A Tiny Bit Mortal by Lindsay Bassett Page B

are,” I said. “but unless you are going to help me find Peter I would prefer if you left me alone.”
    “I will call Peter as soon as we get to my house.” he said. 
    Stopping, I turned to face him.  “Your house?” I asked.
    “I need you to come with me, please.” he said.
    “I have no idea who you are.” I said.  “And I need to feed my cat, he’s already missed two meals.”
    “I will get someone to go to your place and get your cat.” he said.  “But it’s not safe for you to go there.  You have to come with me.  Please.”
    “I have no idea who you are.” I repeated.  I didn’t feel the same initial trust with this man, like I felt with Peter.  Not that he felt bad to me, it was like he was guarded, like I couldn’t tell anything about him.
    “I’m…” he said.
    Nodding my head, I waited for him to finish his sentence.
    “I’m…” He continued.  “I’m your dad.”
    I was speechless.  Peter had mentioned my father must be somewhere .  I hadn’t even processed the idea at that point.  My dad was dead.  He’d always been dead.
    I thought of my mom and all the pain I’d seen her in over the years about my Dad.  She’d never moved on.  She couldn’t even talk about it.
    I studied him while the morning pedestrian crowd rushed by us on the sidewalk.  Feeling frozen in time, I moved my eyes from his raven black hair, to his ivory pale skin, and then his eyes. Gasping, I realized the green eyes staring back at me were the same green eyes as mine. 
    He gestured in the opposite direction that I had been heading and I complied by following him.  We walked past the jewelry store, past the plaza, eventually winding our way through the park.  Our feet made a thump, thump, thump over a wooden bridge.  We crossed the street and walked up through the sycamore grove, the Japanese garden, and then up a hill to a residential area.
    We walked up the hill, and my legs ached.  I was tired and hungry.  The last time I had eaten was a sandwich for lunch the day before.  My head felt foggy without my morning coffee.
    We approached a large, two story house with elaborate landscaping in the front yard.  I could only view pieces of the house through the trees, bushes and climbing plants as I followed him up a stone pathway to the steps of the front porch.  He unlocked the front door, and I followed him in.
    There was an entry way with cushioned benches, and hooks on the wall with umbrellas and coats hanging from them.  Above the hooks was a large painting of a landscape scene with an oak tree.  Stopping, I stared at the painting while the man that claimed to be my father removed his shoes.  Turning to look at his sock feet, I then followed suit by removing my shoes and placing them under the bench next to his.
    Following him around the corner, I walked into a large kitchen, with forest green walls, white cabinets, and oak counters.  There was a large kitchen island in the center with seats.  He pulled a chair out for me and then walked around to the other side.
    I sat in the chair.  “You said you’d call Peter.” I said.
    “You’re hungry.” he said.
    “Can you read minds?” I asked.
    He laughed.  “No one can read minds, not even the immortal.” he said.
    My stomach growled and my head ached from the lack of coffee.  I watched him french press and deliver me a fresh glass of coffee.  It smelled glorious.
    Swigging down the coffee like a thirsty sailor, I watched while he poached eggs and buttered toast. He served me eggs and toast on a plate and sat down next to me.  I had to control myself from inhaling the toast.  I chewed slowly.
    “You hid?” he asked.
    After chewing my toast, I swallowed, and then took a deep breath.  “I heard a car pull up and felt like something was terribly wrong.” I said. “I hid in a cabinet.”
    “Strange.” he said.  “Are you sure they were The Corrupt?  They should have sensed your presence.  If they were in the same room