“Of course. Where are you?”
“My mom’s with the kids. I’m right outside the dog park.”
I look around.
“Not there,” he says. “Keep going, further to the left.”
“Can you see me?” I say as I walk toward the gate entrance.
“Yep. You look gorgeous. Take about five more steps toward the fence. Now look right.”
I turn, and then I see him. On his cell phone watching me just like I’m on my cell phone watching him.
I hang up and head over to him. When I’m close, he starts walking, and I follow him. Past the gazebo and the large Welcome to Liberty Falls est. 1795 sign and behind the skateboarding park to a long line of thick trees standing between the park and the endless line of pastures. Nobody’s skateboarding today because they’re all at the fair. Jenson ducks behind the trees and pulls me in with him where he puts his mouth over mine immediately.
I melt into him and wrap my arms around his neck. His hands move to my ass as he kisses me more urgently.
Then, just as quickly as he’d started, he pulls back.
We stare at each other in silence.
I don’t know why I’m shaking while Jenson flips through his phone. It’s not my father we’re about to identify. But it’s such a huge missing piece of Jenson’s life.
“Don’t you be nervous.” He smiles at me as we sit down on the ground and lean our backs against the enormous tree trunk. “I need you to be my rock right now.”
I nod and search his face as we sit across from one another. The green of his eyes is bright, the way it is when he’s curious and hopeful.
“Well, show me.” I gesture to his phone. “Or tell me or something.”
“The P.I. sent me this link. He’s sure it’s the right guy.” Jenson sets the phone on his lap and points to a website of a real estate company called The Waverly Group.
I look up at him. “That’s your father’s company?”
He nods and clicks on the About Us page. Donald Waverly, President.
“There’s only one other employee,” Jenson says. “An assistant.”
“Where is the company located?” I say, afraid he’ll say California or Texas or somewhere else far away from here.
“Philadelphia,” he says.
My mouth drops open.
“Philadelphia?” I say incredulously. “But we looked and looked for him!”
“We did. But that was a long time ago. This website was first put up two years ago. I don’t think he had his own company before, so he must have been listed under somebody else’s agency, and his name wasn’t public.”
I take another look at Donald Waverly.
He’s distinguished-looking with gray hair and a dark suit. He has the same green eyes as Jenson, and when I keep looking at his face, I realize he’s also got the same square, chiseled jaw. My eyes fill with tears.
“He looks like you,” I say as I turn to Jenson.
Jenson closes the site and turns off his phone abruptly.
I touch his hand. “Are you going to contact him?”
“I don’t know.”
