Page 71 of Reverb

“I guess you’re angry,” Hale said.

I had to think that over. It was the strangest thing, but I wasn’t. I was confused, sure. Surprised. I had to rethink a lot of things. But my throat wasn’t closing and my words weren’t spinning. I didn’t have the urge to get up and get the fuck out of here. I wasn’t mad at all. In fact, I had the sudden urge to laugh.

“Well, fuck,” I said again.

Hale turned to stare at me. “Come on, man, I lied to you. Did the whole anonymous-backer thing. Pretended I was just a big fan of the band. Though I am a big fan of the band, but you know what I mean. You must want to kick my ass a little bit.”

“That motherfucker,” I said. “That piece of shit. Did you ever meet him?”

I didn’t have to explain that I was talking about our father. The one who had left both of us like so much trash at the side of the road.

Hale sat back. “No, but I came close. I hired an investigator to dig up everything about the man. He lives in a trailer park in New Mexico and sells auto parts. His current wife is twenty years younger than him. She’s wife number four. My birth mother wasn’t one of his wives, just a hookup. God knows how many of those he’s had.”

“Where’s your birth mother now?” I asked.

Hale shrugged. “Prison. She’s been in and out, and right now she’s in. Theft, dealing, that kind of thing. This one’s for getting opiates with fake prescriptions. We’ve been talking on the phone. I’m getting her a new lawyer.”

My opinion of William Hale went up. So he originally came from trash, like me. And he wasn’t too proud to admit it.

“Anyway, when I found out where Dear Old Dad was living, I flew down to New Mexico,” Will continued. “I went to the trailer park, saw him get out of his car and go into his trailer. I decided it wasn’t worth it, that I wasn’t going to get what I wanted. So I turned around and left.”

I let that sit for a second. I had never seen my father face to face. There were a lot of years when that had made me feel like I was missing something.

But I didn’t feel like I was missing something anymore.

“I can give you his address if you want,” Will said, as if reading my mind. “I can give you the entire file my investigator dug up.”

“No,” I replied. “I don’t want it. Does he look like me?”

For some reason, that was the only question about him that I wanted answered. The only thing that mattered.

“Not much,” Will answered, not noticing how important his answer was. “He’s tall like you, but lean like me. Gray hair, long gray beard, looks like a mean ex-biker. I got a good look at him, and he doesn’t look exactly like either of us. I didn’t feel some cosmic connection because we share genes. I didn’t feel anything.”

Something loosened inside me. That was okay, then, if I wasn’t his clone. I didn’t know why, but it was.

Will crossed one ankle over the other knee. His legs weren’t as long as mine, but they were pretty long. His sneakers cost over three hundred bucks. We probably looked strange to anyone looking at us, me in my aviators, worn clothes and jewelry, sitting next to clean-cut Will in his expensive, nerdy getup. If this guy wanted to hang around with me and my band, I was going to have to teach him some things about real life.

“You’re moving to Portland?” I asked him.

“Yeah.” He sighed, relaxing. “I’m done with New York. I’m quitting my job at Tower VC. The other partners are pissed, but mostly they’re confused. They can’t figure out what I think I’m doing. They keep asking me if I met a woman.”

“They aren’t music people,” I observed.

Will nodded. “Did you know that my first successful business was making turntables?”

“Sienna found that when she learned who you were.”

“Of course she did. I came up with that first turntable prototype myself. I built every part of that product. I oversaw the manufacturing, did the marketing, everything. Those turntables were my baby. I lived and breathed them for five years. And that was before I knew who my birth parents were, who you were. I made that company because I loved it.”

“Those were good turntables,” I admitted. “I owned one for a while.”

“Right?” Will leaned forward, animated. “I sold that company because I got offered a massive amount of money for it. Everyone in my circle, everyone I knew, said I’d be crazy not to take that money. It made me rich. And now it’s years later, and I regret it.”

I frowned at him. “You regret getting rich?”

He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “I would have gotten rich anyway. I just wish I’d done it making turntables all this time.”

I’d never heard him talk so much. We had that in common, at least.

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