Philomena talked with her boys and they decided they would
take time off school to go with her. They wanted to know too what might have
happened to their father, even if this man wasn’t him. They left their dog with
Rosalind, loaded the Focus with luggage and snacks and headed north to Ashland,
Wisconsin.
“Mom, how did dad get all the way there from home? It isn’t
even on Lake Michigan,” her son asked.
“I have no idea. Maybe he washed up somewhere and didn’t
know who he was. He could have hitched his way there. Is that logical? Or am I
just grasping at straws?” she asked.
“I think that sounds as logical as him missing for ten years
and suddenly turning up. I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” the other twin
chimed in. “I hope it’s dad,” he said, tearing up. He sniffed and wiped his
eyes. “Damn it! I’m too old for this.”
Philomena reached over and touched the top of his head
gently. “No, you’re not too old. I think Detective Corcoran nailed it right on
the head the other day. We have no closure. We don’t know what happened so we
can’t move on and we can’t put him to rest because he might be alive and well
somewhere. We need answers. You need to know where your father has been all
these years.”
He smiled weakly at his mother and looked back at his
brother in the back seat. They were taking turns riding ‘shotgun’ with mom and
Gary had to sit in back first. He noticed Jerry wasn’t in much better shape
than he was.
Philomena looked at her son in the rearview mirror. “Hey,
guys, this is an adventure until it’s not. Why don’t we wait and see how it all
shakes out? Jerry, can you dig out a Coke from the cooler for me, please?”
The next morning they completed the trip and pulled up in
front of the Human Services Offices in Ashland. The man knew to expect them and
he was waiting when they got there.
“How are you?” he asked. “I imagine you’re pretty tired
after that trip. My name is Ed.”
“Yes, sir, but mostly we’re just curious. We really need to
see this man. Would you give us directions to the shelter?”
“Of course, but I’d rather drive you there myself. If you
don’t mind, that is,” he said. “If it’s him you may be too emotional to drive;
same thing if it isn’t.”
“I see your point,” Philomena said. “Sure, that would be
fine.”
Philomena wrung her hands all the way to the shelter. She
and her sons sat in the back seat, she between the two of them. The boys looked
nervously out the windows pretending to take in the scenic city. Philomena
barely noticed Lake Superior with all its ships and yachts and sail boats in
full sail, or the rock walls jutting out into the water and the coal fired
power plant with barges of coal unloading their cargo nearby. They pulled to a
stop at a large building with a line reaching the outside of the building to a
door in an alley that ran downhill.
“That’s the line for the soup kitchen in the basement,” the
social worker told them as they skittered around the line of people to the
front door and up a short set of concrete stairs.
Philomena took a deep breath and then passed through the
office door. The social worker introduced them and they shook hands all around.
Philomena pulled out an old picture of Terrance and showed it to the director.
“This is old of course,” she said. “I imagine if he’s
followed suite with the other men in his family, he has white hair by now. This
is about ten years old,” she added.
A young woman about thirty years old took the faded Polaroid
shot of Terrance and his boys playing baseball. She studied it for a full minute
and then handed it back nodding. “I think this is the man who calls himself
Terry. He’s been around here for awhile.”
Philomena’s heart raced and she smiled at her boys. “I think
we found Dad,” she said.
“Where’s my dad?” Jerry asked
.
“Unfortunately, he got sick. He’s in the hospital,” she
answered.
“What? What’s wrong with him?”Jerry asked. He grabbed hold
of his brother’s arm for support and he returned the gesture.
“He’s got pneumonia I believe. He’s been living out of doors
and with the recent cold snap, well, he just couldn’t take it. He’s had a lot
of close calls over the years.”
A tear escaped Philomena’s eye and she wiped it away. “Where
is the hospital?”
The family loaded back into the county vehicle and the
worker took them to the hospital.
“Oh, I just realized I don’t know what name he’s using. I
mean, I know he’s using Terry, but what last name?” Philomena looked down and
sniffed a few times.
Gary stepped up to the information desk. “Excuse me, ma’am.
We’re looking for someone – we’ve actually been looking for him for ten years.
His name is Terry and I understand he was brought in with pneumonia from the
homeless shelter.”
The woman looked up at the twins and their mother
sympathetically. “I’m sorry son; I can’t give out patient information. If you
don’t have a last name, I can’t tell you where to find him anyway.”
The social worker stepped up. “Alice, it’s their father. He
may be using an assumed name.”
She straightened up a little in her chair and patted at a
loose strand of hair, pushing it back into place. “Edward, I didn’t see you
back there. Is this an official visit?” she added.
“Well, I guess it is. Terry has been around here for a long
time and if this is his family, they’d like to take him home to Michigan,” he
answered.
“I understand.” She tapped on a few keys on her computer
keyboard. “We have someone from the shelter named Terry. He says his last name
is Cantor.
