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my accusation and courage, she could only move her mouth. Nothing came out. Then it was my turn. "'How dare you just lay all that misery on Melody like that,' I told her. 'What did you expect would happen if you made someone feel less than nothing, if you took away years and years of belief, of the only life she's ever known? She loved Uncle Chester like a father,' I said.

"'Well . . . well,' she stuttered, 'the girl wanted to hear the truth and so I gave it to her.'

"'How would you like someone to give it to you right between the eyes like that, Grandma?' I demanded. Then she just stared at me for a moment."

"What did she say?" I asked.

"She said that was exactly what had happened to her. First, with her sister and then, nineteen years later, with your mother, Haille. I told her she should have known better, then. She should have known how it would feel. Then I sat across from her and watched her. She stared at the floor for the longest time without speaking. Finally, she said, 'You're right, Cary. You're a lot older and wiser than I thought. In some ways you're the smartest of all of us.' She straightened up in her chair the way she does, you know, and in that regal voice of hers demanded I go find you and bring you back. She told me she would give me the money and she wanted me on the road immediately. She said she would take care of my father, not to worry.

"So," he said smiling, "here I am."

The bus started away.

"But I thought you told me you knew who my father was. I thought you said she told you more."

"I was getting to that. I didn't just jump up to do her bidding, you know," he said proudly. It amused me to see how proud he was that he had stood up to his grandmother. "I just sat there and stared at her until she said, 'Are you going after her or not?'

"I thought a moment and said, 'I can't bring her back unless you tell me the truth, Grandma. Otherwise, why would she want to come back?' Well, Grandma Olivia deflated like a punctured blowfish and nodded.

"'It was your father,' she began, 'who came to me one day after Haille and Chester had left. Even though he had had this terrible fight with Chester-- and gotten the worst of it, I might add--he felt very low, very bad that he had lost his brother. The three of them had been inseparable. But not always, Jacob hinted, indicating he knew something more. I pursued this, and he told me that many of the nights Haille was supposed to be spending with a girlfriend, she had been spending at the Childs': "

"The Childs'? You mean she was with the judge's family?" I asked.

"Yes, specifically Kenneth. During that last year, Kenneth was in Provincetown a lot," Cary said. "He was going to Boston University undergraduate school. He was supposed to go on to become a lawyer, but he was also heavily into his sculpture and the judge had a studio built for him at their home. Your mother was there almost every weekend Kenneth was there."

"Kenneth Childs is my real father?" I asked.

"It's very likely, from what Grandma said. I didn't get the opportunity to talk about it with my father. I took the money and went off to fetch you, leaving Grandma Olivia to explain it to him."

"But why didn't my mother just tell the truth? Why would she blame Grandpa Samuel?"

"That's something you're going to have to ask her, Melody. She was either protecting Kenneth or herself

Of--"

"Or what?"

He shrugged.

I sat back, digesting the story. If what he told me was true, then my real father was back in Truro and I was going to the right place.

"Have you ever spoken to Kenneth Childs?" I asked.

"I've said hello when I've seen him, but it's not easy to see him. He lives like a hermit on the Point. It's like the judge said the other night: all he does is work."

"He doesn't have a wife or other children?"

"No. Everyone thinks he's strange, but as I told you, they accept it because he's an artist."

"Some artistic hermit living in a beach house away from people--that's my father?" I muttered, stunned with each and every revelation Cary uttered.

"Anyway, at least you'll get a chance to find out the truth now," he said.

I shook my head. Maybe I shouldn't, I thought. Maybe I should live with the lies.

"What am I going to do?" I asked, the reality dropping all around me and over me. "Walk up to him and ask, 'Are you my real father?'"

"I'm not sure. We'll have to talk to my father about it, perhaps," he said.