Chapter 7 - Finding Michael
The search took eleven days.
Not eleven dramatic days.
Mostly boring ones.
Old addresses.
Disconnected numbers.
Emails that bounced.
Claire searched public records.
Evelyn remembered a repair shop in Cincinnati.
Mrs. Walker called her late husband’s old coworker.
A trail formed.
Michael Bennett had lived in Ohio.
Then Kentucky.
Then back in Tennessee.
Finally Claire found a business registration.
Bennett Woodworks.
Franklin, Tennessee.
Less than thirty miles away.
David stared at the address.
“He came back.”
Claire nodded.
“Six years ago.”
David sat down.
All that time.
Michael had been thirty minutes away.
David drove to Franklin alone.
Then turned around halfway there.
The next day, he tried again.
Bennett Woodworks operated from a small industrial unit behind a row of auto shops.
David parked across the street.
A man stepped outside carrying a wooden chair frame.
Gray hair.
Broad shoulders.
Slight limp.
David knew him instantly.
Michael.
Older.
Of course.
But unmistakable.
David sat gripping the steering wheel.
Michael looked toward the truck.
Their eyes met.
Neither moved.
Finally Michael put the chair down.
David stepped out.
Twenty-five years collapsed into twenty feet of asphalt.
Michael folded his arms.
“You lost?”
David almost laughed.
“No.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you.”
Michael stared.
“You’ve had my address before.”
David flinched.
“How did you—”
“Mom mailed Christmas cards.”
David looked down.
Of course.
Michael wiped sawdust from his hands.
“You should go.”
“I need to apologize.”
“You needed to apologize in 1998.”
“I know.”
“In 2004.”
“I know.”
“In 2011 when Dad died.”
David looked up sharply.
Michael’s expression changed.
“You didn’t know I was at the funeral?”
“No.”
“I stood across the street.”
David’s face collapsed.
Michael laughed once.
Bitterly.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.”
David nodded.
“I won’t ask you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
“I came to tell you the truth is out.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed.
“What truth?”
“Noah found a picture.”
“Who’s Noah?”
“My son.”
For the first time, Michael’s expression shifted.
“You have a son.”
“He’s ten.”
Michael looked away.
David continued.
“He was doing a family tree.”
Michael laughed quietly.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“He found you.”
“No. He found a photograph.”
“No.”
David shook his head.
“He found you.”
Michael stared.
“He asked why I erased you.”
The anger left Michael’s face.
Only for a second.
“What did you tell him?”
“That I was a coward.”
Michael looked toward the workshop.
“That’s a start.”
David swallowed.
“I told Claire too.”
“Your wife?”
“Yes.”
“Bet that went well.”
“It didn’t.”
Michael almost smiled.
Then stopped himself.
David reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded copy of the newspaper clipping.
“I’m going to correct it.”
Michael frowned.
“What?”
“Publicly.”
“Why?”
“Because I let people believe you did something I did.”
Michael’s voice hardened.
“You think a Facebook post fixes prison?”
“No.”
“A newspaper correction?”
“No.”
“My twenties?”
“No.”
“Dad?”
“No.”
Michael stepped closer.
“Then don’t do some grand public performance because guilt finally got inconvenient.”
David nodded.
“You’re right.”
That seemed to surprise him.
David continued.
“I’ll do it anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s true.”
Silence.
Michael studied his brother.
Then he said, “Your kid really asked about me?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
David smiled sadly.
“He wanted to know why you weren’t on the tree.”
Michael looked down.
For the first time, his eyes filled.
He turned away.
“Go home, David.”
David nodded.
He walked toward his truck.
Behind him, Michael spoke.
“Thursday.”
David turned.
Michael kept his back toward him.
“I close at six.”
David waited.
“Come at six-thirty.”
David could barely speak.
“Okay.”
Michael looked over his shoulder.
“Don’t bring your wife.”
May you like
David nodded.
Then Michael added, “Bring the kid.”
