perhaps in an effort to cheer him up, they ordered a cheesy comedy from pay-per-view, but the movie failed to provoke an ounce of amusement in him.

Afterwards, his grandmother changed tactics, putting on old home videos instead. These were indisputable proof that Nathaniel had been a happy, giggling child, smashing his hands gleefully through his first birthday cake or looking pensive as he rode a pony, his father walking beside him to make sure he remained securely in the saddle. His father. Not Victor. And when the ride came to an end and little Nathaniel was lifted off the pony, his arms wrapped instinctively around that man’s neck. As a child, he’d had no doubt. Only one man was his father, and back then Heath had still been perfect. Or had seemed so to him.

As the home videos continued, he began to view them with suspicion. What else in this picture-perfect world was false? What other secrets did the colorful birthday banners or sunny days at the beach conspire to hide? Then he started searching the background of each scene, almost expecting to see a guy with a mohawk casually leaning against a tree, watching his son from a distance. But Victor wasn’t anywhere to be found.

When the evening ended, Nathaniel hugged his grandmother good night, pretending not to hear her ask if he was feeling better. Then he made a detour to the kitchen, finding the photo on the table. He took it and went to meet Caesar in the bedroom. Nathaniel quietly closed the door behind him. Caesar was sitting on the edge of the bed, pajama bottoms already on as he worked at getting his head through a change of shirt. Nathaniel stared at the bare skin until it was covered by cotton. Then he moved to sit next to him.

“You were right,” he said, handing over the photo.

Caesar looked at the image before raising his head to search his eyes. He was a smart guy, enough that Nathaniel knew he wouldn’t need to explain. The emotional outburst earlier, the evening’s entertainment, all slotted into place nicely with this piece of information. The only thing Caesar didn’t know was a question Nathaniel also struggled to answer.

“I feel like I should say I’m sorry, but… Is this good news or bad?”