They left the graveyard and drove straight to the old Bingham family home.
“This is it,” Liz said as their car idled at the curb in front of a modest, ranch-style home. “Even in the dark, I can recognize it from the newspaper photo we found online.”
“Do you remember it?”
“A little.” She got out of the car and walked up the driveway.
Dorian turned off the engine and followed. “Do you think he still lives here?”
“Anything seems possible with all I’ve learned these past weeks. We at least need to ask,” she explained while they climbed the two steps up onto the expansive porch.
They stood side by side as Liz pressed the doorbell. After a series of gongs and chimes, an old woman answered the door. She wore pink pearls and cat-eye glasses like a character straight out of the musical Grease. Her hair was neatly coifed but had gone completely gray without the slightest hint of dye.
“May I help you, sugar?” she asked with a thick, raspy drawl.
“We’re looking for the man who used to live here,” Liz said with a smile she hoped would communicate the harmlessness of their visit. “Charles Bingham?”
The woman shook her head. “No, I don’t know anyone by that name. Sorry, shugs.”
“Thank you for your time,” Dorian said, nodding to the woman before she closed her door shut.
“Well, that was a dead end,” Liz said with a sigh.
“It’s something we can cross off the list, which means we’re that much closer in our search.” Dorian draped an arm over her shoulder as they walked back down the driveway.
Liz stopped walking partway down and stooped to run her hands over the spiky grass. “I remember having a little pool shaped like a turtle, right here on this lawn. Mom would pull out a lawn chair and sip on a giant glass of sweet tea while I splashed away the afternoon.” She closed her eyes for a moment and relived one of those days in her mind. When she reopened them, she saw Dorian had knelt beside her.
“Sweet tea sounds good,” he said, helping her back up to her feet. “Should we go get some—and maybe dinner, too—while we figure out our next steps?” They reached the car, and he opened her door for her.
After a short drive around town, they found a restaurant with so many cars parked around it, some had pulled up onto the grass.
“This one,” Liz said, pointing its way.
“Are you sure? Looks like it will be a long wait.”
“But that means it’s good, right?” Liz poked his arm playfully and even winked at him. “And besides, we have all the time in the world.”
Despite the obvious rush, they were seated right away. They both ordered the house favorite and giant glasses of tea—sweet tea for Liz and an Arnold Palmer for Dorian.
“I think we should try calling him again,” she said as they waited for the server to bring out their twin platters of barbequed chicken with a side of homemade macaroni and cheese.
“You sure?” Dorian asked before taking another long gulp of his drink.
She nodded. “I am. One way or another, we have to find him.”
“But what if you already know everything there is to know? What if meeting him only disappoints you—or worse—hurts you?” He reached across the table to stroke her hand. His eyes begged her to be careful with her heart, both where Bingham was concerned and otherwise.
“That’s a risk I have to take.” Liz squeezed his hand and let it go, dropping both of hers into her napkined lap. “If not, I’ll always wonder. I’ll always expect to find him around the next corner, waiting for me.”
“And that’s no way to live a life.” Dorian stood and pulled his phone out of the pocket. “I saved his number under Warwick, because you know, that’s what I thought his name was. Here, you call this time. Leave a message if you want to.”
Liz took a deep breath before accepting the phone. Even though calling had been her idea, she immediately pressed the button to call before she could lose her nerve. The line rang several times before clicking over to voicemail.
“Should I leave a message?” she asked Dorian in a sudden state of panic.
“Might as well,” he answered with a gesture encouraging her to go ahead.
The phone beeped, and Liz spoke in a hurry. “Hi, it’s Liz. I mean, Janie. I recently found out that you’re my father, and I’d really like to meet you, if that’s okay. You can call me back on this number. I’m with Dorian in Charleston. Umm, tomorrow morning we’ll be at the Golden Meadow Stables, if you wanted to meet up there. I’d really like the chance to get to know you. I hope you get this. Bye.”
She finally allowed herself to breathe as she handed the phone back to Dorian. He was her father. He’d been looking for her nearly three decades. He wanted to meet her, too. So why did she feel so frightened by the prospect?
“So the Stables tomorrow then?” Dorian asked.
“Do you think he’ll turn up?” she asked, still trembling from the rush of the call.
He shrugged and played with his straw, spinning it around in his nearly empty glass. “Honestly, I’ve stopped assuming to know what that man will do next. I hope so, though.”
“Me too,” Liz said, which was half true.
Just because something’s scary doesn’t mean it’s not worth doing, she told herself as the waiter plunked down their meals before them.
They said the truth will set you free, but sometimes it felt like the truth had made Liz a prisoner in her own life. Would meeting Bingham change all that? Or would it be like putting on even more shackles?
There was only one way to find out…