Chapter 6 - The Brother He Never HadMichael met Daniel Hayes at LaGuardia Airport.
He recognized him immediately.
Not because they looked alike.
They didn't.
Daniel was shorter, broad-shouldered, with silver in his beard and hands roughened by decades of carpentry.
Michael recognized his eyes.
Thomas Sterling's eyes.
He'd seen them in photographs the previous week.
Daniel stopped several feet away.
"Michael."
"Daniel."
Neither knew whether to shake hands.
They settled for it.
"You're taller than I expected," Daniel said.
"You're less angry than I expected."
"Give me time."
Michael laughed.
Daniel did too.
It helped.
On the drive to Claire's house, Michael asked the question.
"Why were you looking for me?"
Daniel watched the city through the window.
"Because of something my adoptive father gave me before he died."
"What?"
"A letter."
"From my mother?"
"From your father."
Michael nearly missed a light.
"My father wrote to you?"
"Not exactly."
Daniel reached into his jacket and handed Michael an envelope.
Peter Sterling's handwriting.
Thomas's Boy.
Inside was a letter never mailed.
Daniel,
You will probably grow up believing people abandoned you.
Some did.
Some didn't.
Michael stopped reading.
"Where did your father get this?"
"Peter sent it to my adoptive parents with instructions to give it to me when I turned twenty-one. They didn't."
"Why?"
"They were afraid I'd go looking."
Michael continued.
Peter admitted that Thomas was Daniel's father.
He did not admit the stolen inheritance.
But he wrote about Margaret.
About Eleanor.
And Michael.
Your cousin Michael met you once. He was too young to remember. Perhaps that's better. I have spent my life believing family is something a man controls. Thomas believed family was something a man chooses.
History may decide which of us was right.
Michael folded the letter.
"He knew."
"Yes."
"He knew what he was doing."
"Yes."
"And still did it."
Daniel nodded.
Michael stared ahead.
"I spent years defending him."
"You were his son."
"Is that supposed to excuse me?"
"No. It's supposed to explain you."
The same distinction Harold had offered.
Road.
Destination.
When they arrived, Eleanor was in the kitchen with Anna.
Michael entered first.
Then stepped aside.
Daniel appeared in the doorway.
Eleanor dropped her cup.
It shattered.
Nobody moved.
Daniel's eyes filled.
"Hi, Ellie."
Eleanor covered her face.
He crossed the room.
This time there was no hesitation.
He wrapped his arms around her.
Eleanor made a sound Michael would remember for the rest of his life.
Not a cry.
Something deeper.
The sound of grief finally discovering it had an ending.
"I'm sorry," she repeated.
Daniel held her tighter.
"You came back."
"I tried."
"I know."
"I couldn't find you."
"I know."
"I never stopped—"
"I know."
Anna stood near the counter.
Daniel saw her.
His expression changed.
"Anna."
She crossed her arms.
"You remember me?"
"You taught me how to tie my shoes."
Anna burst into tears.
"God, I hated you."
Daniel laughed through his own tears.
"I stole your cereal."
"You stole everything."
"I was four."
"I was sixteen."
Then Anna walked forward and hugged him too.
Michael quietly left the room.
He found Claire outside on the porch.
Snow had begun falling.
"Mom should be here," Claire said.
"Maybe this is what she wanted."
"Do you forgive Dad?"
Michael stared into the yard.
"No."
Claire nodded.
"Do you hate him?"
"No."
"That's inconvenient."
"Extremely."
They stood silently.
Then Daniel came outside.
"Ellie's asking for you."
Michael returned.
Eleanor was holding the scratched silver angel.
"I want you to have it."
Michael shook his head.
"No."
"Your mother—"
"Said it belongs where the family is whole."
Eleanor looked around the room.
Anna.
Daniel.
Claire.
Michael.
Her grandson.
"No family is whole," Eleanor said.
Michael smiled.
"Maybe this is close enough."
She placed the angel on the table.
Daniel pulled something from his coat.
A small wooden train.
Michael stared.
"The train from the locker?"
"No."
Daniel turned it over.
D.R. was carved beneath it.
"My adoptive parents gave me this when I arrived. Apparently it came with me."
Michael remembered sitting beneath a Christmas tree with Daniel.
Two boys pushing a train between wrapped presents.
"I remember breaking the wheel."
Daniel examined it.
One wheel was different.
"You did this?"
"I think so."
"Then you owe me a train."
"I can afford one."
"Show-off."
They laughed.
It felt strangely natural.
Later, Michael and Daniel discussed the inheritance.
Daniel had made his decision.
Any restored shares would go into a trust.
Part to his daughters.
Part to Angel House.
And part toward locating people separated from family through historic adoption and foster-care records.
Michael agreed.
"You know this could be hundreds of millions."
Daniel shrugged.
"I make good cabinets."
Michael stared at him.
"You're insane."
"Sterling blood."
That night Eleanor asked Michael to walk with her.
They returned to Grand Central.
The same place.
Different night.
"Why did you stop?" she asked.
"What?"
"Christmas Eve. Thousands of people passed me. Why did you stop?"
Michael thought about it.
"I don't know."
"I do."
He looked at her.
"You looked tired."
"That's insulting."
"You looked like Margaret."
He laughed.
"Now that's insulting."
"Not your face."
Eleanor touched his cheek again.
"Here."
His eyes softened.
"She spent years carrying things nobody could see."
"So did you."
"So did you."
They stood beneath the terminal lights.
Michael finally asked something he'd avoided.
"What happened Christmas Eve, 1981? The blood on her blouse."
Eleanor became quiet.
"Peter didn't hit her."
Michael looked surprised.
"Then?"
"Margaret had gone to retrieve Daniel herself. She slipped outside the foster office and cut her arm on a broken window."
Michael exhaled.
For days he'd pictured his father striking her.
"He grabbed her wrist later. He threatened her. He controlled her. But I won't give him a crime he didn't commit."
"Thank you."
"Truth matters."
Michael nodded.
Eleanor reached into her pocket.
She had one final envelope.
"I found this mixed with Margaret's letters."
Michael opened it.
The envelope was addressed:
TO MICHAEL, WHEN HE FINALLY STOPS RUNNING.
He smiled.
"Sounds like her."
Inside, Margaret had written:
Mikey,
If Claire gives you this, I assume everything has become spectacularly complicated.
Good.
You always learn more from complicated things.
There is one promise left.
Michael read the next paragraph.
Then stopped.
"What?"
Eleanor asked.
Michael looked toward the great clock above Grand Central.
His mother had left instructions.
Not about Daniel.
Not about money.
About Christmas.
Every year, Margaret had anonymously paid for one hundred families to travel home for Christmas when they couldn't afford tickets.
She had started in 1982.
The year after Eleanor lost Daniel.
Margaret called it The Way Home.
After her death, the payments stopped because nobody knew the account's purpose.
Michael's eyes burned.
Eleanor read over his shoulder.
At the bottom Margaret had written:
Nobody should lose someone because the road home costs too much.
Michael folded the letter.
"I know what Angel House needs to do."
Eleanor smiled.
"So do I."
One year later, The Way Home would become one of the largest family-reunification travel programs in the country.
But before that happened, Michael still had one promise to keep.
May you like
Christmas was twelve months away.
And this time, nobody in their family would spend it alone.
