Read Online When I Found You by Catherine Ryan Hyde - Free Book Online
Authors: Catherine Ryan Hyde
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didn’t act like it was any big deal. Denial, maybe. Or maybe he was too young at the time to understand. Jacob says the kids at school sometimes make taunting remarks. And that four or five times Nat’s gone home to his grandma and demanded to know what they mean.”
“How does Jacob even know that? Do they discuss it?”
“I think those were just the times he was right there. So you can imagine how often it must happen if he’s overheard it four or five times in the six or seven years they’ve been friends.”
“What does his grandmother say?”
“She lies to him. Says the people who say such things are mistaken. Or that he misunderstood.”
“That’s wrong, I think.”
“Well, what would you do? If you had a boy his age who had such a horrible thing like that in his past, what would you do? Would you tell him a thing so awful?”
A long silence.
“Whew. I don’t know. I’m just glad I don’t
have
to know.”
“Yeah. Me, too. Now get back to what you were saying about Geoffrey.”
• • •
Nat slipped out of Jacob’s house, still in just pajamas and bare feet. Padded down the freezing sidewalk for half a block, to home. Opened the front door with the key around his neck.
Then he went upstairs to Gamma’s bedroom, a room he had only three times entered, and began looking around to see what he could find.
He likely could not have put words to what he was looking for. But in his gut he felt there must be something. Pictures of his mother. Letters from her. There had to be something. And Gamma kept everything. She was not one to throw sentimental items in the trash. Or just about any items, for that matter.
He opened her dresser drawers but found only humiliating personal undergarments. He closed each drawer again, touching nothing, so Gamma would never have to know he had looked.
He looked on her closet shelves and found only shoes and hats. Again, he left no evidence of his intrusion.
He looked under her bed and found a wooden cigar box.
He pulled it out. Brought it under the light. Opened it.
Inside were a few papers. Not nearly enough to fill the box. On the very top was a folded clipping from a newspaper. Yellowed with age.
Nat unfolded it.
It was the headline story, dated 3 October 1960. Two days after his birth. The headline read, in shockingly large, bold letters, “ABANDONED NEWBORN FOUND IN WOODS BY LOCAL HUNTER.”
The jittery sensation that had haunted Nat’s stomach since he’d stood in Jacob’s kitchen was blasted away by the news. It felt good. It felt good to replace nervousness with shock. Because shock, at least in this moment, felt like nothing at all.
He had even stopped shivering from the cold.
He skimmed the article.
Lenora Bates. His mother’s name was Lenora.
Richard A. Ford. His father’s name was Richard A. Ford. So why wasn’t his name Nathan Ford?
He had a mother and a father. Somewhere.
And on the night of his birth they had discarded him.
Were they still in prison? Or had they served their time and been released? And disappeared without so much as a word to him?
He scanned down to see about the man who found him. He wanted to memorize that name as well. But he was only referred to as “a man on a duck-hunting outing with his dog.”
Nat started over and read the article word by word.
When he had finished reading, he refolded it carefully and held it in his left hand while he slid the cigar box back under the bed with his right. Then he took the article with him to his room, where he packed a suitcase with only the most essential of his belongings. Jeans and underwear. Tee shirts. His baseball mitt. The article.
The phone rang, and it startled him.
He ran downstairs and picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Nat! Oh, thank God! We didn’t know where you were.” Jacob’s mom.
“I forgot something at home.”
“Are you coming back right now?”
“Yes. Right now.”
He hung up the phone and walked back upstairs, where he
“How does Jacob even know that? Do they discuss it?”
“I think those were just the times he was right there. So you can imagine how often it must happen if he’s overheard it four or five times in the six or seven years they’ve been friends.”
“What does his grandmother say?”
“She lies to him. Says the people who say such things are mistaken. Or that he misunderstood.”
“That’s wrong, I think.”
“Well, what would you do? If you had a boy his age who had such a horrible thing like that in his past, what would you do? Would you tell him a thing so awful?”
A long silence.
“Whew. I don’t know. I’m just glad I don’t
have
to know.”
“Yeah. Me, too. Now get back to what you were saying about Geoffrey.”
• • •
Nat slipped out of Jacob’s house, still in just pajamas and bare feet. Padded down the freezing sidewalk for half a block, to home. Opened the front door with the key around his neck.
Then he went upstairs to Gamma’s bedroom, a room he had only three times entered, and began looking around to see what he could find.
He likely could not have put words to what he was looking for. But in his gut he felt there must be something. Pictures of his mother. Letters from her. There had to be something. And Gamma kept everything. She was not one to throw sentimental items in the trash. Or just about any items, for that matter.
He opened her dresser drawers but found only humiliating personal undergarments. He closed each drawer again, touching nothing, so Gamma would never have to know he had looked.
He looked on her closet shelves and found only shoes and hats. Again, he left no evidence of his intrusion.
He looked under her bed and found a wooden cigar box.
He pulled it out. Brought it under the light. Opened it.
Inside were a few papers. Not nearly enough to fill the box. On the very top was a folded clipping from a newspaper. Yellowed with age.
Nat unfolded it.
It was the headline story, dated 3 October 1960. Two days after his birth. The headline read, in shockingly large, bold letters, “ABANDONED NEWBORN FOUND IN WOODS BY LOCAL HUNTER.”
The jittery sensation that had haunted Nat’s stomach since he’d stood in Jacob’s kitchen was blasted away by the news. It felt good. It felt good to replace nervousness with shock. Because shock, at least in this moment, felt like nothing at all.
He had even stopped shivering from the cold.
He skimmed the article.
Lenora Bates. His mother’s name was Lenora.
Richard A. Ford. His father’s name was Richard A. Ford. So why wasn’t his name Nathan Ford?
He had a mother and a father. Somewhere.
And on the night of his birth they had discarded him.
Were they still in prison? Or had they served their time and been released? And disappeared without so much as a word to him?
He scanned down to see about the man who found him. He wanted to memorize that name as well. But he was only referred to as “a man on a duck-hunting outing with his dog.”
Nat started over and read the article word by word.
When he had finished reading, he refolded it carefully and held it in his left hand while he slid the cigar box back under the bed with his right. Then he took the article with him to his room, where he packed a suitcase with only the most essential of his belongings. Jeans and underwear. Tee shirts. His baseball mitt. The article.
The phone rang, and it startled him.
He ran downstairs and picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Nat! Oh, thank God! We didn’t know where you were.” Jacob’s mom.
“I forgot something at home.”
“Are you coming back right now?”
“Yes. Right now.”
He hung up the phone and walked back upstairs, where he
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