Gah!

The wind. It must have blown it back toward me when I threw it. I didn’t pick it up until I was through drinking my coffee. I just sort of stood there and stared at it. When I finally crouched down to retrieve it, I knew. You couldn’t get rid of the past. You couldn’t ignore it, or bury it, or throw it over the balcony. You just had to learn to live beside it. It had to peacefully co-exist with your present. If I could figure out how to do that, I could be okay. I took the penny inside and pulled my copy of Great Expectations off the bookshelf. I taped the penny to the title page and slid the book back in. There. Right where it belonged.

Chapter Thirty-Four

I kiss her as I slide my hand up her skirt. She pants into my mouth and her legs tense as she waits for my fingers to push past her panties. I let my hand linger at the place where the material meets her skin. I enjoy the chase. I don’t have sex with easy women. She says my name, and I tug at the material. I’m going to have sex with her. She’s beautiful. She’s funny. She’s intelligent.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I can’t do this.”

I pull away from her and drop my head in my hands. God.

“What is it?” She scoots closer to me on the couch and puts an arm around my shoulders. She’s nice. That makes it worse.

“I’m in love with someone,” I say. “She’s not mine, but this still feels like I’m cheating on her.”

She starts to giggle. My head jerks up to look at her.

“I’m sorry,” she says, covering her mouth. “That’s pathetic and a bit romantic, yeah?”

I smile.

“She in America, this girl?”

“Can we not talk about her?”

She rubs my back and pulls her dress down.

“It’s okay. You’re not really my type. I’ve just always wanted to bang an American. Like in the movies.”

She gets up and wanders over to my fridge. “This is a nice flat. You should buy some furniture.” She takes out two beers and carries one over to me. I look around the room guiltily. I’ve been here for two months and the only thing in the room is a couch the last owner left behind and a bed I purchased the day I got here. I need to make some purchases.

”We can be friends,” she says, sitting down next to me. “Now, tell me her name so I can Facebook stalk the girl who cockblocked me.”

I run a hand across my face. “She doesn’t have a Facebook. I don’t want to say her name.”

“Caleb…” she whines.

“Sara.”

“All right,” she says, standing up. “I’ll see you at the gym then. Call me if you want to get drinks. No sex attached.”

I nod and walk her to the door. She’s a nice girl. Even nicer to take that whole situation with such good humor.

When she’s gone, I pull out my computer. I order a kitchen table, a bed, and a living room set. Then I go through my emails. Almost everything in my inbox is work related. My mother emails me daily, but I’ve yet to respond to any of them. When I see my father’s name, I start. My mother must have told him I was back in London. I click on his name.

Caleb,

Heard you were back in town. Let’s get together for dinner. Call me.

That’s all he wrote to the son he hasn’t seen in five years. Eh. Why not? I pull out my phone and text the number in the email. Might as well get the reunion over with. Maybe he’d surprise me and be less of an ass**le than the last time I had dinner with him and he spent the entire two hours texting on his Blackberry.

He texts back almost immediately and says he’ll meet me at a local pub tomorrow night. I wander over to my bed and fall into it, still dressed.

My father hasn’t changed much in the five years since I’ve seen him. He’s greyer … maybe. And what gray he’s chosen to keep is probably as planned out as his tan — which I know has to be spray because he turns bright red in God’s sun.

“You look like me!” he says, before embracing me in a man hug.

I pat his back and sit down, grinning. God, I hate this bastard, but it’s good to see him.

He acts like we’ve been together every day for the last five years. It’s all an act. My father is a salesman. He could make a terrorist feel at home in an electric chair. I let him do his thing and drink heavily.

Finally, he gets down to why I’m here.

“It’s right up your alley, actually,” I tell him. “A woman I wanted who didn’t want me, and a kid I wanted to be mine and wasn’t.”

He grimaces. “That’s not up my alley, son. I get the women I want.”

I laugh.

“She must have had quite an effect on you to chase you out of your beloved America.”

I don’t answer that.

Suddenly, he sobers up. “I wanted to see my granddaughter. When I thought she was my granddaughter, that is.”

I watch his face for lack of sincerity but find none. He’s not blowing smoke up my ass or saying something to be polite. He’s aging and getting a taste of his mortality. He genuinely wanted to meet Estella.

“I heard your ex-wife is worst than my first ex-wife.” He smirks. “How did you manage that deal?”

“I’m the same type of fool as you, I guess.”

He smirks.

“Come over to the house for dinner. Meet my new wife.”

“Sure,” I say.

“She has a younger sister…”

“Ugh. You’re so sick.” I shake my head and he laughs.

My phone rings. It’s an American number. I look at my father, and he motions for me to take the call. “I’ll be back,” I say, standing up. When I answer, I immediately recognize the voice.

“Moira,” I say.

“Hello, my dear. I have news.”

“Okay…” My mind is spinning. I glance at my watch. It’s around two o’clock stateside.

“Are you sitting down?”

“Out with it, Moira.”

“When your ex-wife took Estella into the clinic to get the blood work done, she used Leah Smith on her paperwork instead of Johanna. There was another Leah Smith in the database-”

I cut her off. “What are you saying?”

“You got someone else’s results, Caleb. Estella is yours. Ninety-nine point nine percent yours.”