Maybe Nate actually remembered this or maybe he just remembered Jim telling him the story about it. Either way, he was reminded of one of his earliest memories involving his mother: the mother he was told he had and not the one who was kept a secret. (On that front: Nate thought a lot about the DNA test driving home from Amy’s and decided it wasn’t necessary; if he wanted to believe her—and it seemed he did—that would suffice.)
The rattling double-hung window in his bedroom, one of many things around the house Nate still hadn’t gotten around to fixing, brought him back to the one in his childhood bedroom (which, surprisingly, had been fixed somewhere along the line). Whenever the winds would whip up, particularly those blustery Santa Anas, the window’s loose frame would clatter, making the glass vibrate along with it. The sound may not have seemed like much to an adult, more annoying than frightening. But to a little boy who had his share of bad dreams and scary thoughts (what kid didn’t?), his bedroom window took on a life of its own; Nate had pretty much empowered it with supernatural ability.
One winter night, a wicked combination of driving rain and fierce gusts wreaked havoc with Nate’s dreaded window, creating a terrifying symphony of creaks, clanks, and squeaks that nearly made the six-year-old levitate out of his Power Rangers-sheeted bed. True to form, Nate had kept his fear of his bedroom window to himself, trying to be strong. But this time, the storm got the better of him and he called out for his dad—loudly.
Jim frantically rushed in, not used to being summoned by his son in the middle of the night. He held his panicked boy. “It’s okay, pal. It’s just the wind,” Jim told him.
“I thought it might be a ghost,” Nate admitted, his sobs subsiding.
“If that ever happens again, and you get scared, just pretend it’s your mom, trying to tell you how much she loves you,” Jim said gently as he tucked Nate back into his blanket (yes, there was even a Power Rangers duvet cover).
Nate tried to square his dad’s advice with what little he knew of his mother. It could be said he knew more about ghosts, so he put the two together and asked, “Is my mom a ghost?”
“She’s more like … a guardian angel—always there, even if you can’t see her.”
The recollection brought a wistful smile as Nate lay in bed some twenty-five years later listening to the wind tangle with his window. Sure, the “guardian angel” bit was just a story—Jim was well-versed in fiction, after all—but it got him through a few other noisy nights in his childhood bedroom until he grew out of his fear. It also reminded Nate how seldom Jim brought up his mother back then—and how little Nate asked about her. That should have been a sign of, well, something, but it wasn’t. Until recently.
Nate woke up the next day feeling energized and encouraged. And, after a big bowl of oatmeal topped with bananas and walnuts and two mugs of coffee, he snapped on Cody’s leash, and off they went for a long walk on the Occidental campus, their first time in a while.
There were quite a few people around for barely eight thirty on a summer Saturday, though, on closer inspection, Nate realized the eager hikers traversing the leafy campus looked more like his neighbors than students. It always surprised him what a popular walking spot the site was for Eagle Rock residents and beyond, despite the “No Trespassing” and “Must Show Oxy I.D.” signs posted at every entrance. (Had he ever been asked for I.D.? Had anyone?)
Speaking of neighbors, as Nate hung a right onto a new walking path, he ran into Max and Carter. Or rather, they ran into him—literally. They were in serious jogging mode and didn’t see Nate and Cody turning the corner. Nate quickly regained his balance, and Max and Carter said they felt like dopes.
“We totally zone out when we run,” said Max, the bigger of the two men, though both looked super-fit in their tank tops and gym shorts. Nate felt scrawny in comparison and wondered if he shouldn’t work out more but knew the mood would pass once his neighbors did.
“Yeah, and we usually don’t train this early,” Carter said almost apologetically, “but it’s my mom’s seventieth and we’re cooking for, like, twenty, so … busy Saturday.”
Nate tried to remember if he’d ever met Carter’s mother but came up blank. Jim would have remembered; he remembered all that kind of stuff. “Big party, then, huh?” Nate asked. “Lotta work.”
“Not every day my mom turns the big seven-oh,” Carter said, stretching an arm out over his head. “Gotta celebrate while they’re still here, y’know?” The words were barely out of his mouth when he looked horrified. “Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry, Nate, I didn’t mean—”
“Jesus, Carter,” Max said, eyes wide, teeth clenched. He shot his husband a withering look.
It had taken Nate a moment to realize the faux pas. And when he did, he was unfazed. Jim was dead, Carter’s mom was alive and well and having a birthday. Good for her. Nate hoped she had many, many more. And he told Carter as much, though both he and Max apologized so profusely you’d think they’d just set Nate’s house on fire. The guys jogged away with clearly less spirit than before they’d all collided.
Walking off again, Nate felt unsettled—geez, the day had started so well!—and had a sudden urge to talk to Amy. Before he could overthink it, he pulled out his phone and punched in her number, hoping as it rang that he wasn’t calling too early.
“Not at all,” Amy assured him, a happy lilt in her voice. “I’m up by seven every day, no matter how late I go to sleep. Can’t seem to get off my work clock.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Though Cody’s got his own clock—it’s called his stomach—so when he’s up, I’m up. When he lets me sleep past six, it’s a good day.” Nate was feeling better, lighter, just talking to Amy. It reminded him of calling Jim for their daily check-ins. There was something grounding about it, something comfortingly predictable.
Instead of reacting to that, Amy paused. Nate wondered if he should continue talking—but she jumped back in. “Look, I know it probably wasn’t easy for you, but I really appreciate you coming over last night,” she said. “It meant the world to me.”
Now Nate was the one to pause, searching for an appropriate response, his heart leaping one way, his head another. As usual, he erred on the side of caution. “You’re very welcome. We had a good time.” A trio of joggers was hurtling Nate’s way. He reflexively jumped off the path and onto the adjacent grass, taking Cody with him. They stood waiting for the runners to zip past.
“Jennifer seems like a really special woman,” Amy said.
“She is.”
“But you’re not walking down the aisle just yet?”
With the joggers gone, Nate and Cody started off again, the dog’s nose pressed to the ground. “I’m not ready to get married. But I also don’t want to lose her,” Nate told Amy, startled by his sudden candor. Had he even verbalized that yet to himself? He yanked Cody back from a suspicious mound he’d pulled away to sniff.
Amy let out a regretful sigh. “Take it from someone who knows,” she said. “If you don’t want to lose someone, don’t ever let them go. No matter what.” Nate didn’t know if she was talking about Jim or him. Either way, it struck something deep in Nate.
He stopped in his tracks, startling Cody, who swung his big head around to see what was up. A thought crossed Nate’s mind and bubbled out before he could even think to censor it. “You’ve never seen the inside of my house, have you?”
“No, but I’d like to,” came the inevitable response.
“How’s … tomorrow?”
Nate spent most of the rest of his Saturday cleaning the house he realized another living soul, save Danny and Mateo on painting days, had set foot in since Jim’s post-funeral lunch. Now that was crazy, maybe in more ways than one.
Although he’d started many indoor renovation projects since moving in, most had yet to be finished, leaving much of the house topsy-turvy and, in places, hard to navigate. The only room that remained completely functional was the office, which Nate had taken all that extra care with early on—and it showed. At least the outside of the house was looking good.
By around dinner time—or at least Cody’s dinner time, the one that counted—Nate had gotten things into reasonable order: floors swept and polished, rugs vacuumed, dust collected, and tools and random building materials stashed away. As for the holes in the walls, exposed wiring, missing molding, dislodged floorboards, and any other evidence of Nate’s ongoing ambitions, he tidied them up as best he could, which is to say he probably should have held back asking Amy over for at least another month. Too late now.
Adding insult to injury, that night, Nate stopped in next door for birthday cake with Carter’s mom and her family and friends (a still-contrite Max had invited Nate that afternoon) and saw, in comparison to his own chaotic living situation, what a well-tended home looked like: warm and ordered and attentively decorated. But also personal—so there was no question as to who lived there; two full and rich lives under one roof. Unlike, say, Amy’s house, which, although neat and well-furnished, felt more generic, temporary: like the rental it was. It made Nate wonder what Amy’s home in Fresno had looked like. What kind of home she even had.
Sure, Max and Carter were both a decade or so older than Nate and likely had more money than he did (not to mention they were both architects, so there was that). But looking around their house made Nate want to rush home and not stop working until every wall, floor, and ceiling, every nook and cranny, was perfect. He’d done pretty well, at least in his own estimation, building his landscaping business. He needed to put that same kind of drive, passion, and creativity into other corners of his life.
Gee, Nate thought with a grin, all of that because of a little piece of birthday cake.
He didn’t have to worry about what Amy thought of his house—he could have been living in an empty tool shed for all she seemed to care. Still, once she arrived, Nate felt proud that he’d made the effort he did on her behalf. It was also the kick in the ass he needed to make a real plan to finish all the inside work, even if it meant bringing on some help to do so. He was proving nothing to anyone, least of all himself, by going it alone.
Amy listened attentively as he showed her around the house, describing in detail what he’d been trying to accomplish. He was also careful not to throw his dad under the bus, as if the much-needed renovations implied decades of sloth by its former tenant. Nate knew that Amy was likely visualizing the late father of her child in every room they entered, especially at the end of the tour when they landed in his old office.
Nate didn’t mention how much he’d shored up the room, deciding to let Amy think the spot was museum-quality intact. Why he felt such a strong need to protect his father Nate couldn’t say, but Amy was quite taken with its comfy, library vibe (“My God, look at all the books!”) and general throwback feel. He was glad he’d kept the floral couch; it added an authentic touch. So much so that Nate plopped onto it for effect; Cody jumped up next to him and nestled in. They were a picture. It made Amy smile.
But not as much as when, perusing the bookshelves, she came upon a copy of Wuthering Heights. She pulled it out, thumbing through it, and practically beamed from ear to ear. “Oh, my God!” exclaimed Amy. “We read this in your father’s class. He said it was one of his all-time favorite books. It became one of mine, too.”
“Not exactly the happiest ending, though, was it?”
She thought for a second and then said, a bit enigmatically, “Depends on how you look at it, I guess.”
Nate wasn’t sure she was talking about the book but let it go. He watched her gazing at its forgotten passages, catapulted back to the Moors. He never recalled his father singling out the book in any special way, though he did remember Jim helping him with a high school paper when it was his turn to read the overheated classic. Amy looked a thousand miles away.
“When we were alone, he’d read to me from it,” she said. “Like it was poetry. Maybe it was corny but, at the time, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.” Amy stood there as if frozen by the memory, caught short by an ancient emotional tug. It was a moment so painfully intimate that Nate had to look away, had to try not to overthink the image of his dad beguiling a teenage girl with the haunting words of Emily Brontë.
A tear snaked down Amy’s cheek as she closed the book. Nate stood, worried. “Maybe we shouldn’t have done this.”
Amy brushed away the tear, her shoulders sinking. “I know it sounds crazy,” she said quietly, almost reverently, “but I never loved any man more than your father. Certainly not in the same way.”
“How can you be so sure?” Nate asked, maybe more surprised than he should have been. “You were only, what—sixteen?”
Cody leaped off the couch. Amy, looking a tad woozy, took his spot. “I was married twice,” she explained. “Once soon after college, then once when I was about your age. Both ended after a few years.” She smoothed out her cotton shorts with her long, slender fingers. “Consciously or not, I married men who reminded me of your father—sexy, sensitive, intellectual. But neither of them really knew how to love. Not in the way I needed.”
Nate didn’t know how to respond to that. Or if he even should.
Amy’s tone was hushed, cautious. “My first husband—Evan—and I had a daughter. Her name is Robin.”
Nate was, to put it mildly, stunned. “You have a daughter? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I think it’s safe to say there’s still a lot we don’t know about each other.” She met his fraught gaze without accusation or apology. It just was.
Amy was right, of course. Didn’t Nate have almost that exact thought at dinner Friday night? The reality: the more he opened the door to Amy, the more he let her in—the more she let him in—and a lifetime’s worth of information would come crashing out. And that had to be okay. Still, Amy’s last reveal had some pretty astonishing implications.
Amy slid to the end of the couch to make room for Nate. They both watched as Cody trotted off in search of a more interesting spot. “Does this mean I have a sister now, too?” Nate asked, sounding like a little boy on Christmas morning.
She nodded, a startled smile on her face, as if also just realizing that life-changing fact. “She just graduated from Fresno State. Got a degree in finance. She’s working in mortgage banking up there.” There was pride in Amy’s voice but also vigilance as if she didn’t want to overwhelm Nate any further. That didn’t stop Nate’s wheels from spinning.
“And you moved away from her?”
Amy shifted on the uneven cushion. “Well, I raised her for twenty-two years. Did a good job, too. Maybe too good. Robin’s always relied on me a little too much.” She paused, waiting for a reaction. When there was none, she continued. “Anyway, I had the chance to make up for lost time with another child, so I took it.”
Nate studied Amy as he processed this. It was the first time he’d seen her this casually dressed, with only a bit of makeup, hair pulled back and up; laid barer, as it were. It felt comforting somehow. He tried to picture what his half-sister might look like; would they resemble each other in any way?
“She’s subletting my condo,” Amy said by way of further explanation. With a slightly anxious smile, she tacked on, “Might as well keep it in the family.”
“She’s lucky she had you,” Nate finally said, breaking his silence. And, in case Amy had any doubt, added, “I mean that.”
Another thought struck Nate: “Does Robin know about me?”
Amy’s face turned bright, hopeful. “She does. And she wants to meet you.”
Robin’s looks were becoming clearer in Nate’s mind, but he realized he was just conjuring up a younger Amy. “Do you have a photo?” he asked before he was at all ready to make this part real.
Amy pulled her phone from her shorts pocket and scrolled through her photos with purpose. When she found the one she wanted, she handed the phone to Nate with a proud maternal grin. He studied the snapshot of Robin, a casual pose taken at a restaurant table.
“We were having breakfast at a place in Fresno called the Patio Cafe,” Amy explained. “We were sitting outside and the light was nice, so …”
“She’s really pretty,” Nate said, though frankly saw little of himself or even Amy in Robin, with her sandy blonde hair, fairer skin, and more angular features. He was slightly disappointed, though didn’t know what he was expecting. He was now curious to see a picture of Robin’s father (Ethan? Evan?) but doubted Amy kept her first ex-husband’s face on her phone—and certainly didn’t want to ask. It didn’t matter, anyway. Nate had a sister, whatever she looked like, and that was huge. And something else to reconcile.
Nate was starting to feel … not claustrophobic exactly but like it wouldn’t hurt to be outside for a bit. He asked Amy if she wanted to see the backyard and she looked as eager as he did for a change of scenery.
The diffused late afternoon sun showed off the replanted yard to fine effect. Nate hadn’t spent much time out there since he’d finished working on it a few weeks back—yet another project he’d jammed in during his free time. Unlike the indoor renovations, once he got going on the backyard he found himself unable to stop until it was done. In truth, after the initial digging, weeding, and pruning were history, he was able to knock the rest out in a day. (Nate wouldn’t let Danny help, even though he’d offered; his assistance on the front yard had already been above and beyond.)
Amy looked around at the artfully placed collection of perennials and succulents and flowering plants, at the decorative grasses and paths and cozy pockets, and smiled. “I’m not just saying this because you’re my son: you really have a gift. You should be getting more recognition for your work.”
“As long as my clients recognize what I do, I’m happy. The rest I just do for me and my sanity.” He wasn’t being coy; it was truly how he felt. Still, he appreciated the praise.
“I’ve been thinking about something else that might make you happy,” said Amy as she inspected a violet amaryllis in rare full bloom. She turned to Nate with an expectant look and asked, “How would you like to take a drive with me up to Fresno? Meet your sister and your grandparents?”
“You mean the grandparents who thought having me would ruin your life?” He could see Amy wince. “I’m sorry,” Nate said quickly, “I didn’t mean that or … not that way, anyway.” He really didn’t.
Amy recovered, stood tall, and said, “It’s okay. But we’ve started this journey and I think we need to continue it. One foot in front of the other—just like this.”
They reflexively looked up as an enormous red-tailed hawk soared above them, bisecting the sky with such grace and confidence it was impossible to turn away. When the bird had vanished from sight, Nate picked up where they’d left off. “What are your parents like?”
“They’re flawed,” she answered, not skipping a beat. “How does that sound?”
“Generous.”
They started back across the yard. “They’re your family, Nate. You should meet them.” She stopped to face him. “From where I stand, you’re a little too alone in the world.”
Nate would never admit it, not yet anyway, but she was right. He had retreated from others since Jim’s death, maybe even before that, playing approach-avoidance with Jennifer and keeping Danny at a distance outside the workday (he’d turned down three dinner invitations from him and Alisha, and racked up as many rain checks). As for his other friends, the few he’d kept over the years hadn’t called or texted in ages—maybe because Nate had stopped returning their messages. He didn’t mean to, it just happened. Whatever the case, he had some room in his life to spare.