“What about you? Are you okay?”
“I think so, actually. I have to admit, watching that video with you last night was really cathartic for me. I think it kind of helped me turn a corner. It reminded me how blessed and fortunate I have been all these years to have a father like mine, who was always there for me. I could always count on my dad for help, for support, for wisdom and guidance. He was always willing to be honest with me. If it wasn’t for my dad, I probably wouldn’t have this amazing life with you. And I wouldn’t trade us and our girls for anything.”
I didn’t even know what to say to her right now. He was always willing to be honest with me. To think that all my countless lies to her the past few days had been to cover up her own father’s lies.
But I smiled, nodded my head. “Me, neither. The girls almost ready?”
“Yes. My mom is doing their hair right now. They are excited about getting all dressed up.”
“Good. We need to head to the church in about ten minutes.”
We arrived at Central Christian Church in the heart of downtown and parked in the back parking lot behind the old Romanesque-style sanctuary building. My mother-in-law seemed to be doing okay, although she wasn’t saying much. Olivia and Nicole kept drifting back and forth between giggles about something silly to quiet sadness when no one was talking. I hated that they had to go through this kind of thing at such a young age. I planned to tell a few funny stories about Papa in hopes that my girls would feel some semblance of light on an otherwise dark day for all of us. There were plenty of fun stories about Joe that I could share. Of course, I now also had plenty of stories about Joe that I could never share—and that was weighing me down.
A church administrator named Joslin met us inside the church building in a back hallway and offered us refreshments in a private room. We then made our way into the main sanctuary with its ornate arches, columns, domes, stained-glass windows, and wooden pews. Looking around, I guessed there were already about a hundred people walking down the aisles and finding seats, with many more entering from the front lobby. I checked my watch. The service was scheduled to begin in about fifteen minutes. Pastor Larsen, a tall bald man with a goatee, came over and warmly greeted us. He would be officiating today. We spent the next few minutes mingling with some of the guests, thanking them for coming and accepting their sincere regards.
About five minutes before the service, I told Taylor I wanted one last chance to review my notes. Then I slipped out of the sanctuary into a back hallway and shut myself in the private room with the refreshments. Pulling out a notecard from the inside pocket of my suit jacket, I began to skim through the tiny scribbles I’d made all over it. This was going to be a surreal experience. All the wonderful stories and meaningful things I had to say about my father-in-law were true. But now I knew there would also be a lot left unsaid. I didn’t know what awaited me at the end of this pursuit—or if I’d ever reach the end. Nothing felt certain anymore.
I shook my head, tried to focus on my notes. I had only a few more minutes. I needed to be faithful to the matter at hand. For Taylor. For Carol. For my girls. And for the hundreds who loved Joe Dobson and thought so much of him. I needed to set aside the rest of this mess and also be faithful to myself. No matter what I uncovered about my father-in-law, Joe had always been there for me. Taylor was right. My family wouldn’t even exist had Joe not guided me back to shore on that fateful day back in college. I could certainly be there for him right now. Taking a deep breath, I put my notecard back in my pocket.
Just as I was about to leave the private room and rejoin my family in the sanctuary, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out, took a glance at an incoming text message. It was an odd phone number. My phone identified it as coming from Mexico City. That made me perk up.
Then I read the brief message and felt my heart jolt.
Alex, please stop looking into my past. You’re putting yourself and my girls in danger. Just let me go, son. Please. I’m sorry. —Bear
My hands immediately started shaking. Bear was what Nicole sometimes called Joe. She’d started with Papa Bear when she was little and then had shortened it to just Bear. She liked to call him that at times, because Joe would often growl like a bear and chase her around until she laughed so hard, she nearly peed her pants. I stared at the text, read every word carefully. Stop and let me go? Could this be . . . real? Could Joe actually be alive? Impossible. I’d seen the burned van and the body bag with my own eyes. I’d held his charred belt buckle and wedding ring in my own hands. Someone had to be messing with me. But why? How would they know to use the term Bear?