Jack clapped me on the shoulder. "Thought I was going to be late," he said as he leaned past me and waved hello to Shay. "Wow, you said it would be small, but my sister had more people at her hamster's funeral. Is this really what he wanted?"

I looked at him. "This is bigger than he wanted. You and Shay are technically my guests, not his."

The cemetery had gone through the trouble of setting up a row of chairs along the grave, but they were empty. James Sheffield and a few business acquaintances, who I hardly knew, were standing around on the sloped green lawn talking amongst themselves. This was not going to be one of those funerals with hugs and handkerchiefs and charming anecdotes about the deceased. Just like the way he lived, Dad was leaving the world outside of the emotional bubble, a bubble he thought kept people from reaching their potential.

Dad's austere oak coffin sat on hoists, waiting to be lowered to his resting place. He'd asked for no flowers, but it seemed the funeral home had draped the coffin anyway. A man with a small book of verses and a badge that showed he worked for the cemetery greeted us as we reached Dad's eternal resting spot, a large, deep hole in the ground.

"Mr. Archer?" The man put out his hand. "I'm Stewart Brinks, your dad left specific instructions." He pulled out a piece of folded paper and cleared his throat. "I want no ceremony, and I don't need any kind words because they'll be—" He cleared his throat again and lowered his voice. "Bullshit. And I won't hear them anyhow. My son can let them know when he's ready for the grave workers to drop me in. These are my final instructions. David Nash Archer."

"Well, that's right to the point," Jack said.

"I'm going to head back to the funeral home," Brinks said. "I brought a book of prayer just in case you wanted to say a few words or maybe you'd like me to read some?"

"No, thank you. I'd like to stick to his instructions."

I walked up to the side of the grave. It was still impossible to think that my dad was inside. I'd spent nearly as much time fearing him as admiring him. He was the most complex person in the world, yet he was as predictable as the sun. The few other visitors who had gathered, probably more to see that he was really gone than to pay respects, watched and waited for me to speak.

I took a deep breath, thinking how little there was to say to these people. To me they were mostly strangers. They were all acquaintances through business. I was the only person in the world who truly knew my dad, but even I didn't know everything.

Jack stood nearby for support. Shay stood right next to me, close enough that if my little finger moved out it would graze her hand. "Good afternoon, everyone," I said to bring everyone's attention to the casket. "Thank you for coming to pay your respects. As you know, my dad was not big on ceremony or tradition. He wanted this simple graveside moment for the few people he considered important enough to see him off. If anyone would like to say something, please feel free to speak." There was some mumbling among the visitors, but it seemed there wasn't much to say about a man who never opened up or cultivated a friendship with the people around him.

"Nash," Shay whispered. "Look."

My eyes were drawn across the mosaic of headstones to the road running past the hillside. A woman in a wide brimmed black hat and black dress made her way across the vast stretch of lawn in heels. As she lifted her head to scout out the easiest path to the gravesite, the sun illuminated her face beneath the brim of the hat.

A jolt of something similar to adrenaline shot through me and my body tensed.

"Is that her?" Shay asked quietly.

Jack leaned in. "Is that who? Did I miss something? Who is that lady?"

I swallowed to relieve the dryness in my throat. "That's Lydia Odenkirk, my mom."

Jack fell into a rare moment of silence, but it only lasted a second. "No fucking way. So Jane Doe does exist?"

The woman, my mom, drew nearer, close enough that I could see the laugh lines crinkling around her green eyes, my green eyes.

"Are you all right?" Shay asked.

"I'm not sure."

Then, without warning, Shay's warm fingers reached out and she laced them through mine. I curled my fingers around hers and squeezed.

Lydia Odenkirk reached the grave. The other visitors watched her with curious interest as she walked past everyone to place a red rose on the casket. Her eyes swept around and landed on Jack for a second but then moved to me. She stared at me for a long moment.

We were total strangers, but an introduction seemed unnecessary.

"Did you want to say something, Lydia?" It was the first time I'd spoken to my mother. When I was little, I'd imagined talking to her a lot.

A light smile crossed her face. It was a good smile. Something else I'd imagined a lot too, and it didn't disappoint. "There's so much to say about him that it's impossible to start." Her voice was different than I imagined, deeper, more confident. She stepped up to the casket and placed her hand on it. "So I'll just say good-bye, David. And give yourself a break for a change. It's all right to relax sometimes."

She knew him too. It seemed there had been more to their relationship than a contract for a baby. Just like the contract I had with the woman holding my hand. Fuck, I was my dad's son through and through. I never wanted to be anything like him, but growing up with only him as my role model had sculpted me into his image.

I nodded to the cemetery workers that it was time to lower the casket. Lydia walked over to stand next to me as Dad's coffin disappeared into the hole. I could feel her looking at the side of my face but hadn't worked up the courage to look at her yet.

"David, you're even more handsome than your pictures."

I turned to look at her. She was as real as she was imaginary, as familiar as she was a total stranger. "You had pictures? I guess I did too." I pointed to my head. "Only mine were up here. And cookie dough, I always imagined you would smell like cookie dough."

Her laugh was musical, quiet, mom like. "I do like to eat cookies, but I'm a terrible baker." Lydia leaned over to see the woman standing next to me. "Hello."

Shay reached out her hand. "Hello, I'm Shay, a friend of David's."

"A beautiful friend," Lydia noted. "I wanted to thank you. Mr. Sheffield called this morning to let me know. You're far too generous. The stipend would have been more than enough. And I'm not entirely sure your father would have approved."

"Well, unfortunately for him, he no longer has control."

Lydia's smile softened some as she stared at me from beneath the brim of her hat. "I thought about you all the time, David. I hope it wasn't too terrible, all alone with him. I'd signed the contract to have his baby, but as I carried you, I grew more and more attached." There was a hint of a tremor in her voice. "I tried to back out of the contract, but I was dirt poor and your dad had the best lawyers money could buy." She adjusted the brim of her hat. "I'm sorry. This isn't the time or place—" I noticed every time she looked at me, she took a long moment to really look at me. Trying to find a resemblance maybe, or looking to see just how much of my dad was in me. More than I wanted there to be, that was for sure.

Lydia reached into her purse and pulled out a piece of paper. "This is my name and phone number. I would love it if we could meet for lunch. I want to hear all about your life, David."

"Nash," I corrected. "Everyone calls me Nash. And I'd like that too." I tucked the paper into my coat pocket.

Then Lydia unexpectedly hugged me. It was brief and more of a friendly hug between acquaintances than mother and son but then, thanks to my dad, that was exactly what we were—acquaintances. Strangers even, in a loose sense of the word. Two people who were connected by strands of DNA and nothing else. My father, DNA, had made sure of it. It should have made me hate him more, knowing that my mom had been nearby, holding my picture on occasion, thinking about me on occasion. But my hatred for the man had already reached its peak. It seemed all I could do now was learn more about him and figure out how to forgive him. All the while working hard not to become him.