Proving Paul's Promise(68)

Hayley eats her sandwich and some chips, and I send her to take a bath. She’s tired, so I read her a quick story afterward and tuck her into bed, but as soon as I do, there’s a knock on the door. I hope it’s Friday and that she’s just forgotten her key, but I open the door to find two police officers with their hats stuck under their arms.

Oh f*ck, which one of my brothers did something now?

“Mr. Reed?” one of them asks. He looks down at his notepad.

“Yes.” My heart starts to thump. What if someone is hurt? What if someone was in an accident?

“Mr. Paul Reed?” he asks.

I nod because I doubt a squeak could leave my throat.

“May we come in?”

I step to the side, and they enter the room. They walk to the sofa and take a seat. One of them holds out a file and opens it up. He looks at me. “Can you confirm that you are the son of Mr. Max Reed of this address?”

“Yes. But he wasn’t of this address. He’s been gone a long time.”

He gazes at me warily. “But he did once live here?”

“Yes, he’s my father.”

The man’s gaze turn sympathetic. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Reed, but we have unfortunate news. There was an old warehouse on the other side of town that was being demolished, and your father’s body was found inside.”

I fall into my chair because my legs won’t hold me up. “What?” All this time and he has been in the same city?

“We were alerted that there was a body that was found during demolition.”

I scrub a hand down my face.

“How long has your father been gone?”

“Years.”

“That makes more sense then,” he says. “The coroner says the death happened years ago.” He pulls a picture from the stack and shows it to me. I avert my eyes because I’ve seen enough. I remember that shirt like I just saw it yesterday. It was his favorite. He wore it all the time, and my mother hated it because it had a curse words on the back of it with a picture of someone flipping the bird.

“He was wearing that shirt the day he left.” The day I kicked him out. I jab the heels of my hands against my eyes and scrub.

“He most likely died around that time. Maybe even the same day. It’s hard to say. His body was fairly well preserved as he was stuffed into a freezer in the basement of a building.”

Oh holy hell. I get up and start to pace. Bile rises up my throat, but I swallow it back.

“Would it be possible for you to come to the station with us?” he asks.

“I have a daughter,” I say.

“Is there anyone you can call to come and stay with her?” He looks kind but firm. I get the idea that this isn’t a choice.

I nod and pick up the phone. But I can’t call my brothers. If I did, I’d have to tell them that Dad died the day I kicked him out. I let them think he left all those years ago. But he didn’t. I threw him out. And now he’s dead.

I dial. “Hey, Kells, can you come over and get Hayley?” I ask. “I have to do something.”

“Why?” she asks.

“It’s an emergency.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re her f*cking mother and I need for you to come and get her,” I say. “Take her home with you.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Fuck, I’m opening up a whole can of worms, but I can’t tell my brothers yet. I just can’t.





Friday

The feeling is sweet when Henry and I go and drop Jacob off. Henry taught him the slap game, and they played it on and off all night. Jacob was actually pretty good at it and learned to flip his hands quickly. I’d like to think I have something to do with what a good kid he is, but I’m not sure that’s the case.

When we drop him off, I can hear Jill run down the stairs and her hair is all messed up so I can just imagine what kind of “date” she had tonight. I just hope they had a good time, and I’m happy to see that they have such a good relationship. She takes Jacob from me and invites me to come back another day, preferably one when her husband is home and not in bed so I can meet him, too. I agree. I’d love to.

Then Henry and I go to his house. He crooks his arm, and I slide my hand into the vee he made for me. He smiles down at me. “When I met Nan, she made my heart go pitter-patter just by doing what you’re doing,” he tells me softly. “She would touch me, and it was like someone shot me with a lightning bolt.”

“I’m sorry I make you remember,” I tell him.

He pfftt’s me. “Oh, I love the memories. They keep me going.” He taps the end of my nose, and I close my eyes and laugh at him. “When you’re as old as me, I hope you have half as many good memories.”

“I plan to.”

“It’s good to have plans.”

We walk quietly to his house, and I gather my suitcase. “Thanks for taking care of me, Henry,” I say quietly, and I step up to kiss his cheek.

“Thanks for giving me something to worry about,” he says. “Sometimes it gets lonely when you’re old and by yourself. It’s good to have a problem to work out in your head.”

“Particularly when it’s not yours.” I laugh.