• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 271 0

was young when they split up. All I really remembered was that Mom cried a lot. Then we got an apartment, just the two of us, which she hated because she hated all apartments. But in the apartment she cried less. Then she met Haden, and she was happy. I was one of the few kids I knew growing up who didn’t want their biological parents to get back together. My childhood could run up a lot of psychologist bills. The whole no-daddy thing is supposed to be a big deal, I guess. I didn’t see it that way. Haden was around to teach me to play catch, to ride a bike, all that Norman Rockwell kind of crap. As far as I was concerned, Haden was my father. Kevin Hatfield could take a long walk off a short pier, preferably into a teeming mass of hungry, rabid sharks, if sharks can get rabies.

In my entire life, I hadn’t once entertained the thought of going out to visit Kevin Hatfield. I hadn’t needed to. Today, I needed to. I had to find my uncle Nick, and my biological father’s house was the way to start. No one knew where he was. My mom didn’t have his address or his phone number anymore, and she couldn’t remember where the cabin was. She’d only been there once, and that was around twenty years ago. He might not even live there now. But I had to track him down. It was the only way I could think of to get my binding removed.

The ferry ride to Bainbridge is a short one, only about thirty minutes. I spent the time above deck watching the ferry cut through the water. People milled about, and every once in a while, the door would swing open and I’d hear the guy with the acoustic guitar playing for change. Then the door would swing closed again and all I’d hear was the waves as the ferry cut through the water.

I’ve lived here my whole life, and I’ve never gotten sick of looking at Puget Sound or the Cascades. The day so far was clear and chilly as I leaned against the metal railings. It probably wouldn’t stay clear for long. Washington weather is fickle, spring weather doubly so. By the time the captain gave the five-minute docking warning, I was frosty on the outside and leaden on the inside. I really, really did not want to get off the ferry.

Arriving on Bainbridge Island is the opposite of arriving in Seattle. When you got in your car and waited to unload off the ferry in Seattle, you saw the Space Needle, cars, and a mound of urban construction. Once you exit the ferry terminal on Bainbridge, however, it’s mostly trees. Pine as far as the eye can see. Well, pines, firework and coffee stands, and eventually a casino. You drive through the Port Madison Indian Reservation when you leave the island. I couldn’t help but smile as I went past the casino. I didn’t really get gambling, since I’d never had money to throw away, but as I passed through all the beautiful countryside that I’m sure once belonged to the tribe, I sort of hoped they would rob the white man blind. Perhaps not politically correct, but the feeling was there all the same.

I found the Hatfield residence fairly easily. Online directories are wonderful things. Kevin’s house was huge. The stained wood seemed to grow right out of the forest around it. Whatever he did for a living, it paid well.

I knocked before I could talk myself out of it. The woman who greeted me must have been his wife, though she was younger than I expected. Elaine Hatfield couldn’t have been a day over thirty. Hell, I could date her. And if the thought of dating my theoretical stepmother hadn’t made me want to vomit in the bushes, I’d do it, too, just out of spite. Elaine was hot in a soccer-mom kind of way: curly blond hair, body-hugging sweater, and a smile so white it could only have come from the dentist. Mrs. W was right. I needed to get out more if I was finding Kevin’s wife attractive. I usually don’t have a thing for trophy wives.

“Can I help you?”

I had to clear my throat to get the reply out. “Is Mr. Hatfield home?”

“Not at the moment,” she said. She left it sounding like he’d be back in five. Probably in case I was a psycho.

“Actually, you would probably be the one to talk to,” I said,