Chapter 7 - The Last Address
The rain was still hammering against the windshield of my car as I crossed the Ohio state line later that evening, driving straight toward Columbus.
I hadn't planned on going. When Lauren left my apartment, I had told myself it wasn't my circus anymore. I had spent fourteen years tying myself in knots trying to fix my father’s financial and emotional wreckage. He was a grown man who had made his bed out of decades of deception. Let him lie in it.
Driving past the city limits sign at 8:00 PM, I realized I wasn't driving there for him.
I was driving there for Owen, and for whatever broken pieces were left of a family that had never really known how to tell the truth.
I didn't go to my parents' house first. Instead, I drove straight to Owen and Lauren’s newly purchased suburban home. When I pulled into their driveway, Owen’s car was parked beside his wife’s.
I killed the engine, sat in the dark for a moment listening to the rhythmic slap of the wiper blades, and then stepped out into the cold drizzle, walking up to the front porch.
I raised my hand and knocked twice.
Thirty seconds later, the front door swung open. Owen stood in the entryway wearing a gray hoodie and sweatpants, looking as though he hadn't slept properly in days. He froze when he saw me standing under the porch light.
“Aaron?” he breathed, his voice flat with shock. “What are you doing here? Lauren said she just dropped off those papers—I told her not to give them to you!”
“She didn't give them to me, Owen. I brought myself here,” I said, stepping past him into the warm foyer without waiting for an invitation.
Owen closed the door behind me, turning around with a defensive posture. “If you’re here to lecture me about Dad, don't bother. I don't even know where he is. Mom called me an hour ago in a panic because she found out his credit cards are all maxed out and his phone is disconnected. He’s completely gone.”
“I know,” I said, pulling my damp jacket off and hanging it on the rack. “Lauren showed me the letter.”
Owen’s eyes widened slightly. He looked down at the floor, his jaw working tightly. “Yeah. That letter... it’s pathetic, isn't it? A lifetime of pretending, wrapped up in three paragraphs of self-pity.”
“It is pathetic,” I agreed honestly. “But it’s also the first completely honest thing he’s written in twenty years.”
Owen looked up, his gaze flashing with sudden frustration. “Are you defending him? After everything he did to you—to us?”
“No, Owen. I’m not defending him,” I said, stepping closer and looking him directly in the eye. “I’m telling you that we have a choice right now. We can sit here and watch our family completely disintegrate while Mom falls apart in that empty house, or we can go find him and figure out how to clean up the mess once and for all.”
“Find him?” Owen scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “With what lead? Columbus is a big city, Aaron. He could be anywhere.”
“He’s not anywhere,” I said calmly. “He’s somewhere specific. Think about it, Owen. Where does a man go when his entire life’s work collapses, when his pride is shredded to pieces, and he wants to hide from everyone who ever knew him?”
Owen stared at me, his brow furrowing as my words registered. He thought for a long moment, searching his memory through the wreckage of our childhood.
Slowly, the color drained from his face.
“The old hardware store,” Owen whispered.
May you like
“Grandma Ruth’s old property,” I nodded. “The brick building downtown that he inherited a share of years ago before letting it sit abandoned. It’s the only place he ever felt like he was his own man before he started playing businessman.”
Owen grabbed his car keys off the kitchen counter without hesitation. “Let’s go.”
