He asks a very good question. I scratch at my pec, over the red embroideredBeauthat just happens to sit on top of my Brando tattoo.
“Her fucking tool of an ex is an entertainment lawyer. And he left her for someone else.”
Atticus scratches at his jaw before reaching for the socket wrench, which I hand back to him after he slides the oil pan from beneath the car. “What’s that got to do with you?”
I shrug. “What if she associates money and success with guys who eventually treat her badly?”
Atticus, surprising us both, rises to his feet. He drops his dirty hands on my shoulders and looks down at me, his dark eyes serious and menacing.
“We’re friends, so I’m gonna tell you this; you got your money and success from your daddy. And more importantly, it’s not about what you have; it’s about who you are. How you treat her. How you treat her kid. Rich people don’t have to be soulless, ruthless pricks. They get that way because they think they’re above everyone, and live that life. Then they do shit they think is okay because the world has told them their wealth has put them above morals.” His fingers squeeze my shoulders. “That’s not you and that’s never gonna be you, because your daddy instilled good shit, right here.” He drops a hand from my shoulder, tapping my sternum with two closed knuckles.
“Now help me with this oil change before I fuckin’ kill you. And then you can go tell your girl who you are. Because trust me, man, I know what I’m talking about.”
I don’t bring up the fact that Atticus is persistently single because I know he’s right.
Ihaveto tell her and stop being so fucking afraid of losing everything. After work, I’m going to drive up north and meet my birth father and maybe he can shed light onto why my dad would have told me about him in the first place.
Time to tackle my fears at the root and move the fuck on.
Forthem.
* * *
Gerald Horsach.
Maybe the guy is special, but his name doesn’t do anything to me. I’m not interested, I’m not repeating it while I stare endlessly out the windshield on my hour-long drive up north to meet him. It’s just the name of a person who seemingly means nothing to me.
But when I say Graham Burns, my insidescrumple. My heart aches, my stomach rolls over and my eyes sting. Because Graham Burns was my father and he was a tremendous, smart, and honorable man.
I tap the touch screen centering the dashboard of my car and lower the temperature a few degrees. Even though it’s still a little chilly out, I didn’t wear my dad’s leather jacket because I was cold. I wore it today because I needed to feel close to the man who raised me.
The same man who gave me this upending information about my life then had the audacity to go off and die without so much as an explanation as to why he told me or… anything else, really.
A partial smile ironically curls half my lips when I think about how my real father has, according to a White Pages search, lived just an hour from me for myentirelife.
That’s right, it seems that Gerald Horsach is a lifer in Lakeside. Is that where he met my mother?
I don’t know much about my mother. I have no recollection of her.
Graham always told me that he had her name and if I ever wanted to explore her life or learn more about her, he would help me.
I never wanted to.
See, growing up with Graham Burns, the greatest fucking father ever, I never, ever felt like I was missing anything. I realized watching Jett and Beck together that I did miss a lot of things that probably would have made me into a man that didn’t drink his feelings for a year, or maybe not. Who knows.
But now that I have my real father’s name and am minutes away from his property, I wonder about my mother, too.
Maybe they were young and not prepared to have a kid and gave me up? Maybe they wanted to keep me, but their family wouldn’t allow for it? I don’t know. As I sift a hand through my hair, my car telling me I have one more turn to make before my destination, I let out a shaky breath.
I try to prepare myself for the worst-case scenario.
Maybe he won’t be home.
Maybe he’ll be dead, and the White Pages just hasn’t been updated yet.
Maybe he won’t actually live here.
Maybe I won’t meet him today.