“I looked for you. On Ancestry.com. I thought maybe you’d . . . put yourself out there to track me down. One day, my kids will probably find out they have a brother.”

“Half brother.” Josh paused. “That’ll be a difficult conversation.”

“It will be.” His father studied his face. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want from me? I would do anything to at least try to make it up to you. To start, at any rate. This has been such a shock, but I’m so glad to see you. I truly am.”

Josh inhaled slowly. “Thanks. I just wanted to meet you. I wondered what you looked like. I wanted to know what kind of person you are.” He paused. “My wife thought I should. She thought it would be good for me. I think she was right.”

His father’s face spasmed, but he got it under control. “Okay. But if you want, just reach out . . . you know, for anything. Anything at all. If you change your mind, if you’re ever in Chicago, we could—”

“Right now, the answer is no. But thanks.”

“Can I give you my card just in case?”

“Sure.”

Chris pulled out his wallet, withdrew a card and wrote a phone number on the back. As he did, Josh committed his face to memory.

If being fatherless had left a mark on Joshua, abandoning a child had left a scar on Christopher M. Zane. He looked older than his years, careworn.

At least he’d had the grace to admit his wrongdoing without trying to justify it.

They got up from the table, and Josh could see that his father’s hands were shaking as he tried to zip up his coat. It was oddly touching.

Chris pulled out his wallet and left a twenty on the bar. “Leaving us so soon?” Tim the bartender said.

“Yeah. Tim, this is Joshua. Joshua Park.”

“Nice to meet you,” Josh said.

“Tim,” Chris blurted. “Would you mind taking our picture? Josh, if that’s okay with you.”

He hesitated. But his mom would want to see it, he suspected. And if not, well, he would have it, and in some small way, it would be nice to have a picture of him and his father, no matter how unimportant he had been for all these years.

Lauren would have liked that.

His father handed over his phone, and Josh did the same. They stood side by side. “Okay, look at me and smile,” Tim said. Josh obeyed, and then he felt his father’s arm around his shoulders. “Next phone, one, two, three, done. How do you like them?” He handed back the phones.

“Tim . . . this . . . this is my son,” Chris said, and his voice shook.

It was the first time Josh had ever heard a male voice say those words. His chest felt a strange, not-unpleasant ache.

Tim’s eyebrows raised. “Wow. Nice to meet you, man.”

“You too.”