Second Chances by Leigh Brown, Victoria Corliss Page A

the agency. Well thank God he’d found him first. “Congratulations on your new job.” He smiled, “But I’m not here for a video and I’m not an actor from a talent agency. I’m your biological father.”
    The shock was obvious, Tim looked stunned like a gaping fish and George kept talking giving him time to catch his breath, “I just found out too,” he explained. “How, it doesn’t really matter, but as soon as I knew, I did everything I could to find you. And now here we are,” he smiled anxiously, searching his son’s face for signs of life, wondering if he’d heard a word he said.
    Tim’s head was about to burst with everything that was happening. He’d hoped and prayed for this or something like it but never believed it would really happen. Didn’t they always say be careful what you wish for? “What makes you think I don’t have a father?” he questioned taking stock of George with fresh eyes. He looked honest and sincere.
    George stood. Removing a folded paper from his back pocket he smoothed it open with shaking hands and handed it to Tim. “This is your birth certificate. As you can see, I’m listed as your birth father.”
    It looked official enough with the insignia of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. He could see that he was born at Brigham and Women’s Hospital and the date of birth was the same as the one he celebrated every year. “Where did you get this?” he asked, his voice a strained whisper.
    George’s heart went out to him. He knew all too well what it was like to have your world turned upside down without warning. Another thought struck him. What about Tim’s family? Did he know he was adopted or had he just delivered the one-two punch himself with the birth certificate? What they needed was time to sort through this together. “It’s a long and pretty incredible story,” he said answering Tim’s question carefully. “Have dinner with me and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
    *   *   *
    George and Tim waited as the waitress placed their drinks in front of them, ice water for George, vodka on the rocks for Tim. George thanked her, sending her away before he changed his mind and switched to something harder. What he needed was a clear head. This dinner was too important to mix with alcohol.
    Clearing his throat, he hesitated, "I’m not sure where to start.”
    Neither did Tim. The cab ride there had been bad enough, awkward silence occasionally punctuated by his best tour guide voice politely pointing out sites of interest. At the restaurant, they’d settled comfortably into this booth and begun a lengthy discussion of the menu before chatting up the waitress with their drink and dinner orders. As if it was the most important thing in the world, as if they had nothing else to talk about. Truth was he was afraid, he suspected they both were.
    “Maybe you should start at the beginning,” he suggested, “and we’ll see how it goes from there.”
    George agreed. “Well, I guess this story starts at the end. As I’ve said, I live in Greece in a village called Cronilys. I’m a fisherman now but I wasn’t always. Anyway, a few weeks ago, I was in the market and ran into an old acquaintance, a dear friend of your mother’s actually. We hadn’t seen each other in years and we got to talking about your mother and things that’d happened between us. The conversation got heated.”
    He paused. “I loved your mother very much, but she could be stubborn. Sofie told me I was selfish for leaving her alone and pregnant.” He still couldn’t believe it. Shaking his head he continued, “I didn’t know what Sofie was talking about and she ran away before I could ask her. I went nuts thinking about it.”

“My first thought was to contact your mother, but we’re not exactly on speaking terms,” he said dryly. “And the last time I saw her she didn’t say anything about a baby. So I hired a private investigator instead. I wanted to know if there really was a