Lost and Found by Bob Johnson

LABOR DAY, 2023, 1P.M.           

I stood staring at the face of my Samsung 23 ultra, the newest hottest cellphone on the market. A blinking movement of light faded and I barely noticed a slight device vibration as the telephone call ended. The audio connection had finished and suddenly a bright picture of the Lake Tahoe shoreline appeared. Charlene had chosen to display that snap as the current background screen. She picked the gem over all the hundreds of others that filled the gallery of this little electronic wizard. She had told me it would bring me to a happy place every time I looked at it. She wasn’t wrong.

A memorable vacation indeed. Char, myself, and our crazy mix of a mutt, Shorty, were the travelers. It had been the last road trip of the year and the weather had been beautiful the whole time. The lake water was clear and blue, and the different pine trees that framed the shot provided a nice contrast. I didn’t take it, of course, since I had no patience to work the landscape and the lighting for just that perfect image. Char is the one to take the snaps, and they seem to always turn out beautifully.

We had camped, I fished, she cooked, we napped, and Shorty, our adventuresome dog, found every pile of animal dung in a three-county area to roll in. He had been given more baths in those two weeks than in his entire life.

I was trying to flesh out a storyline for my latest novel. I was blank. Nothing seemed to come to me. I was trying to keep my literary agent appeased. No distractions outside of a few late-night partiers in the campground could help in that endeavor. Char was able to get in some quality studying to ready herself for the national testing to finally receive her much-deserved pharmacy license. Thirty days and counting for that big event.

I mindlessly focused on the cell phone image for quite some time until its face turned dark.

I had been engaged in a conversation for the better part of fifteen minutes, but barely speaking a handful of words. Information from the other end had bombarded me; things that I just couldn’t understand or comprehend. My head was whirling in confusion when the line started its long steady buzz indicating the call had finally ended.

“Who was that Teddy? “My wife asked with concern.

She had been watching me during the entire telephone call.

I spoke with a soft, almost whispering voice, “That was my brother.”

“Who?” Char said apprehensively.

“My brother.” I repeated louder that I wanted to.

“Ted, you don’t have a brother!” she blurted out as she quickly walked toward me.

ONE MONTH EARLIER….

“What is this?” I asked my diminutive wife. Her Asian heritage height was typical of her cultural background. She claimed to be five feet five inches tall but that would have been with six-inch platform shoes. Height didn’t matter. That was fine with me. She was my Vietnamese beauty. The bronze skin, dark hair, warm brown eyes, and perfectly curved lips drew me to her immediately the first time we had met.

A chance encounter as classmates in a basic history class at the state’s university began it all. She was definitely not just another pretty face. The class we shared was just an elective for her to fulfill her general requirements in order to enter the School of Pharmacy. I took it just because, but struggled with the class. It was, to me boring and full of memorization. I would have rather spent my hours in the library reading the classics and trying to understand the styles of successful writers.

She had earned a Doctorate in Pharmacy. Me? I sat around thinking up things to write about. I should have paid attention when the professor was talking about the early twentieth century bourgeois. Oh, and the succession of royalty in Europe. That’s about all I remember of that class, except I made sure to sit next to Char every day.

Coffee dates, movies, and dances, when she could fit them into her busy schedule started things off. Soon after a whirlwind romance and approval by her extended family, we were wed. We had agreed on a small quiet ceremony. A quick honeymoon to Disneyland and we were soon settling into married life routines.

“I know what my heritage is. It is quite obvious, but I thought it would be fun to discover where your genetic background existed a few hundred years ago. I bought this kit so you could find out why you are so handsome and strong.” Charlene answering my question with a big smile.

My Charlene, known as Hoa to her family, had always been so thoughtful and pleasant. I, in turn, made an extra effort to support her in all of her activities. She was working as a pharmacy intern at a local independent pharmacy, and loving it. I became a reluctant or willing chief cook and bottle washer. I didn’t mind as I was at home in front of my computer many hours of the day.

I had published three mystery and drama novels in the past two years under the nom de plume of D.D. Masterson. I have no idea where that name came from but my editor was all for it. I was told that Theodore Zuckermeier just didn’t have the right pop. It was easy to agree to the alias.

Char had asked me about my family history a few times, and as we couldn’t really pinpoint a region where there were many Zuckermeiers, she decided it was high time we find out. I was a little over six feet tall, a barrel chest, a bit hirsute, but not hairy like some middle eastern and Mediterranean men, strong upper body build, dark, and somewhat curly hair, a light beard, and a strong chin. She was right. I needed a little DNA information.

“If we have any children, I’m sure they would like to know why they look the way they look.” She said as a continued encouragement.

“So, I just spit into this tube, wrap it up, and mail it away? And that’s it?” I asked Char.

“Yes, sir. So easy even you can do it.” She teased.

“Why don’t you drop it in the mailbox when you walk the dog? Shorty is anxious to see if the boulevard trees have any new messages on them. I think he’s ready to leave a few of his own, too.” She added and giggled.

The name Shorty was a no brainer. We thought he might be a dachshund and corgi mix, but his coat and tail really didn’t belong to either breed. His belly was about two inches off the floor; hence, Shorty became his moniker.

The ancestry information had arrived by mail about a month later. A time of discovery was at hand. It was “Who exactly is Ted” time, I guess.

“Well, this is interesting.” my wife commented as she sat, curled up in our one and only oversized, overstuffed chair. It was her reading and studying domain and I dare not sit in it upon fear of death. She was busily scanning the results of my ancestry. The packet displayed more advertisements on the face of it for further options with their company. Promote, promote, promote.

“It says here that your ancestors came from the German states, England and Ireland. They touched Spain sometime along the way, too.” Char continued.

“Did you know any of that, Teddy?” she asked as she looked up at me.

“No, my mother thought she had ancestors in England, but my dad was pretty closed mouth about any of that stuff. I don’t know why. Maybe he either didn’t have a clue or it wasn’t important to him.” I answered.

I could see his point on both of those possibilities.

“You, my husband, are just about as big a mix as Shorty.” She smirked and handed me the pages of information that a one hundred dollars’ worth of saliva had afforded me.

Some of what was presented was interesting, but most was as exciting as watching grass grow.

“Is that what you think of me, Doctor Charlene?” I said and reached down to kiss her warm lips.

“I hear that Spanish lovers are the best, and it’s in my DNA. Be forewarned.” I smiled and raised one eyebrow.

“Hay lam tinh.” She spouted enthusiastically in her native Vietnamese language.

My educated wife didn’t need to interpret those words for me; I knew she had said” let’s make love.” That was one of the first phrases I learned. I didn’t hesitate. We quickly made our way to the bedroom, undressing each other along the way.

We both napped for a short while trying to rebuild the energy we had gloriously exerted, then I slid off the side of the bed quietly as to not awaken the sleeping beauty.

I looked at the newly found information about my ancestry for just a minute as I flipped through the pages once again.

“That’s nice.” I said offhandedly to myself, then tossed the packet under the pile of “I’ll get to it later” mail and correspondence and completely forgot about it, concentrating on other duties.

That is until I got that telephone call.

LABOR DAY, 2023, 2P.M.

“Yes, a brother. He had apparently been searching for his birth background for quite some time when my genetic profile alerted him as to my existence.” I said to my wife, still not believing what I had just heard.” He had a lot to say over the phone.”

He told me his age; he was three years older than myself. I figured this tryst with his mother would have been in the years that my father was still in the hills of northern California, living free and easy, and enjoying the life of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. He had always claimed he was the consummate commune hippie.

I didn’t offer that information to the caller, but he did confirm that his mother had also lived the same life style as my dad, and became pregnant during that time. She had, quite honestly, told him of her early years, and that his father could have been any number of men. He learned all of this before he was even a teenager. She had told him that people came and went on a whim so she couldn’t honestly give him the information he had longed for. He said it had been a pretty heavy load for him as a young person to carry, but that his mother wasn’t necessarily concerned about his feelings. It was just the way she was.

The man, Joe Lightness, was quite animated over the telephone and wanted to meet with me and any other siblings I might have.

“Nope, it’s just me.” I said keeping all my cards close to my vest.

I wasn’t sure of any of what he was saying, but agreed to meet him at a later date. I told him I would text him as to the time and place.

“I know you live in Montana. The telephone number prefix gave that away. I’m in Coeur d’ Alene. I’ve been here most of my life, and now have a wife and three kids. I hope to make a visit, as it isn’t too far away. I’ m really anxious to fill in some blanks about my father. I can imagine you must feel bombarded by all of this so just take some time to decide what you want to do.” He finished.

“Oh, and by the way, if you Google me, my name in most hits will be Journey Lightness. Compliments of a spacey, but commune loving mother.” He added as an afterthought, then ended the call.

“So, Charlene, my dear, I guess I got more than I bargained for when my DNA discoveries hit the information highway. Now what should I do?” I asked my wife, her jaw still dropping from my pronouncement.

“Well, you’ve lived your entire life as an only child, but now you find out you may have to share your father with a brother. Can you do that?” she asked.

“Well, I don’t really have a choice, but the other thing I thought about was whether or not I should tell Dad all of this. I don’t know if any of this is true, so maybe I will wait and do my own investigations to confirm the whole mess.” I continued vocally firing off all of my jumbled thoughts.

“I think we should wait, but not for long, and maybe the whole question is moot. You know the progressiveness of Charley’s Alzheimer’s.  Some good days, some bad days, and some terrible days. Even if everything is on the up and up, this Joe character might not get the satisfaction of actually meeting his father, such as he is.” Char spoke in practical terms.

Charles Zuckermeier had lived alone, then with home assistance, as long as was practical before I had to make the gut-wrenching decision to move him into a facility. His home, my home, was sold long ago to pay for the horrendous medical bills of my mother’s sojourn through cancer treatment. He was settled into a nice apartment and was quite upset when we had to move him again. I realized during all these moves that possessions, or lack of them, weren’t important in the big scheme of things. He had nothing now, a ward of the state, and barely hanging on to sanity.

Charlene was right. The sooner the better so that Journey Lightness’s curiosity of his progenitor issue would, at last, be answered.

I did some quick research and found my newly discovered brother was an owner and operator of a small construction business outside of Post Falls, Idaho. It seemed to be a viable long-established business. They advertised the success of all sorts of work modalities. The owner, Joe Lightness started the business alone and had built it up. That told me something about the guy. I couldn’t find any photographs of him, however.

What was truly amazing is the fact that my father was also in construction. He had been a finish carpenter most of his career, but also branched out into foundation and concrete work. That, in itself, was interesting.

The main thing that kept bombarding my brain was what effect, if any, would have on my father’s fragile situation. I wondered whether I was being selfish, not wanted to share him with this person, or was I truly concerned about my father. I didn’t know if something like this would really set him off.

I made the call.

TWO WEEKS LATER..

I met Joe alone at the Big Perk, a coffee shop just off of Higgins Avenue. He was excited that I had wanted to talk with him and fill in some blanks about his father, my father, our father.

I saw him walking toward the shop. He was easy to recognize. It was as if a younger version of my father had somehow and miraculously recovered from his debilitation and was coming toward me. I did a double take and waited.  He walked in, and directly to me. I became, finally, excited to meet.

“I knew your face from the picture on one of your mystery books. They are a great read by the way, when I have the time. I did a little research, or should I say one of my kids did the whole computer bit. That skill is pretty minimal for me.” Joe said, the first thing out of his mouth.

I apologized for staring at him without speaking for a moment. I explained his family resemblance.

I knew at that moment that his story rang true. He was my father’s son.

We talked at length. He told the story of his mother, Moonbeam, becoming addicted to heroin after years of dabbling with other drugs. He was taken from her at the age of fourteen and raised by his grandparents. He got word that she had died of an overdose somewhere in the San Francisco area. They never talked much about her, ever.

The fact that he and his father were both in construction gave him a great moment to ponder. He asked all sorts of questions about that career, where he worked, what it involved, was he a union guy, and other things. He even suggested I look into insurance policies that might have been taken out and carried by the union. I hadn’t even thought about that possibility.

I showed him a group of photos of my father. I had chosen several that would be indicative of his life, from the time I was a baby, until just recently.  The man across from me silently studied his picture.

He finally looked up at me through tear filled eyes.

“Thanks Ted, you have no idea what it means to me to see these pictures. When did Charles, right, Charles Zuckermeier pass away.” came an innocent question.

I measured my answer carefully and said, “He’s still alive, he lives in an Alzheimer unit here in town.”

I could tell the answer caused some anxiety from my newly found brother.

“Do you think it would be appropriate to at least see him?” Joe asked.

I was greatly relieved by the way he worded the question. He was concerned about me, and my father.  I made the decision quickly.

“No time like the present. It’s early in the day and he is usually a little sharper than in the evening. I’ll drive us, or you can follow me. It’s not too far.” I suggested.

Joe explained almost apologetically, “If you don’t mind, I’ll just take my own rig. I’ve got a big job bid this evening that I need to be present for. But I appreciate the time you are taking for this.”

“Hey” I said and lightly slapped his shoulder, “that’s what families are for.

He quickly turned his head, hiding an emotion, and we walked out of the coffee shop.

The drive to the old Deaconess Hospital, now strictly a unit for dementia and Alzheimer’s sufferers took about twenty minutes.

“How’s he doing today”, I asked Mary, the patient coordinator, who seems to know answers to all my questions.

“It’s been a pretty good day. He acted out this morning about something that was bothering him but he’s settled down. Go ahead on in.” she suggested and pointed to a day room that held another half dozen people.

We approached our father quietly. He was sitting still in a day chair, looking out the window. I walked around in front of him and sat down.

“Hi Dad, it’s a beautiful day outside isn’t it.” I said, never asking him to try to remember anything.

“I saw a bird on the ledge. He was trying to get in.” he said and pointed a wrinkled arthritic finger past me.

“I brought a friend. His name is Joe.” I said and Joe walked around quietly and sat next to me.

Charles just nodded.

“Joe wants to talk with you, is that okay?” I asked.

He nodded again.

“I am glad to meet you, I live in Idaho and came to visit. My mother Moonbeam said to say hello.” Joe said in an uncertain voice.

Charles turned his eyes toward Joe and looked at him for the longest time.

“I was in love with Moonbeam and wanted to marry her, but she said no. Where is she?” he said and turned slightly in his chair to look behind him.

Joe gripped my forearm so tightly after dad had finished talking. I knew that affirmation meant the world to him. He finally got his answers.

“Moonbeam isn’t here right now.” I said quickly.

My father, by then, became lost in the jumble of brain waves that would no longer make sense to him for quite some time. He moved his head slightly and gazed blankly out the window.

“I saw a bird on the ledge.” The old man said and nodded to the window.

I gave him a kiss on his cheek, and the two of us walked out together. Joe excused himself and headed to a restroom. I could hear muffled sobs behind the door. I understood.

We stood out in the parking lot for quite some time just talking about different things. We exchanged e-mail addresses, home and work addresses, and everything else we could think of. I promised to send Joe the entire medical records of our father in case a question of heredity came up for himself or his kids.

We set another meeting date in Coeur d’ Alene the following Sunday. I was anxious to meet my nieces and nephews and my sister-in-law, and, in turn, bring my sweetheart along to brag on her.

A new chapter was about to open up in my life, one I never, in my wildest dreams, could have imagined.

ONE WEEK AFTER MEETING MY BROTHER FOR THE FIRST TIME….

I began to formulate a storyline for another book. It would be one of love, tragedy, and intrigue. It began:

They thought the feds would leave them alone. A little weed here and there wasn’t a big deal.  Aquarius, our leader, had called a meeting of the community. We were to decide if we would protect our home in the woods, or, as he put it, let the fascist bastards run all over us. He stood in front of us, holding an automatic rifle across his body as he spoke.

I was sitting next to my very pregnant girlfriend, and feeling very alarmed.

“We’ve got to get out of here, Serenity. This is not a safe place to be.” I whispered.

“I can’t go, all of my friends are here, besides where would we go?” she said quietly.

Suddenly shots rang out.