Chapter 5: The Voice on the Other End
"I'm sorry," I said.
"I'm sorry, I — my name is Jess.
My name is Jessica Mercer."
A long silence.
"Mercer," he repeated.
"Yes."
Another silence.
Longer this time.
"How did you get this number?"
"My father," I said.
"He — he passed away recently.
He left me some documents.
Your name was in them.
And your number."
"Your father." His voice was careful.
Controlled.
"What was his name?"
"Ray.
Raymond Mercer.
He was a construction worker.
He lived in—"
"Ohio," the man said quietly.
My breath stopped.
"You know him?" I whispered.
"No." A pause.
"But I know the name.
I've seen it before." Another pause, longer.
"I hired someone too.
About two years ago.
The name Raymond Mercer came up in the search.
I couldn't find a way to contact him that didn't feel like an intrusion.
So I stopped."
I pressed my hand flat against the kitchen table.
"You were looking," I said.
"For a long time," he said.
"Yes."
The line was quiet for a moment.
Not uncomfortable.
Just full.
"I don't know how to do this," I said finally.
"I've never done anything like this."
"Neither have I."
"I found out four days ago.
About you.
About all of it.
My dad left a letter.
And a report from a private investigator.
And I didn't sleep for three days and then I just called you."
A small sound on his end.
Not quite a laugh.
Something softer than that.
"I've been sitting on your name for two years," he said.
"I think four days is faster than I managed."
"Did you know about me?" I asked.
"Before the search?"
"No.
The agency told me almost nothing.
I knew her first name.
Patricia.
That was it." A pause.
"She's gone, isn't she."
It wasn't quite a question.
"Yes," I said.
"She passed away three years ago.
The same day my dad went to see her.
He was with her near the end."
He was quiet for a moment.
"Was she — did he say anything about her?
What she was like?"
"He didn't say much.
Just that she was weak.
That she recognized him.
That she asked about me." I hesitated.
"She cried when he told her I was graduating that day."
The line was very still.
"She wanted us to find each other," I said.
"That's why she told him.
She said — she said I deserved to know I wasn't alone in the world."
I heard him exhale slowly.
"Okay," he said after a moment.
His voice was different now.
Quieter.
Less guarded.
"Okay."
"I don't know what the next step is," I said.
"I don't want to overwhelm you.
I just — I needed to hear your voice.
I needed to know you were real."
"I'm real," he said.
"I know.
I can tell."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yes."
"The photograph.
In the investigator's report.
Did your dad include one of me?"
"Yes.
You're outside what looks like a hardware store.
Dark jacket.
Your hand is up a little, like you were talking to someone."
A pause.
Then: "That's my shop.
I own a hardware store." Another pause.
"I have a report too.
There's a photograph of your father in it.
He's standing outside a house.
There's a truck in the driveway."
My throat tightened.
"That's our house."
"He looks proud," Daniel said quietly.
"In the photograph.
Like he's about to go somewhere."
I thought of the orange work vest.
The dusty boots.
The hard hat tucked under his arm.
"He was coming to my graduation," I said.
"That morning."
The line went quiet again.
"I'm sorry," Daniel said.
"I'm sorry you lost him."
"I'm sorry you never got to meet him," I said.
"He would have — he was a good man.
He was the best person I knew."
"He found me," Daniel said.
"Even when he was sick.
He found me and he left the information for you.
That tells me everything I need to know about him."
I pressed my fingers to my eyes.
"Can we talk again?" I asked.
"Not today.
Whenever you're ready.
I just — I don't want to lose this."
"I'm not going anywhere," he said.
"Call me whenever you want."
"Okay."
"Jess?"
"Yes?"
"I'm glad you called."
I set the phone down on the table.
Outside, a bird was singing somewhere in the neighbor's oak tree.
I hadn't noticed it before.
I sat and listened to it for a while.
Then I picked up my father's letter and read it one more time from the beginning.
When I got to the last line, I didn't cry.
I just sat with it.
With him.
With all of it.
*I love you more than any words I ever found.*
I folded the letter carefully and put it back in the envelope.
Then I noticed something I had missed before.
On the back of the envelope, in smaller handwriting, almost hidden along the bottom edge.
*P.S.
— His favorite color is blue.
May you like
Just like yours.
I thought you'd want to know.*
