We walk inside the house to our small living room. It’s furnished with a couch, a loveseat, and a recliner for my father. The walls are covered with five-by-seven framed photographs of Sam through the school years, my favorite being him in first grade with his top two front teeth missing. I lead him to the couch and we sit, our knees angling in toward each other. I don’t bother to beat around the bush. “That’s your dad, Sam. I located him, then went to see him about you. He’s a match. We can do the stem cell transplant.”
It’s a lot for my kid to handle. So much information overload in just those few words. But Sam has had to grow up very quickly. Knowing he had a father beyond his reach, that we were in some type of danger but not sure how, and learning he has cancer and could potentially die.
Sam leans away from me to peer out the front window to the driveway. “It looks like Grandpa is arguing with him.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Well, your grandpa is not happy, but your dad wants to take you to Vegas for the treatment and I’ve agreed to it.”
The fact I found a donor should have overjoyed my son. While he has tried to be brave and stoic, I know he’s terrified. Instead, he frowns. “Mom… you shouldn’t have gone. It was too dangerous for you to leave.”
I gather Sam close to me. Hugging him hard, I don’t let go. Because my kid is affectionate, he doesn’t even try to squirm away. He just lets me hug him. “I love you, Sam. I would do anything for you no matter the danger. No matter the risk. But you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
I feel him tug away from me, tucking his chin in so he can see my face. “Am I going to meet him? His name is August, right?”
Yes, Sam knows his dad’s name. When I felt he was old enough to know the truth, I told him all about August. I’ve had to remind Sam what his dad’s name is over the years because we don’t talk about him a lot. Usually only if Sam brings him up from some wayward curiosity.
“Baby, yes, you’re going to meet him,” I assure him, tousling his hair with my fingers. “He’s excited to meet you. And he’s thrilled he can help you….
“What’s he like?” Sam asks eagerly. Apparently, it’s only now settling in that he has a real dad and he’s here now.
“Well,” I drawl, trying to come up with something nice to say. There’s not anything recent I can latch on to, not given our interactions so far. Well, except for his willingness to do anything for Sam—sight unseen. Digging deep into my memories, I pull out the man I used to know. I have to assume some of the characteristics I loved are still there. “He’s funny, like you. Can make you pee your pants laughing.”
Sam’s eyes sparkle with excitement.
“And he’s nice. Loving.” Well, not to your mom, I think. But I trust he will be to his son.
I glance out the window. August and my dad are still arguing, both using hand motions and gestures.
My eyes go wide with shock when my dad leans into August and pushes him with both hands to his chest. August retreats a half step—not all that displaced since he’s so much bigger than my father—but his face clouds with anger.
I pop off the couch, grabbing Sam’s hand. “How about we go introduce you to your father?” I suggest quickly, knowing I need to calm the situation down.
Sam trots behind me. The minute we step on the porch, August’s watchful gaze comes to us. He doesn’t spare me a glance. Instead, his eyes rove hungrily over Sam, taking in every detail. I can tell he’s trying to memorize our son’s features.
My dad turns, spots us, and smooths his face out. He even gives Sam a tentative smile, but he’s not looking.
His attention is glued to his father, hope and happiness etched on his face.
CHAPTER 9
August
I’m not sure I have ever seen anything more beautiful in my entire life. Leighton wasn’t kidding… Sam looks a lot like me. Same brown hair that glints red in the sunlight. When he becomes a man and starts growing facial hair, it will be more red than brown. Same green eyes already fringed with super thick lashes that will get him picked on in school by the boys but will make all the girls swoon.
Those features aren’t what makes him beautiful, though.
It’s because he is a part of me. It’s because I had a part in creating that miraculous child.
I can’t help but think about how my first meeting with him should have went. With me holding Leighton’s hand while she struggled to push Sam into this world. Crushing my bones with strength I never knew she had while calling me all sorts of vile names, most likely threatening to never let me touch her again. My first meeting should have been him squirting out into the doctor’s hands before being lovingly placed—all red and squalling—into our arms so we could ooh and aah over how beautiful he was.
But this… while it’s not what I ever imagined, it’s perfect just the same.
Because he’s perfect, leukemia riddled, nine years I missed out on, and all.
The thing that amazes me most—and I’m sure I’ll reflect on it later—is that I don’t feel awkward while meeting him. Despite my anger toward Leighton and the fact I want to punch her dad’s lights out, despite not knowing this child, I don’t feel there’s anything strange about this moment. I don’t have the slightest bit of stress at all. The only thing I can assume is it’s because like knows like.
Leighton and Sam stop halfway across the yard. Her arm goes protectively around his shoulder. I know she stands prepared to do battle as a mama bear would, gearing up to protect her kid if things go wrong. I don’t know what Sam is feeling. I don’t want him to be scared or intimidated. However, the excitement on his face tells me he feels otherwise. Taking two steps toward him, I crouch so I can be more on his level.
Sam leaves his mother’s cocoon, showing no hesitation as he walks the rest of the way toward me. He’s tall and lanky the way I used to be. Shoulders thrown back confidently and I have to give testament to Rich and Leighton—they must have raised Sam right.
To be brave.
When he pauses before me, I smile. “Hey, Sam… My name is August.”
“You’re my dad,” he says in awe. A truth we all know.
I chuckle. “Yeah, I am. And I have to tell you—this is one of the happiest days of my life.”
Sam grins. “It’s one of mine, too.”
I wonder if he means because he’s finally meeting his dad or that I could potentially save his life. Probably both. I’m happy for the same reasons.
I twist to look over at Rich, and it hits me I don’t even know his name.
I mean his current name.
It was Rich before he went into hiding. Leighton never bothered to tell me what his new name is. Don’t care to be honest, but I’ll figure it out later. For now, I see he watches us cautiously.
I glance over at Leighton. She has one hand wrapped around her stomach, her other fist hovering in front of her mouth. Her expression is worried yet hopeful.
I meet my son’s eyes. “I’m not sure what the proper protocol is right now. Should we shake hands like men? Hug it out like father and son?”
Once again, this miraculous child—who could be dying but hopefully I can save—finds it within himself to smile with a love I did not know was possible. “I’m kind of a hugger by nature.”
That was all I needed to hear. Snagging my son, I tug him into my embrace, feeling such completeness as his arms wrap around my neck. I straighten, pulling Sam right along with me, his body weight nothing to my strength.
There’s no stopping the tears that flood my eyes.
♦
“Favorite football team?” Sam digs out another scoop of ice cream from the carton on the counter.
We’ve been left alone as Mike—Rich’s new name—and Leighton went to the grocery store to buy hamburgers for us to grill later. They wanted to give us time alone.
I have no clue if it’s appropriate since Sam’s appetite could potentially be ruined by the ice cream he asked for and I gladly allowed, but I fig
ure my first act as a father should be to unrepentantly spoil the kid to make up for lost time.
We’ve been trying to get to know each other—speed-dating style. “The Jets,” I reply.
Sam wrinkles his nose. “The Broncos are better.”
“Not going to argue with you, kid.” Sam struggles with the frozen ice cream the deeper he digs, so I take the scooper and help. As I plop it into the bowl, I ask, “Favorite food?”
Sam grimaces again. “These days… not much of anything. I haven’t felt like eating lately.”
And just like that, our happy reunion gets doused with a bucket of ice water. I dig out another scoop of ice cream, deeming the pile in the bowl sufficient, and push it toward him. “You feel like eating this?”
He nods, smirking as he takes his spoon. “Got to admit, ice cream always tastes good to me.”
“So you get your calories and nutrition as best you can,” I remark with a shrug. “You should eat all the ice cream you want then.”
“That’s what my mom says. She’s happy to see me eating anything these days.”
Leaning over, I press my forearms to the counter so we are eye to eye. “I know it’s been tough—I can’t even imagine—but I’m glad I can be a donor for you.”
Sam’s eyes twinkle. “Me too. And bonus… I get a dad.”
I watch as Sam attacks the ice cream. He eats it with gusto and I wonder if there’s something inside him that fears death, making him try to suck every bit of goodness out of what he can. The thought of him dying makes me want to vomit. Makes me feel completely out of control.
“Your mom and I were going to talk to you about it later,” I start. Perhaps because of the somber nature of my tone, Sam puts his spoon down and swallows the last bite in his mouth. “But we’re going to take you to Vegas for your treatment. It’s where I live. Where my job is. And I have the best doctors lined up for you. A fancy private plane lined up to fly you there, too.”
A smidgen of fear flits over Sam’s face. “My mom’s coming, too, right? And Grandpa?”
“Your mom for sure. Not sure if your grandfather can or not. He’s still under protection here.”
“Did my mom lose protection when she left?” he asks.
“Most likely,” I reply truthfully. “I mean… we haven’t actually spoken to anyone about it, but I know the rules are strict. It’s not something you need to worry about, though, since she’ll be safe with me.”
“Will I be in danger if I leave?”
It suddenly hits me like a sack of bricks—the enormous burden Leighton must have had on her shoulders… having to explain all of this to Sam. She could’ve taken the easy way out. Told him that she didn’t know who his father was. She could have made me out to be a bad guy—convinced Sam that I had left them. But she’d told him the truth. Even the ugly bit about her father and what landed them in their situation. She wanted her son to know exactly where he came from and what he was facing. I have to admit I respect the fuck out of her for it.
Because it’s enabling me to have a pretty deep conversation with my kid, and I can do so with complete transparency.
“You are going to be absolutely safe, Sam. Your mom, too. You’re going to stay with me until you’re admitted to the hospital for the transplant. And I am good at protecting people. It’s what I do for a living.”
Sam’s eyes widen and his mouth parts, forming a surprised “O”. “Really? What do you do?”
“Well, I used to be a police officer with the Vegas police department. I actually worked on their SWAT team.”
“That is so cool,” Sam exclaims.
“Now I work for a security company,” I explain. “I protect people, sometimes even rescue those who have been kidnapped.”
“Wow,” Sam breathes in a reverent gush of air. “And you can protect my grandpa if he comes, too, right?”
My face clouds over at his question. I can’t hide it. But I don’t want to keep anything from my son. “It’s complicated, Sam. Right now, your grandpa still has government protection while your mom most likely does not. We’re going to have to talk about it some more.”
And then Sam does something that—for as long as I live—I will never forget.
This child, who has known me for less than an hour, reaches over and sets his hand on top of mine. He looks me dead in the eye and with a conviction I have never seen in another person before, he firmly states, “It’s okay, Dad. I trust you.”
CHAPTER 10
Leighton
Today may have been one of the most exhausting days of my life. The stress of returning home with August, worrying about how my kid will react to all of this and, of course, fighting with my father about our future has my ass dragging. I just want to finish the last of the dishes from dinner, take a hot shower, and go to bed.
The day seemed like it went very well for August and Sam at least. They continued to get to know each other, my dad and August warily avoided each other, and I hovered nearby, ready to swoop in if Sam gave any indication anything was too much for him to process.
My kid is a trooper, though. Always has been. He’s taking it all in stride while making the best of it. I wonder if he gets that from me… Do I portray enough of a positive attitude about how we should handle our circumstances? I would hope so, but Sam has a natural light within him that always allows him to find his way even in the darkest of times.
He made sure to immerse August into his life today. Sam showed his dad every single toy in his room—including a description of where he got it and how it ranks in priority to his other belongings. He showed him the entire house and every picture we have framed. Took him around the neighborhood—but wisely introduced August as a “family friend”. I didn’t tell Sam to do that. He just knew his dad was probably somewhat still a secret to the outside world for safety sake.
Sam even made his dad take him in the car so he could show August all the things that were important in his life. Where he went to school, played football and baseball, and even his best friend’s house.
I have been continually amazed at how natural the progression of August and Sam’s relationship has been. Sam, of course, has the insidious enthusiasm of a child and doesn’t have filters by which adults process stuff. August, however, has handled everything about Sam with an ease and grace I did not know he had. I have no clue what his experience is when it comes to kids, but he talks on the perfect level for Sam. Which is not easy as my son is incredibly wise beyond his years, smarter than most nine-year-old kids. On top of that, he has pressures that are difficult to deal with that no child should have to bear. It can make communication difficult, yet I never saw August falter once.
That even includes my child’s penchant for asking blunt questions and expecting honest answers. And Sam is the type of kid who—if not answered with complete transparency—will not hesitate to call someone on the carpet.
He straight out asked August at dinner if he was mad or upset he had been kept a secret from him all these years. I about choked on my burger, my eyes snapping worriedly over to August. Truthfully, I expected August to give Sam a sunshine-and-rainbows answer because our child has leukemia and shouldn’t have to witness any ugliness between his parents.
To my surprise, though, August told Sam the truth. “Yeah. I’m mad at the circumstances. None of it was my choice… and it doesn’t feel good to have your choices taken away from you. But I also realize it’s complicated, Sam. I’m sure there was no easy answer. But I don’t want to focus on that. I want to focus on going forward, okay?”
I was stunned, especially when Sam just gave his father a sage nod as if he expected that answer and respected it. To give August credit, he didn’t say one negative thing about me. He, of course, alluded to those choices that were made, which are clearly all on me. But it is with a new level of respect I look at August now because he could have—and very much did have the right to—speak disparagingly about me. He could’ve truthfully answered that he did not like what I did
to him. Could’ve come out and said he was angry with me specifically. But he laced just enough ambiguity in with the truth, then added the balm of “complication” to explain why there’d been no good solutions to be had. Bottom line… August didn’t throw me under the bus even when he had the right to.
Although, I do have to wonder if he genuinely meant what he said. Was he being truthful when he said he doesn’t want to be mired in the past? Has he actually forgiven me?
All questions I have no clue as to the answers. August is currently tucking Sam into bed while I finish cleaning the kitchen. This is August’s very first time doing that sacred duty as a dad. As much as I want to peek in so I can have the memory to cherish, I inherently know I’d be intruding if I did. It’s a special moment between them, so it should only be about them.
My dad wanders into the kitchen, heading to the refrigerator to grab a beer. When he shuts the door, he leans his shoulder against it. “This is not a good idea.”
Of course, he’s talking about the whole plan to return to Vegas for Sam’s treatment. I pretend ignorance, though. “Don’t be ridiculous. August is great with Sam.”
My dad rolls his eyes, not falling for it. “He’s going to take Sam away from us.”
The vehemence in my father’s voice startles me. I turn to face him, drying my hands on the dish rag. “He’s not going to do that. I’ll always be with Sam.”
My dad leans in, lowering his voice. “Are you so sure? I can tell things aren’t good between you and August. He’s insisting Sam go to Vegas… and why do you think that is? August wants to take Sam away from you. He’s going to make you pay for keeping him away from his son for all these years.”
I give a nervous laugh. “You’re being paranoid.”
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