I thought the hardest part would be finding Matthew.
For eleven years, that had been the only thing I could imagine.
Find him.
Hear his voice.
Know he was alive.
Everything else seemed like a problem I could face afterward.
Now afterward had arrived.
And it was more complicated than I expected.
Matthew was sitting across from me again.
He had been quiet for several minutes.
I did not interrupt.
I was getting better at that.
At first, every silence frightened me.
I thought I had said something wrong.
I thought he might be uncomfortable.
I thought he might decide he no longer wanted me there.
Now I was beginning to understand that silence did not always mean something terrible.
Sometimes he was just thinking.
Sometimes he was tired.
Sometimes he did not have anything to say.
That was allowed.
He looked toward the door.
"Is Ramirez still working on it?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
"About Robert?"
"About what happened."
Matthew considered that.
"Do you think he'll ask Robert questions?"
"I imagine he'll need to."
He looked down.
I waited.
Then he raised his eyes.
"Do you want to talk to Robert?"
I felt my jaw tighten.
The question came too quickly for me to hide my reaction.
Matthew noticed.
I took a slow breath.
"I want answers from him."
He nodded.
"But I don't know what I'd say if I saw him right now."
Matthew looked at me.
"Are you angry?"
"Yes."
The answer came easily this time.
I did not need to pretend otherwise.
I was angry.
Angry about the missing years.
Angry about the uncertainty.
Angry that a man I had trusted had been standing near the pool while Matthew was gone.
But I still did not know whether Robert had caused any of it.
That mattered.
I looked at my son.
"I'm angry because I don't understand what happened."
He nodded.
"And because I trusted him."
Matthew rubbed his fingers together.
"Do you think you were wrong to trust him?"
I thought carefully.
"I don't know."
He frowned.
I continued.
"Trusting someone doesn't tell us what they did afterward."
Matthew watched me.
"I can question what happened without pretending I know the answer."
He nodded slowly.
"I guess."
I looked toward the door.
There were moments when I wanted to walk into the adjoining room and demand that Ramirez tell me everything.
But I remembered what Matthew had said.
He did not want to hate someone simply because he could not remember.
I had promised myself the same thing.
I would not turn uncertainty into blame.
I would not let my anger decide the facts.
Matthew leaned back.
"Do you think about the pool a lot?"
I nodded.
"More than I used to."
He looked curious.
"Why?"
"Because I didn't question it at the time."
He waited.
"I thought Robert was shocked."
Matthew nodded.
"And now?"
"Now I realize I don't know."
He looked down.
I felt the familiar weight of guilt.
I wanted to tell him how many times I had replayed the moment.
How often I had imagined going downstairs sooner.
How often I had wondered whether one different decision could have changed everything.
But I stopped myself.
Matthew did not need to carry that burden for me.
He had enough of his own.
I looked at him.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Are you comfortable talking about this?"
He thought about it.
"Some of it."
I nodded.
"Then we can stop whenever you want."
He gave me a small smile.
"Okay."
We sat quietly.
Then he asked something I had not expected.
"Do you think we're going to keep seeing each other?"
I looked at him.
"Would you like that?"
He nodded.
"Yeah."
I felt my chest tighten.
"Then I'd like that too."
He looked relieved.
I wanted to tell him how much.
I wanted to tell him I would spend every day with him if he asked.
But I knew that would be too much.
He was not asking me to take over his life.
He was asking whether there was room for me in it.
I could answer that without overwhelming him.
"I'd like to see you as often as you're comfortable."
He nodded.
"Okay."
We sat quietly again.
Then he smiled faintly.
"You're being really careful."
I laughed softly.
"I am."
"Why?"
I thought about the first time I walked into the room.
How afraid I had been to move toward him.
How I had wondered whether I could even touch him.
How I had nearly cried when he said Dad.
"Because I don't want to scare you away."
Matthew looked surprised.
Then his expression softened.
"I'm not planning to disappear."
The words struck me.
He noticed immediately.
His smile faded.
"Sorry."
I shook my head.
"No."
I took a breath.
"You don't have to apologize."
He looked down.
"I didn't mean it like that."
"I know."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
I felt the old fear rise.
The memory of coming downstairs and discovering he was gone.
The searching.
The ocean.
The eleven years.
Then I looked at Matthew.
He was still sitting there.
He had not vanished.
He was not a memory.
He was a person who had made an ordinary remark.
I had to learn how to live with that.
I leaned back.
"I'm going to worry sometimes."
Matthew nodded.
"I figured."
I managed a smile.
"But I don't want you to feel responsible for making me stop."
He looked at me carefully.
"Okay."
I continued.
"That's something I need to work on."
He nodded.
For a while, he looked out the window.
Then he asked whether I wanted to see him again the next day.
I smiled.
"Yes."
He looked amused.
"You didn't even think about it."
"I didn't need to."
He laughed.
The sound warmed something inside me.
I had missed eleven years of that laugh.
But I was hearing it now.
That mattered more than counting every time I had not heard it.
A little later, Ramirez came to the door.
He knocked before entering.
Matthew looked up.
"Are we finished?"
Ramirez smiled slightly.
"For now."
Matthew nodded.
I stood.
I was beginning to dread goodbyes.
Even small ones.
Even temporary ones.
The word goodbye had belonged to the worst day of my life for too long.
Matthew seemed to notice.
He stood too.
"Tomorrow?"
I nodded.
"Tomorrow."
He looked at me.
"Same place?"
"If that works."
He smiled.
"Okay."
I wanted to hug him again.
But I did not move.
I remembered what I had learned.
Ask.
Do not assume.
"Would a hug be okay?"
Matthew smiled.
"Yeah."
I stepped forward.
He hugged me.
This time, he did not hesitate as long.
It was still brief.
Still a little awkward.
But different.
I felt his hand rest against my back.
I closed my eyes for a moment.
Then I let go.
Matthew stepped away.
He looked almost embarrassed.
I smiled.
"See you tomorrow."
He nodded.
"See you."
I watched him return toward the adjoining room.
Ramirez waited until the door closed.
Then he turned toward me.
"How are you doing?"
I looked at the door.
"Better than yesterday."
He nodded.
"That's good."
I hesitated.
"Have you learned anything more about Robert?"
Ramirez's expression became serious.
"We're still examining the information."
I felt frustration rise.
Then I let it pass.
I had spent eleven years wanting answers.
I could not force them to appear because I was tired of waiting.
"What do you need from me?"
Ramirez regarded me carefully.
"For now, keep being honest about what you remember."
I nodded.
"I can do that."
"And don't try to fill in the missing pieces."
I gave a tired smile.
"I'm working on it."
He nodded.
I glanced at the table.
The photograph was still there.
Matthew with the red bucket.
Robert behind him.
For a moment, I wanted to pick it up again.
I wanted to stare at Robert's face until something became obvious.
But I knew the picture would not change.
It showed one moment.
It did not explain the next eleven years.
I looked back at Ramirez.
"I want the truth."
"I know."
"Even if it isn't what I expect."
He nodded.
"That's important."
I felt my hands tighten.
"I don't want Matthew growing up with somebody else's explanation of his life."
Ramirez said nothing.
I continued.
"He's already had enough of that."
I looked toward the adjoining door.
Matthew was somewhere beyond it.
Alive.
Still learning who I was.
Still carrying questions about his own past.
I could not answer those questions yet.
But I could stop making promises I had no right to make.
I could stop treating every suspicion as proof.
I could stop expecting my son to become the little boy I remembered.
And I could keep showing up.
That part was within my control.
I looked at the photograph one final time.
For eleven years, I had believed the ocean ended Matthew's story.
Now I knew it had not.
But I still did not know what happened on that beach.
I did not know why Robert had stood near the pool.
I did not know what Matthew might eventually remember.
Those questions remained.
I would not abandon them.
But when I turned away from the table, I was no longer thinking only about the day my son disappeared.
I was thinking about the next morning.
About walking through the door again.
About hearing him say hello.
About having another conversation that did not need to explain everything.
Matthew had asked to see me tomorrow.
And for the first time in eleven years, I was beginning to believe that tomorrow could belong to us.
Click here to continue reading: PART 17: The Next Morning, I Returned to See Matthew and Learned That Being His Father Again Would Begin With Ordinary Things
For Eleven Years, I Believed My Son Had Disappeared Into the Ocean, Until an Old Photograph Made Me Question Everything
Part 16 of 20
