Mitch looked around the table, his eyes stopping briefly on each of the other people before returning to the mug of coffee Bea had set before him. “You’re telling me that my mother, Juniper Marie Jensen, had a baby, gave him up, and then lived the rest of her life as if nothing happened? And she never told a soul?”

“Dad.” Bea’s voice was sympathetic but firm. “We’ve been over the whole thing three times now.”

He wrinkled his forehead. “It’s just so hard to believe. I can’t wrap my mind around it.”

Even after Ken had shown him a copy of a birth certificate that listed J. Reynolds as the mother of a baby born on a date that was most definitely not his birthdate . . . even after Bea repeated her entire conversation with Aunt Gladys, which Mitch at first dismissed as the ramblings of a senile old woman before feeling bad and recanting . . . even after looking into his own eyes, the ones he and he alone had always shared with his mother, which stared back at him from across the table, he was still struggling to come to grips with the truth.

He narrowed his eyes at Jeremy. “And you just posted our address on the internet?”

Jeremy raised his hands. “No, I—”

“That’s my fault,” Ken interrupted. “Once I had some names to go on, it wasn’t hard to find your house.”

“But why come here?” Mitch asked.

Ken hesitated. “I thought it would be easier . . .”

Everyone waited.

“If I was going to find out my biological family wanted nothing to do with me”—Ken struggled to meet Mitch’s eyes—“I thought it would be easier coming from you.”

Mitch tried to put himself in Ken’s shoes. Though it had taken a lot of courage on Ken’s part to come all this way, the man had no definitive proof to back up his claims. Yes, Mitch’s mother was in Chicago the summer Ken was born. Yes, her maiden name was Reynolds, and Great-Aunt Gladys had corroborated the story. But still. Mitch just couldn’t believe—

“I know what you’re thinking.” Ken drummed the table with his fingers, something Mitch often found himself doing, as well. “Maybe this whole thing is a long shot. But I’d really like to visit her and see if she can explain.”

Right. That. Mitch shifted uncomfortably in his seat. As far as he knew, Ken was completely unaware of his—their?—mother’s tenuous condition. Unaware of how unpredictable her grip on reality was and how catastrophic a meeting like Ken was suggesting could be for her mental clarity.

“Should we call Grandpa?” Bea asked.

“Your grandpa.” Ken cleared his throat. “Is he my . . . ?”

Mitch shook his head. “No. He would’ve never allowed my mother to be sent away. There’s no way.”

Ken hung his head. “I don’t suppose you have any idea . . . ?”