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Steven Michaels arrived about a half-hour early and took a seat on the bench in the small corner park. He wondered why Dinh had chosen this as their meeting place; they had always met at Fisherman's Wharf before. The quiet square of green grass, flanked on the left by a row of small shops and facing a cemetery, was as different from the bustling, touristy waterfront as anything could be. This was Steven's third trip to San Francisco since that weekend, three months ago, when he'd learned of the son he had fathered in Vietnam. He and Dinh were still making the first, tentative steps in their relationship, neither quite sure how to act around the other. While the night they had spent together on the mountain ledge had forged a tenuous bond between them, there were still times Steven feared they would never be as close as he wanted.
A bus pulled up to the stop half-way down the block and when it moved on, Dinh was standing on the curb. He was dressed, as before, in jeans and a quilted nylon jacket, a small daypack slung over one shoulder, but the cast that had encased his right leg since the accident in the Sierras was missing. He didn't glance toward the park where Steven sat, but limped to the other end of the block and crossed at the light, disappearing from his father's view.
Five minutes later he reappeared, crossed the street, and entered the cemetery, a florist's-paper parcel in one hand. Steven stood up and followed him quietly, staying well back and out of sight.
Dinh wove through the walks and pathways without hesitation, ending in the furthest, darkest, most-neglected section of the cemetery. Once there, he unwrapped the green florist's paper and placed the irises it held in a cheap plastic, conical vase half-buried in the grass at the head of a small, flat grave marker. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a long red ribbon. Chinese characters were traced in gold ink down its length. He lay it on the overlong grass of the grave, weighting the ends with small white stones. Next came a small bag of rice, which he poured into a pile on the grave marker. Finally, he removed a box of incense sticks and a butane lighter.
Taking three sticks from the box, he knelt beside the grave and clasped them between both hands, head bowed, for several minutes. Then he pressed the incense to his forehead three times, bowed until his hair brushed the grass, lit the incense, and stuck it into the soil at the foot of the marker. Four more sticks, started from the first three, were placed, one at each corner of the grave. Finally, he put his hands together, palm to palm, and began chanting softly in Vietnamese.
The late morning breeze bore the sounds and scents of prayer to Steven. He was suddenly overwhelmed by a vivid memory of Dinh's mother, kneeling in front of a makeshift altar in their hooch and chanting in the early morning light as the incense smoke curled around her.
He waited, out of Dinh's line of sight, until the incense burned out and the teenager ended his chant. Dinh bowed once more over his folded hands and hissed slightly as he shifted his right leg, using his arms to help push himself up.
As his son rose to his feet, Steven stepped forward and his shadow fell over the small brass plaque. It read, simply: Jennifer Helmgrin ~ 12-15-52 8-26-78
"They spelled it wrong." Dinh spoke quietly, without turning to look at his father. "I didn't realize it until they brought me out here. It was February by then. Too late to change it."
"I wondered," Steven commented, choosing his words with care, "why you didn't tell Social Services they got it wrong."
Dinh shrugged, and reversed the burnt-out sticks, snuffing them in the grass, before turning away from the grave. "She was gone. Compared to that, nothing else mattered." He used the flat, expressionless tone that meant they were treading on sensitive ground. "And before long all the records were filled out, official. It was too late to complain then." He began limping toward the cemetery entrance.
"The cast's off, I see." Steven fell into step beside him.
Dinh pushed his shaggy black mane off his forehead with one hand. "Yeah. I'm in therapy three times a week. They say it'll be fine in a month or two."
"That's good." A slightly awkward silence descended as they made their way to the sidewalk. "McCall phoned last night," Steven said as they reached the corner. "He's in town for the day and asked if he could buy us supper. Hope you don't mind."
Dinh shrugged. "Suits me." The light changed and he crossed the street.
Steven followed him. "Where today?" he asked. They maintained the polite fiction that Dinh was showing his father the town. It guaranteed they would have something to talk about, among other things.
"The Mission district. Here's our bus," Dinh responded, and climbed aboard.
They explored the Hispanic neighborhood all afternoon, stopping for rests whenever Dinh's leg began to bother him, then caught a bus to McCall's hotel.
As they entered the lobby a little before seven, Steven started slightly and called, "Dad?"
Dinh turned and saw his grandfather, Robbie Michaels, rising from a chair. "Hey, Robbie," he smiled.
"Robert called and suggested I come up," Robbie explained as he joined them. "He didn't tell you?"
Steven shook his head. "Not a word. It's good to see you, Dad. The kids have been wondering where Grandpa's been lately."
"Tell them I'll come over next weekend," Robbie promised, and moved toward the elevators. "Robert's waiting for us in his room. How is Kevin's wrestling team doing?"
Steven and Robbie talked sports as the elevator rose, and Dinh thought about Steven's comment. So Robbie wasn't spending as much time as usual with Steven's family, huh? Dinh wondered if Steven knew where his father had been spending that missing time.
Steven had brought Robbie along on his second visit with Dinh, and the elder Michaels had come to Frisco every other weekend since. Never the same weekend Steven visited, though. Was that accidental, or deliberate?
Not that Dinh cared, really. He liked Robbie. Robbie never pressured him, never tried to get him to open up or talk about himself.
Oh, Dinh's father never pushed, either. But with Steven, not-pushing was an active, deliberate thing, like a well-mannered kid not asking for a treat in a candy store. A day spent with Steven's careful not-asking could leave Dinh's gut in knots from all the things neither of them dared risk saying.
Robbie just was. He never asked about the past, indirectly or otherwise. Instead, he told his grandson about his newly-discovered family. Last time, he'd even told Dinh about his wife, Margo. Dinh knew first-hand what it cost you to talk about something that hurt as much as that had hurt Robbie. And to show Robbie he understood, he'd told his grandfather about how he'd lost Mom. How he still couldn't remember the accident, or anything from that whole evening, even after six years. It made a kind of bond between them that he and Steven simply didn't have.
He didn't say anything about the visits, though. If Robbie didn't want to tell Steven where he'd been, that was fine with Dinh. That was another thing he and Robbie had in common. They both hated fuss.
They exited on the fourteenth floor and Robbie knocked on the door of room 1433. It opened immediately and Robert McCall ushered them in.
"You found each other, I see," he greeted them. "Good. The final member of our party should be arriving shortly."
"What's this all about, McCall?" Steven demanded, sounding more than a little defensive. "You didn't say anything about Dad or this other fellow when you called yesterday."
"My plans weren't finalized when I spoke with you," McCall retorted in that cool, detached way of his. "May I offer you a drink before supper?" He walked over to a portable bar in one corner of the room. "I believe you prefer bourbon and water, Robbie? There are soft drinks in the refrigerator if you'd care for one, Dinh."
"Bourbon would be fine." Robbie accepted a glass.
Dinh didn't say anything. He was too busy trying to figure out what was up. Steven was obviously frustrated by the way McCall had put him off, but Robbie seemed to be in on whatever McCall had going. Since his grandfather was pretty much a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of person, that was a good sign. The teenager perched on the air conditioner in front of the window and waited to see what happened next.
Steven refused McCall's offer of refreshment rather abruptly, demanding again to be told what was happening.
"Merely tying up a few loose ends left from Murphy's investigation last fall," McCall rejoined, unperturbed. He picked up a small packet from the nightstand. "For example, I believe this is yours, Dinh." As the boy took the small manila envelope, he continued, "I had it updated Friday morning, before I left New York."
Dinh slid the contents into his hand. It was an old-fashioned passbook, drawn on a Trenton bank and wrapped in a change of address form. He flipped it open, curious now. The entries began in February, 1976 and ran through August, 1978. After these, two entries in a different hand were dated 9/18/84 and 12/14/84, respectively. The final balance was $3645.22. "What's this?"
"The account Jenny Holmgren opened in Trenton," McCall explained. "Since she made it a joint account, it legally devolved to you on her death." He smiled. "I suggest you have the funds transferred to a more convenient location, however."
Dinh just stared at him, nonplused. Sure, he'd known Mom had a savings account -- they'd put his paper-route money in it, for one thing -- but he'd assumed it had been closed out, or whatever banks did with old accounts, years ago.
When he remained silent, McCall added, "Unless you plan on relocating to the east coast in the near future?" There was more than a hint of humor in that dry voice.
"Uh..." Dinh swallowed and looked down at the passbook again. "No, I... I don't think so." He smiled ruefully at the older man, realizing he'd probably looked like a total fool a moment ago. "Thanks."
"My pleasure," McCall assured him, and raised an eyebrow at Robbie.
Robbie cleared his throat. "My turn." He smiled awkwardly at Steven. "Son, I probably should have checked this with you first, but I didn't expect things to happen quite so fast." Steven, looking very puzzled now, remained silent and after a moment Robbie turned to his grandson. "I know we... haven't known each other long," he began, hesitantly, "but I think we've made a good start. I'd like to... to have a chance to know you better." He paused, and Dinh nodded cautious agreement. "Would you... consider moving to San Diego? I've got a spare room you'd be more than welcome to...."
Robbie trailed off uncertainly, and Dinh stared at him in surprised delight. Robbie -- Robbie wanted him to move to San Diego? Not just a visit, but to actually live there, with him? He started to answer, to say yes, of course -- and remembered. Dinh bit his lip, and looked away. "I can't, Robbie," he admitted, hating the words, but knowing he had no other choice. "I'm sorry."
"It's all right," his grandfather assured him quietly, but the pain in his voice was as loud as a shout.
"Dad didn't mean to push--" Steven chimed in, but that was too much for Dinh.
"It's not that!" he countered fiercely, forcing himself to meet his grandfather's eyes, to tell Robbie what he needed to hear. He deserved that much, at least. "I... I wish I could, Robbie. It's not that I don't want to. I can't, that's all."
"Why?" Robbie queried.
Dinh stood up and looked out the window. He'd discovered it was easier to tell people things if you didn't have to look at them. That way you could pretend it didn't really matter. Not to them, or to you.
"I'm a ward of the State, remember?" he reminded them quietly. "As far as Social Services is concerned, I don't have any family. And since we can't prove anything about... Steven and me... there's no way a court will grant you custody. By law, I've got to be in, quote, 'a duly licensed foster care or group home placement,' unquote." He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. "And even if we could convince Social Services to move me south, I'd still need my P.O.'s approval, and he'd never go for it."
"Your what?" Steven gasped.
Dinh leaned both hands on the windowsill. Another thing nobody bothered to tell him, he thought tiredly. Skip had known, and probably Murphy, but they obviously hadn't passed that info on to Steven. "My Probation Officer. I'm on six months' probation for illegal trespass," he clarified without turning around. "The judge discovered I skipped out on the last foster home they put me in, so one of the conditions of my getting probation was that I had to stay where I was put, this time. And that means my P.O. has to approve any requests for change of placement."
"Did the judge specify Social Services, or merely your legal guardian?" McCall prompted.
"What difference does it make?" Dinh snapped, frustration edging his voice. "They're the same thing. And Johnson'll never go for it." He turned to glare at McCall, folding his arms in a reflexively defensive posture. "Hell, I had to miss a day of school to get the damn cast off last week and he was on the phone to my group home before lunch, trying to catch me playing truant so he could throw my ass in Juvie."
"It's true that they are the same thing at the moment," McCall conceded. "However..." He was interrupted by a knock on the door, and broke off to answer it. "That should be my fourth guest. Quite opportune, actually."
The man in the doorway was in his late thirties or early forties, with black hair, olive skin, and a lean, compact frame. His dark-blue, three piece suit looked too heavy for northern California.
"Mr. McCall?" the stranger inquired.
"That's right. Won't you come in?" McCall suggested. "The others are all here."
The man walked past his host and scanned the room in a single, sweeping glance. When he saw Dinh standing in front of the window, his face broke into a grin. "Hey, kiddo!" he cried. "Long time no see!"
Dinh's defenses snapped reflexively into place and he stared at the man through narrowed eyes. "I think you have me confused with someone else," he said flatly.
"Not possible. I'd know that face anywhere," the stranger insisted. "You still got that ball I caught for you in the Reds' '75 Series?"
Dinh scowled at the man for a moment. He did look vaguely familiar... Wait a minute, he thought as the man's comments registered, A ball? At the Reds game, in '75? But that was... "Tony?" he whispered, almost inaudibly, hands dropping unnoticed to his side.
Tony nodded, and Dinh's doubts disappeared. "Tony!" he shouted in delight, and flung himself at the man. The lawyer pulled him close and Dinh blinked away tears, but couldn't stop grinning. He'd missed Tony when they moved to Trenton. Tony, Mom's friend, who had been so good to them during those last horrible days in Cincinnati. The closest thing to a real father he'd ever had.
After a moment, Tony pushed the boy away gently, and smiled back at the silly grin pasted on Dinh's face. "Now that's the face I remember," he stated with quiet satisfaction. "That's Jenny's boy. Good to see you again, Dinh." He made a fist and mimed a right cross to the teenager's chin.
Dinh raised his left arm and blocked the blow automatically, as he had all those years ago, and laughed at the memories it brought flooding back. "Hey, Tony," he acknowledged, the smile muted but still there. "Good to see you, too. Long time, huh?"
"Yeah," the man agreed. "Long time. You haven't changed too much, though. A little taller," he admitted, smiling slightly up at the lanky teenager, "and I don't remember your Mom ever letting your hair get that bad." He reached out a hand and flipped the long ends hanging over Dinh's right shoulder.
"Aw, Tony." Dinh protested, laughing, and jerked his head left, out of range.
And froze, when the gesture brought his father and grandfather into sight. Robbie was smiling a little, pleased at his grandson's happiness, but Steven -- Steven looked like he was trying to be pleased, and failing miserably.
Tony had been like a father to him, during those terrible weeks, but Dinh had a real father, now. It was time, he realized suddenly, to show Steven he knew it.
He slipped out of his old friend's grasp and turned to face his father and grandfather, smile fading into stillness. "Tony." He spoke quietly. "I need you to meet some people. Okay?"
The lawyer gave him an odd look, but only answered, "Sure, kid," and moved to stand next to him.
Steven swallowed hard, and his jaw tightened. Dinh was pretty sure he knew why. Always before, when introductions were necessary, he'd simply given Steven's name. But now....
He took two steps forward, and looked straight into his father's eyes as his mouth curved into a small but genuine smile. "This is Steven Michaels." He spoke softly, but without hesitation. "My father."
Steven's face went blank for a moment, then his eyes warmed and he smiled back at his son before turning to look at the man standing beside him. As he did, Dinh explained, "Tony Morelli was a good friend of my mother's, when we lived in Cincinnati."
Steven nodded at the lawyer. "My brother told me how you helped him find Dinh for me, and helped Dinh and his mother when they needed it. Thank you, Mr. Morelli."
"Tony, please," the lawyer responded, with a small nod.
"And this," Dinh continued, pulling Tony after him, "is my grandfather, Robbie."
"Mr. Michaels." Morelli offered his hand.
Robbie nodded and shook it vigorously. Just then, McCall cleared his throat with obvious exaggeration.
Dinh's mouth twisted into a one-sided grin, and he folded his arms as he turned toward the older man. "I'd introduce you to McCall," he commented with a touch of his former irony, "but you already met him, and nobody ever told me how he fits into the family. If he does."
Robbie chuckled, and Steven cleared his throat before explaining, "He was married to my cousin Kay for a while."
"Yeah? So what does that make me, McCall?" Dinh asked.
"Cheeky?" McCall suggested dryly, and glanced at his watch. "And late for supper, if we don't leave immediately. May I suggest we continue this discussion in the restaurant?"
The others agreed, and they exited the room en masse. As they waited for the elevator, Steven pressed Dinh's shoulder and murmured, "Thank you," too softly for the others to hear.
Dinh swallowed hard and nodded, but felt obliged to warn him. "I don't know if I'll ever manage 'Dad'."
"Steven is fine," his father assured him as the elevator arrived.
The restaurant on the third floor of the hotel was one of those discreet, expensive places with white-jacketed waiters and carpets thick enough to swallow your shoes. A single glance at the menu was enough to convince Steven not to fight McCall for the check. This place wanted more for a bowl of soup than he had paid for lunch for two in the Mission district.
McCall and Morelli fit right in, but the three Michaels men were definitely underdressed, Dinh most obviously. Steven and Robbie were at least wearing slacks, but Dinh's well-worn blue jeans and plaid shirt were decidedly out of place here, and the teenager was clearly and uncomfortably aware of the fact. Before Steven could figure out something reassuring to say, Morelli caught Dinh's eye and mimed flipping a coin and catching it again. Dinh chuckled and relaxed, shaking his head at the lawyer with a rueful but completely natural smile.
Steven bit his tongue and concentrated on the menu, trying not to be jealous of the obvious affection between his son and this self-confident stranger. I should be grateful to him, he thought guiltily. I've never seen Dinh so open, so relaxed. But he couldn't help wishing that he had been the one to bring that smile to his son's face.
The menu was international and highly varied, and the four older men discussed possibilities for a few minutes until the waiter returned and took their orders. Steven was mildly surprised by Dinh's choice -- a meatless Thai curry -- but he didn't comment on it.
After the waiter had gone, McCall turned to Tony Morelli, who was seated on his left. "Before you arrived," he began, "we were discussing the logistics of arranging for Dinh to stay with his grandfather in San Diego." He turned to his right, and looked past Steven at Dinh. "Perhaps," he suggested, "you'd prefer to fill Mr. Morelli in on the details yourself?"
Dinh propped his left elbow on the back of his chair and frowned slightly at the Englishman. "There's nothing to fill in," he replied tightly, and his eyes flickered briefly toward the Cincinnati lawyer. "I already told you, it's not gonna happen. End of discussion."
He doesn't want Morelli to know about the probation, Steven realized suddenly, and chose his words carefully. "You said it wouldn't work because of the, ah, conditions on your current placement through Social Services, right?" He had no idea what McCall was planning here, but the man had hinted something, just before the lawyer had arrived....
Dinh's eyes shifted to him, and a little of the tension eased from his face. "Yeah, so?"
"So," McCall picked up the thread Steven had thrown out, "are those conditions specific to your current residence, or merely to any residence your legal guardian, who is at this moment synonymous with Social Services, chooses for you?"
Dinh frowned, obviously not following McCall's chain of logic. "They don't have to keep me in the group home if they don't want to, if that's what you mean," he admitted finally. "But what difference does that make?"
McCall smiled in quiet triumph. "The difference," he informed the teenager, "is that the State of California isn't really your legal guardian. Social Services only thinks it is."
Dinh's frown deepened, and he leaned forward. "Who is then?"
"I am," Tony Morelli told him, with a broad smile.
Steven and Dinh stared across the table at him in identical astonishment.
Dinh recovered a second earlier than his father. "You, Tony? How?"
Steven's stomach knotted suddenly. If Morelli was telling the truth, he would be within his rights to take Dinh back to Cincinnati with him -- and Steven wasn't at all certain that Dinh would refuse to go.
"Jenny left a will," Morelli explained quietly, folding his hands on the table. "Mr. McCall found her copy in Trenton and contacted me. I wrote it up for her, before you left Cincin." His expression grew grim, and he added vehemently, "We wanted to make damn sure that son-of-a-bitch Witczak couldn't get his hands on you again, if anything happened to Jenny."
Dinh paled a little at that, and swallowed nervously. "I... worried about that, after the accident," he admitted, looking away and rubbing his arms as though chilled. "One reason I didn't fuss about them getting my name wrong. I figured, if they couldn't trace me back to Trenton, they wouldn't find out about him...." He licked his lips and swallowed again, eyes fixed on his place setting. "Nothing we left back there was worth risking that."
"Yeah," the lawyer acknowledged softly. "I thought that might be how it was. But you never really had to be afraid of that, you know. Jenny had it all figured out." He pulled an envelope out of his inside jacket pocket and handed it, not to Dinh, but to Steven. "That's my copy," he continued. "It names me Jenny's executor and Dinh's legal guardian, and specifies that the money from her life insurance be placed in a trust fund until her son is 21."
Steven hadn't moved to open the envelope. "Life insurance?"
Morelli nodded. "Jenny took out a policy as soon as she had a job. Your cousin-in-law," he nodded at McCall, "found that, too. Since it was paid up when she died, we can still claim it. All we have to do is convince a probate judge that the Jennifer Helmgrin who died in a hit-and-run in San Francisco is the same person as Jenny Holmgren, who held the policy. Shouldn't be too hard." He smiled at Robbie, who was sitting between the lawyer and Dinh. "After that, there's no reason I know of Dinh can't move in with his grandfather, if he wants to."
Robbie smiled back, and turned to his rather dazed grandson. "You're still welcome," he offered. "But only if it's what you want...."
Dinh was still staring at the table. He took a deep breath, let it out, and replied, with a passable but unconvincing attempt at his usual cool assurance, "Yeah, I..." He gulped, and looked up at his grandfather. "I think I could give it a try."
Their food arrived just then, and everyone seemed mildly relieved at the break it provided. As McCall cut into his coq au vin a moment later, he said, "Mr. Morelli has suggested that the trust specified in Jenny Holmgren's will have three trustees. Himself, because he is Dinh's legal guardian. Robbie," he smiled at the older man, "because Dinh will be living with him, and myself, for my modest knowledge of investment strategies."
Tony snorted as he cut his prime rib. "Modest, nothing." He stabbed a piece of beef. "I've seen your portfolio, Mr. McCall. You do half as well by Dinh as you do for yourself, and I'll have no worries on that score."
"How much money are we talking about here?" Steven inquired. Probably ten, twenty thousand. Enough to pay for college, if he wants it.
The lawyer swallowed his steak. "It's a $50,000 policy, with a double indemnity clause for accidental death." Morelli was matter-of-fact about it. "So that makes the trust an even hundred thousand."
Dinh, who until this point had been listening without comment, choked on a mouthful of curry and had to be pounded on the back before he could get his breath back. "Wh-what?" he gasped, staring at the lawyer, eyes round in shock. "A hu-hundr..."
"Hundred thousand dollars," Morelli repeated, unfazed. "More, if we can talk them into paying interest from the date of her death, but that's not likely."
Dinh gulped, and lifted his water in both shaking hands.
Steven laughed, a little shaky himself. "Well, I guess I don't have to worry about paying for college, if you end up going." Wish I had that kind of cushion, but I'll never manage it on my salary.
Dinh gulped from the glass, and stared into the clear crystal. "No," he gasped, voice still shaky. "This isn't happening, not to me." He pushed the goblet back onto the edge of the table, and continued staring at it, hands falling limp in his lap. "It's a dream or... or something. It's not real. It can't be."
Shock, Steven thought. Too many changes, too fast. He's going to hyperventilate if he keeps this up. He looked at the envelope he held, and at the man sitting across the table. "It's real," he assured his son, quietly. "This is real..." he placed the will in Dinh's hand "...and Tony's real." The teenager clenched the envelope, and his eyes shifted upward, to the lawyer's face. "And we're real." He placed his right hand on his son's shoulder and Robbie copied the gesture on the other side.
Dinh hesitated, then looked right, at his grandfather, and left, at his father. Slowly, shakily, he smiled. "Yeah," he whispered, eyes bright with unshed tears. "I guess you are."
"Welcome home, son," Steven told him. "Welcome home."