Phoebe had some crazy idea about where they should go in the quest to solve Palmer’s riddle, but Patch’s attention was diverted. He would be joining them on their journey the next day, which, thankfully, was a Saturday, but for now, he was more concerned with solving the mystery of his own parentage. Could he really be Parker Bell’s son? Or was it something else? And what did it mean to be someone’s biological son, anyway, especially when you had never been treated as that person’s child? Was your father the person whom your mother slept with to conceive you, or was your real father the man who raised you?
Even if that was a man who had disappeared from his life, had drowned in the Atlantic Ocean, when he was five years old.
For all the time that Patch had spent with the Bells-good, bad, indifferent-Parker Bell could very well be his father.
Except that fathers didn’t keep their sons hostage. Fathers didn’t execute nefarious plans to harm their sons.
But maybe Parker Bell didn’t know that Patch was his son until today? And how was Nick so sure that Parker really was Patch’s father? Nick hadn’t let on anything about it before. What if it were something that went back even further, to Palmer and Genie? What if Esme was actually Palmer’s daughter, and Patch, Jr., really was his father? Was that even possible? It hadn’t even occurred to Nick and Phoebe, but how did they know it wasn’t true?
All these thoughts were spiraling around in his head like an insane kaleidoscope as Patch entered his building. As he waited for the elevator at the end of the lobby, he saw Parker Bell talking to the doorman.
He needed to know. He didn’t particularly want to talk to him, but he needed to know.
Patch strode right up to Mr. Bell and tapped him on the shoulder.
Mr. Bell turned around and looked at Patch, first with annoyance, then with something resembling tenderness. “Patch,” he said. “All this must be a surprise for you. Why don’t you come upstairs?”
Patch nodded. He followed Mr. Bell into the elevator, and for the first few floors, they were silent. Mr. Bell finally spoke.
“I never intended for you to find out this way. I thought the lawyers were going to set up a private meeting. But once you were there at Mr. Story’s invitation, I realized that you deserved to be there as much as anyone else.”
“I’m not exactly sure why, sir. I wish you’d tell me.”
Mr. Bell looked Patch up and down, his eyes lingering, Patch was sure, at his dirty sneakers and frayed khakis.
“Let’s go into my study.”
Patch followed Mr. Bell through the apartment that he knew so well, though he had spent little time there lately. Even though he and Nick had resumed their friendship, he still felt like he wasn’t welcome in the Bells’ inner sanctum. He also suspected that Gigi, Nick’s mother, didn’t like him very much, and so he had stayed away.
Mr. Bell’s study was wood-paneled, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and windows that faced Fifth Avenue. Two burgundy leather chesterfield sofas sat facing each other. Patch sat down on one and Mr. Bell on another.
“Well, I imagine you and Nick have figured out what this is all about,” Parker said.
“Not really.”
“I cared for your mother very much,” Parker said. “We had some very nice times together. It was a mistake, though.” He paused. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to suggest-”
“I understand,” Patch said.
“What I am trying to say is that I should have remained faithful to my wife. Your mother and your father-or at least, the man you knew as your father-were having trouble conceiving. And so when your mother became pregnant, she was happy. For Esme, it seemed like the solution. We were a perfect foursome. Of course, only she and I knew about it.”
“My father never knew?” Patch found this hard to believe.
“No, that’s not entirely true. He found out, which was difficult, to say the least. And my wife, Nick’s mother, found out as well. It split up our little group. It was a sad, sad time. Particularly when your mother had her difficulty. I wanted you to be close, and so I arranged to help subsidize the apartment that you and your grandmother live in now, as Eugenia was having trouble paying the maintenance fees. Your grandmother, by the way, doesn’t know that; she believes that her fees were simply lowered on account of her age. My wife, needless to say, was not pleased about any of it.”
“So that’s why she’s disliked me all these years,” Patch said.
“I wouldn’t say that, Patch. She’s just worried about Nick.”
“Oh, you mean, she doesn’t like him hanging out with the kid from the wrong side of the tracks?”
“You’re hardly from the wrong side of the tracks!” Parker laughed. “You come from one of the most distinguished families in New York. George Madison and your grandmother made a fine pair. As did your mother and father-well, you know, Patch, Jr.-oh, dear, this is complicated. Anyway, you have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed of anything,” Patch said.
“That’s good.” He paused and pulled out a cigar. “Would you like one?”
Patch shook his head. Why was he trying to act like he could suddenly be his dad? Patch had seen how Parker treated Nick through the years, and he knew that the man could turn his charm on and off in an instant.
Parker cut the tip from his cigar and then lit it, blowing puffs of smoke into the air.
“How did it all happen?” Patch asked. “I mean, how did it go down?”
“I’m not sure I can get into all that,” Parker said. “Dendur was a complicated matter.”
“I’m sorry, ‘Dendur’?”
“We called it ‘Dendur,’ as Esme and I believed that you were conceived on the last night we were together, the evening of the last Dendur Ball. After that, the lawyers all called it the ‘Dendur situation.’”
“What involvement did they have?”
“Helping your family out, making sure your grandmother could stay in the building even after your mother and father no longer had their apartment. And setting up the trust for you with your grandfather. I had promised all that to your mother. Palmer didn’t understand it at first, but once I explained it to him, he acquiesced. I think he was jealous. The Bells and the Evanses. We’ve always liked your family. You know about his feelings for your grandmother.”
“I’m so glad we could be a source of amusement to you,” Patch said. The cigar smoke was making him nauseous.
“Don’t be so flip,” Parker said. “You have always had something special, Patch.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you know what a caul bearer is?” Parker stood up and went to his copy of Webster’s, flipping it open. “You are a child who was born in the caul, which, not to mince words, is the amniotic sac. It is very rare, unlike anyone else in our family. Traditionally, it has marked a child for greatness. In ancient Egypt, it actually meant that a baby was fated for the cult of Isis, an order that some say still exists today.”
“Oh, let me guess,” Patch scoffed. “You’re the head of the cult of Isis, too?” He may have been sarcastic on the surface, but he had to admit that he was intrigued.
“Not exactly,” Parker said, laughing. “You’ll have to discover that one for yourself.”
“Okay, I guess I’ll add that to my to-do list,” Patch said.
“It is a shame that your greatness has not truly emerged yet,” Parker said. “Thus far, you have been nothing but a weak link in the Society, a link that has threatened to bring it all down. In December, when you were initiated, I thought we might begin to see some of that greatness from you. Instead of fulfilling that mission, you and your friends have been Infidels. I would expect more from my sons. Of course, in many ways, you have completed exactly the pattern we see in all our future leaders: you start out as rebels, and eventually you find yourselves in charge.”
Patch felt an anger welling up inside of him as he stood up. Almost out of nowhere, he found himself yelling at Parker. “For seventeen years you keep this secret from me, and now you want to call me your son? I don’t think so! You’re not my father, and I’m not your son. You don’t get that privilege automatically. It’s something that you have to earn. My father was the man who drowned twelve years ago. Don’t ever forget that.” Patch was shaking as he said these words, but he had never felt so strong in his convictions.
Parker looked as if Patch had upturned an ashtray in his face, but he did nothing as Patch left the room.
As Patch stormed through the Bell foyer and into the elevator, he thought about the greatness that Parker had mentioned. He wondered whether this greatness was really intended for him, or if he had merely been born in the wrong place, at the wrong time.