Chapter 8 - THE BROTHER I NEVER KNEW EXISTEDI stared at Margaret.
For several seconds, I was certain I had misunderstood.
"My father has what?"
"Another son."
I looked down at the photograph.
The little boy stood beside Calvin, holding a wooden toy airplane.
He was smiling.
My father wasn't.
"Who is he?"
Margaret took a slow breath.
"His name is Thomas Reed."
The name meant nothing to me.
But the photograph suddenly seemed impossibly important.
"When was he born?"
"About nine years before you."
I sat back.
"Does Mom know?"
Margaret hesitated.
"I believe she knows at least part of the story. But I can't tell you what Calvin has told her."
I looked at the boy again.
"How do you know he's Dad's son?"
"Thomas's mother, Rebecca, told Henry. Calvin acknowledged the relationship privately when Thomas was young. Your grandfather helped arrange support when Calvin's involvement became inconsistent."
A strange wave of anger rose inside me.
Not because my father had a child before I was born.
That alone was not something shameful.
But because he had apparently spent decades pretending that child didn't exist.
"Where is Thomas now?"
"He's forty-one. He lives in Duluth."
"Does he know about me?"
Margaret nodded.
"He knows Calvin married and had two more children."
I looked at her.
"Why didn't he ever contact us?"
"That would be a question for Thomas."
I leaned forward.
"Does Grandma know him?"
Margaret smiled sadly.
"Loretta has never forgotten him."
My chest tightened.
"She stayed in touch?"
"Yes. Not constantly. But she sent birthday cards, checked on him, and helped when she could."
I thought about all the years I had spent sitting beside Grandma at the lakehouse.
All the stories she had told.
All the family photographs she'd shown me.
And yet she had never mentioned Thomas.
"Why keep this from me?"
Margaret looked down.
"Perhaps she hoped Calvin would tell you himself."
I was quiet for a long time.
Then I asked:
"What does Thomas do?"
"He repairs musical instruments."
I stared at her.
"You're kidding."
Margaret shook her head.
"He owns a small restoration workshop. Pianos, violins, old organs. Anything with a history."
I felt an unexpected chill.
My father had one son who taught music.
Another who restored instruments.
And he had treated the antique piano as nothing more than an object that could be exchanged for a luxury car.
It was almost too strange to believe.
Margaret studied my expression.
"Everett, I don't think Loretta wanted you to discover Thomas because of the family scandal. I think she wanted you to know that your family is bigger than the people who have hurt you."
I looked back at the photograph.
"Does he know Grandma is dying?"
"Yes."
"Has he visited?"
Margaret paused.
"Not recently."
"Why?"
"Because the last time Thomas came to the lakehouse, Calvin threatened to have him removed."
My jaw tightened.
"What?"
"That was several years ago. Thomas came to see Loretta after a family gathering. Calvin arrived unexpectedly and made it clear he wasn't welcome."
I imagined the humiliation.
A grown man being rejected by his own father.
And I realized something painful.
For years, I had believed I was the unwanted son.
But I had at least been allowed to attend family dinners.
Thomas had apparently been excluded from the family entirely.
I looked at Margaret.
"Can you give me his number?"
She considered the request.
"I can ask whether he's comfortable speaking with you."
I nodded.
"Please."
Before I left, Margaret handed me a copy of the old photograph.
"Your grandfather loved all his grandchildren, Everett. Even the ones Calvin refused to acknowledge."
I slipped it carefully into my coat.
On the drive home, I kept glancing toward the passenger seat, where the photograph lay beside my phone.
I didn't know what I would say to Thomas.
Hello, I'm the younger brother you never met?
I'm sorry our father treated you like a secret?
I wasn't even sure he would want to hear from me.
That evening, Delaney appeared at my apartment.
I opened the door and found her standing in the hallway without makeup, wearing jeans and a gray sweatshirt.
She looked younger than twenty-seven.
And much more frightened.
"Can I come in?"
I stepped aside.
She walked into my living room, looked around, and sat on the sofa.
For several moments, she said nothing.
Then she began to cry.
Not the theatrical tears she sometimes used when Dad refused to buy something.
These were quiet, exhausted tears.
I brought her a glass of water.
"What happened?"
She looked up.
"Ryder broke up with me."
I sat across from her.
"I'm sorry."
She shook her head.
"He said he couldn't trust me."
"Why?"
"Because I kept defending Dad. Even after everything."
I waited.
She wiped her face.
"He asked whether I'd give the car back if it meant Grandma could have her piano."
I felt my chest tighten.
"What did you say?"
Delaney looked ashamed.
"I told him it wasn't fair to punish me."
I didn't respond.
She stared at the water glass.
"Then he asked whether I'd ever thought about what was fair to you."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Delaney looked around my apartment.
There were drawings from my students on the refrigerator.
A small electric piano stood against the wall.
A stack of music books lay beside the window.
She studied them.
"I used to think you were wasting your life."
I smiled sadly.
"I know."
"Mom and Dad always said you had no ambition."
"I know that too."
She began twisting the sleeve of her sweatshirt.
"But when Ryder asked me what I'd ever done without Dad's money, I couldn't answer."
I looked at her.
"Delaney, you're not a bad person because you've had opportunities."
She shook her head.
"I think I've become a bad person because I never cared where those opportunities came from."
I didn't know what to say.
For years, I had wanted her to recognize how differently our parents treated us.
Now that she was beginning to understand, I felt no satisfaction.
Only sadness.
She looked at me.
"I want to fix something."
"What?"
"The car."
I frowned.
"Delaney—"
"I'm going to sell it."
I stared at her.
"Are you serious?"
She nodded.
"I don't want it anymore."
I studied her face.
For the first time, I believed she meant it.
Then her eyes moved toward the photograph of Thomas lying on the coffee table.
She picked it up.
"Who's this?"
I hesitated.
"Someone Grandma wants me to meet."
Delaney examined the picture.
"That little boy looks like Dad."
My chest tightened.
She turned the photograph over.
On the back, in faded handwriting, were three words.
Calvin and Thomas.
Delaney looked at me.
"Everett, who is Thomas?"
Before I could answer, my phone rang.
An unfamiliar number appeared on the screen.
I answered cautiously.
"Hello?"
A man's voice responded.
"Is this Everett Whitaker?"
"Yes."
There was a pause.
"My name is Thomas Reed."
I looked at Delaney.
The man continued.
"I think we have the same father."
May you like
Then his voice changed.
"And Everett, there's something you should know. I believe your grandmother's piano is sitting in my workshop."
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