Page 112 of The Roads We Follow

Luella just started her tour of the grounds with Adele and Hattie, which gave Raegan and me a much-needed moment to catch up in private. As we walk hand-in-hand down a path I know almost as well as the house I grew up in, I ask her to tell me what happened on the road with her sisters. And when she does, the pride I feel for her soars above the rest of the emotions lurking in my chest.

We edge closer to the fork in the path—one trail leading to thewater, the other leading to the common area. “I have a few things to fill you in on, as well.”

Her expression shifts to one of concern, but as soon as I start to speak again, my phone chimes in my pocket. Five times.

“Guess we know where we can find cell service on the grounds,” I say.

I pull my phone out and read the screen.

“Two texts from Adele, one from you, and ... oh.” I swipe to check the time stamp on the text. “Two from my father from just over an hour ago. He says he’s in Skagway for a couple of hours and was hoping to reach me.”

“Then go,” Raegan says, pushing my shoulder. “Go talk to him. I’ll wait here.”

Whatever she reads in my face when I hesitate has her taking in a breath. “Oh, Micah, you found something, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

She purses her lips and nods. “Then I’ll wait until you come back from your call.”

I grip the back of my neck, willing myself to move as my heart gallops in my chest. “I don’t know if I can do it—not like this.”

“You can.” Raegan moves in, touches my unshaven jaw, and looks me straight in the eyes. “You need him as much as he needs you. Go talk to him, tell him what you’ve found. I’ll be right here when you come back.” She places her hand over my heart. “I’ll pray God gives you the words and the strength you need.”

I pull her in and wrap her tightly in my arms, murmuring in her hair. “Thank you.”

“He loves you, Micah. Remember that.”

I swallow the thickening emotion in my throat, not sure whether Raegan is speaking of my dad or of God. Either way, I know she speaks the truth.

I’m standing at the edge of the spot in the river where I was baptized when I lift my phone to my ear. By the fifth ring, I’m certain I’ve missed the short window he had for coverage. And then hepicks up. I can hear the wind blowing hard into the receiver. He’s still on shore.

“Son? Are you there? Hang on, let me walk back up the dock. There’s a shelter with a bench that will block the wind. I’ll tell the guys to give me a few more minutes.” His shout is muffled, but not more than a few seconds later I hear the distinct stomp of his rubber boots, and then the wind is silenced. “Is this any better?”

“Yes, it’s good, Dad.” The word resonates in my chest.

“Today must be my lucky day. I spoke to your brother a couple hours ago. He and Kacy put the kids on video, and I laughed so hard I thought my spleen would rupture. I’ve missed you boys. By the sound of your voicemail updates, you’ve had a full couple of weeks.” He chuckles. “I was more than a little surprised to hear you took after your old man, driving a tour bus across the country, but I nearly spit out my coffee when I heard you say you were driving for Luella and her girls. Gosh ... how old must Adele and Hattie be now? Late thirties, early forties? I never did meet the youngest one. She came along after we moved to Idaho.”

“Raegan.” Just the sound of her name brings me comfort. “She’s a few years younger than I am.” At the thought of her up at the camp waiting for me, I shift the conversation away from the Farrows. “I’m actually standing in front of the Saint Joe as we speak.” I glance out at the river that runs upstream from my parents’ house. My dad’s house now.

“No kidding?” He huffs a rugged laugh. “I wish you would have told me, I would have tried to get back in time to meet Luella’s family.”

“I think we can make that a reality soon enough.” I kick at a pile of rocks on the riverbank. “But first, there’s something I need to tell you before I get back on the road, Dad.” I pause. “And I’m afraid it’s not going to be easy to hear.”

My father goes quiet on the other end of the line, and I close my eyes right then and pray for guidance. For all the schooling I’ve had and all the hard conversations I’ve mediated, I don’t know how todo this. I don’t know how to break the heart of the man who raised me as his own and never once led me to believe I was anything but wanted.

“I’m listening,” he says. It’s the respectful response he taught me and Garrett to say when we were boys, and the response we still offer each other as adults.

“Before I left on this road trip with the Farrows, I learned some surprising information regarding my blood type. At first, I didn’t think the findings could be accurate, but after some more testing, Garrett confirmed it at the lab.” I fight for the return of moisture to my mouth. “What I’m about to tell you—is not a theory, Dad. It’s fact.”

He’s quiet on the other end, yet I know he’s there. I know he’s giving me room to say whatever it is I need to say. That’s always been his way of parenting. His patience has been my guide in navigating both the still and raging waters of life.

On the tail end of an exhale, I let it out. “I’m not your biological son.”

I wait for my father to absorb what I’ve just said, allowing him the same space to process as he allowed me, only when his reply comes, I’m sure I’ve misheard him.

“I know,” he says. “I just wish you hadn’t found out without me with you.”

For the life of me, I can’t seem to interpret what he’s just admitted.

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