John opened the door and looked over the morning mist burning off the lake, sending spirals of steam upward into the ubiquitous gray world, just as Mick pulled up in front of his porch. It had been three days since he opened the email from the Bureau of Vital Statistics, and a million things were swirling in his mind. Who was his father? Bob Murphy’s face flashed before him. He pulled out the picture of his mother and Bob holding him and stared at it once again. Could it be him? He chewed his lip. The man’s continued presence when he was growing up was hard to ignore. But more importantly, why had his mother never told him about his father? He thought his mother was honest, steadfast and forthcoming, but now that sacred trust had been shattered. Who was he? And who was she? And what else h
