“I know.”
“Why?”
The mother looked toward window.
“Which version?”
“The true one.”
“That changes depending on which year you ask.”
He waited.
She took a breath.
“My parents split when I was four.”
The chapter president knew about the old biker’s first marriage.
He knew it ended badly.
But he had always been told there were no children.
The mother continued.
“My mother left Colorado.”
“My father was drinking heavily then.”
“Fighting.”
“In trouble.”
“He wasn’t safe.”
The president swallowed.
That part fit the man he had known in his twenties.
The old biker before sobriety was difficult.
Sometimes reckless.
Sometimes violent.
The mother said:
“My mother remarried.”
“My stepfather adopted me.”
“My father signed papers.”
The president closed his eyes.
“He gave up parental rights?”
“Yes.”
“How old were you?”
“Five.”
“Did he see you afterward?”
“No.”
“Not until I was twenty-seven.”
The president stared.
“What happened?”
“I found him.”
“You?”
She nodded.
“My mother died.”
“I found old documents.”
“I already knew my stepfather wasn’t biological.”
“But nobody talked.”
“I searched.”
The chapter president looked down.
“What did he do when you called?”
The mother laughed weakly.
“He hung up.”
That surprised him enough that she smiled.
“He thought it was a scam.”
The president laughed once despite everything.
“That sounds like him.”
“He called back seventeen minutes later.”
“How do you remember?”
“Because I was furious.”
“He said, ‘If you’re really my daughter, tell me what I gave you on your fourth birthday.’”
“What had he given?”
“A red plastic horse.”
The president pictured his friend.
“And?”
“I told him.”
“He cried.”
The chapter president looked away.
The mother continued.
“We met at a diner.”
“He came an hour early.”
“How know?”
“The waitress told me.”
“He sat in his truck because he was scared.”
That part hurt.
The old biker everyone feared had been afraid to walk into a diner and meet his own daughter.
“What happened?”
“He apologized.”
“Right away?”
“No.”
She smiled faintly.
“He made small talk for twenty minutes.”
“Of course.”
“Then I finally said, ‘Are you going to pretend you didn’t abandon me?’”
The chapter president winced.
“What did he say?”
“He said no.”
The mother looked at her hands.
“He didn’t give me excuses.”
“He said he was drinking.”