The Hiding Place

grand unifying theory of her father-why did he refuse to speak about the past? Why did he not cry at Justin’s funeral? Why did he throw those photos away? Because Justin wasn’t his? And the fact that it started to make sense made Janet feel even worse.

Her dad had known all along and didn’t tell Janet. Her mom must have known all along and never told. Who were these people after all?

Janet walked back out to the living room and into the kitchen. The lights were off, the late-afternoon sun slanting in through the back window. The trees in the yard provided shade and made the kitchen darker than the rest of the house during the summer. He was there, sitting at the kitchen table, an open bottle of beer in front of him. He didn’t say anything when he saw her, but he studied the look on her face.

“Is Ashleigh home?” Janet asked.

He shook his head. “She’s out with that boy.”

It looked to Janet like he knew, like he was anticipating the very question she was about to ask, but she asked anyway.

“Why did you provide that DNA sample, Dad?”

He nodded his head. There was nothing left to hide. He asked her to sit down across the table from him, and she did.

“It’s true,” he said. “That’s why I gave the sample to the police. I suspected it was true. Believed it really, all these years. I saw this as an opportunity to end the speculation for both of us.”

“You knew?”

“I suspected,” he said. “Your mother suspected, too. Nobody knew for sure. Nobody ever did a test or anything. Until now.”

“You wanted them to find out? With this test?”

“There’s no other way to prove it,” he said. “And I wanted you to find out. I thought you should know. This business with Justin and this man in the jail, I watch it tearing you apart. And now Ashleigh’s getting involved. We don’t need it, Janet. It was time to end it, and I hoped this would be the thing to do it.”

“Who’s Justin’s father?”

“I figured you would be able to guess already. It’s someone who was close to us at one time.”

Janet started to speak, then stopped herself. She thought about it.

“Ray Bower,” she said.

Her dad nodded. “Our best friends, the Bowers. Your best friend, too. Michael. Your mom and Ray had an affair back when you all were little.”

Her father didn’t meet her eye. He looked at the tabletop as he spoke. She saw the pain etched on his face, something that hadn’t left him even after twenty-five years. She thought about backing away and not making him relive all of it. But her desire-her need-to know outweighed any concern she felt for her dad. She’d waited too long to know these things, things she didn’t even know she needed to know.

“Did you know about this when Justin was born?”

He sipped his beer. “No. I suspected something was going on between them before Justin was born. They were awfully cozy, the two of them. More than you would expect from a man and a woman who are just supposed to be friends. But when Justin was born, I tried to put those thoughts aside. Your mother was a good mother-she really was. You know that, right?”

“I do.”

“I don’t want that memory to change for you. This story doesn’t invalidate what she was to you or what you remember her to be. You got that?”

“I’ve got it, Dad.”

“She was devoted to both of you, you and Justin. But when Justin was about two, I guess, things started to change again. I noticed the flirtations between her and Ray, just like before. They made jokes that only the two of them laughed at. They shared looks, you know?” He shook his head. “I hate to even say it. It makes me sound like a goddamned woman. But I knew something was going on there. Hell, maybe I even accepted it a little bit. I thought whatever it was would blow over, that it would cool off. I thought as long as we had the kids, your mother and I, that it wouldn’t matter what went on with anything else. I guess I thought that would trump everything. Little did I know.”

“No one could blame you for saying or doing anything.”

“I know. But I didn’t do anything. I just stewed. I think I deserve more blame for that, for just sitting there and taking it like an asshole.”

He stood up and placed his empty beer bottle in the sink. He reached into the refrigerator and brought out another one, twisted the cap off, and drank.

“Would you get me that wine?” Janet asked.

He grabbed the wine bottle and a glass and brought them to the table. He sat down with his beer while Janet poured her own drink. She needed it to listen to the rest of his story.

“Remember how fair-haired Justin was?” he asked. “Completely blond?”

“Sure.”

“Neither your mom nor I were blond, even as kids.”

“But that doesn’t mean anything.”

“He didn’t look like me, Janet. I could tell. I know you don’t like to think about it, but you look like me. But Justin, do you know who he looked like? His coloring, the shape of his mouth?”

“Michael.”

“Right. I wouldn’t have thought about it, but my suspicions made me look at those things closely. Janet, this is awful to say, but Justin just never felt like my kid. Not like you did. Not even the way Ashleigh does. Something told me he wasn’t mine.”

“But you never asked Mom?”

“Never. I didn’t want to know the answer. I came close a hundred times. Lying in bed, sitting at this table.”

“So you never talked about it?”

“We talked about it. Once. One day. That’s when I found out everything for sure.”

Janet tried to remember the times she had seen her father cry. She could remember only one-at her mother’s funeral. Janet’s recollections of Justin’s funeral were fuzzy, so she could rely only on Madeline’s memories and the words she heard from her father in the kitchen. But it seemed safe to say he’d shed tears only for her mother, and while he silently cried in the kitchen, his shoulders shaking a little, his face buried in his hands, she decided she really didn’t know what to do. She stood up and came around to his side of the table and placed her arm around his back. He didn’t acknowledge the gesture, but it seemed to bring him relief. His tears slowed and then stopped pretty quickly after that, and Janet returned to her chair after first grabbing a box of tissues off the counter and placing them in front of her dad.

He used one to wipe his face, his big hand making the gesture seem odd and almost comical. He took another drink and cleared his throat.

“I’m still crying over her,” he said. “Like a fool.”

“I think we can all relate to having strong feelings for someone, whether it’s good for us or not,” Janet said. “When did you talk to her about all of this?”

“About the affair?”

“Yes.”

“The day Justin died.”

“That’s when she told you?”

“That morning. Before we knew anything was wrong. That’s why I didn’t go to work that day. And when the police came, we told different stories. Mom said I was home, but I said I went in to work like any other day. I lied. I knew I didn’t go, but I lied to them because I didn’t want to have a bunch of questions asked. ‘Why didn’t you go in to work as usual?’ That kind of thing. I tried to keep it simple by not telling the truth. Later that day, Mom changed her story because I told her I didn’t want people to know the real reason I was home that day. It was embarrassing. And it really didn’t matter, because Justin was gone, and that was everybody’s focus.”

“Did the police ask you about the contradiction then?”

“I kept expecting them to, but they didn’t. I don’t know why. I think once they heard about a suspect being in