So I left it alone and after some time, finally fell asleep.

I woke this morning with a raging hard-on, and never questioned my actions once by rolling out of bed and striding right to Moira’s door. I pushed it open without even knocking, intent on crawling onto her bed and sinking my c**k inside of her, not even caring if she was on her knees or back at the time.

Absolute disappointment filled my body when I saw her bed empty. I walked over to her bathroom and saw it was empty as well. With a sigh of frustration, I went back to my own bathroom and showered, where I, of course, polished my own bannister since I couldn’t have Moira, and made my way down to find Randall in the dining room waiting for me.

He told me that Moira borrowed one of his cars to run some errands so that I could spend some ‘alone’ time with him today. While I knew that I would have to devote my time with this strange man who I loathed, but was coming to some acceptance of, I had wanted Moira by my side when I confronted my past. I know I am a strong man, but for some reason, I’m feeling anxious now that Moira isn’t here.

“You look just like your mother,” Randall says, pulling me hard away from my thoughts of Moira. “I would have recognized you in a crowd of a thousand as her son.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I take a sip of my coffee.

“I want you to feel free to ask me anything about your parents… about your former life that you may not be able to remember. I want you to use this opportunity to help fill in the dark spots in your memory and regain knowledge of your heritage. But please know this, Zach… I won’t push you to stay. I want you to… I’m sure you have that figured out by now, but I won’t pressure you at all. Now, are there any other assurances I can give you?”

This man… my godfather, has succeeded once again in causing some of my bitterness toward him to recede. I nod at him in understanding. “Just so you know, I have no intention of staying here permanently. My home is back in Caraica. But I do accept your offer to teach me about my heritage. And I’m willing to devote some time to it before I go back. Paraila… my adoptive father, asked me to stay a year. I’m not sure that’s something I can do, but I will stay more than just a few days here in Georgia if that offer is still open.”

“It is indeed,” Randall says with a smile. “How about after we finish breakfast we go for a ride, and I’ll take you over to your house?”

I nod in acceptance and pick at some of the bacon on my plate. “Moira told me that my father saved your life once.”

Dabbing at his mouth with his napkin before setting it back down, Randall pushes his plate away. “I’m not a religious man. That was totally your father. But I do believe that God made sure your father was in the right place at the right time to pluck me from death’s cold grip.”

I listen in fascination, as Randall tells me of his hedonistic ways, and how he flipped his car into a rain-swollen ditch, drunk off his ass one day. How my father’s face appeared in the window through the murky water, and Randall even swore he saw a halo around my father’s head. I had to smile to myself at that image. While my parents were hardcore Christians, I had fallen away from the teachings over the years. While Father Gaul still preached to me from his Bible, the tribe’s spiritualistic followings made more of an impact on me than the inconsistent visits by Father Gaul.

“I find it hard to believe that you developed such a close bond with my father just because he saved your life. You two seem like polar opposites,” I observe after Randall gets done telling me the story of how they became friends.

Randall chuckles and nods his head vigorously in understanding. “You’re right. In many ways, we had nothing in common. Our religious beliefs, our political beliefs… all very different. Yet, ironically, your father and I were able to have these deep conversations about our differences. Your father never judged me for not having the same belief systems. In fact, I think that was what made him such a great missionary… because he understood that people had inherent beliefs that would not be easy to change. Your father was patient and kind. He was funny and mischievous. He was an easy man to admire and respect.”

“I could see why you would like him. He seemed like a great guy,” I observe. “And I always remembered him being in a good mood and laughing a lot. Plus, he saved your life. So, yeah… I get why you liked him. But I guess I don’t understand why he liked you.”

I know that question comes off as rude, but I’m still suspicious of this “familial” type of bond that Randall seems to project.

With warm eyes, Randall leans back in his chair at the dining room table and rests his hands on the edge. His voice is quiet when he answers me. “I asked your father that very same question once because I never quite understood it myself. And do you know what he told me?”

I shake my head because I can’t even fathom.

Randall gives me a smile, his eyes twinkling. “Your dad told me that despite my excessive ways and hardcore partying, he never once doubted that my spirit and soul were gentle at its core. He said he recognized that in me. Of course, I thought your dad was crazy as all get out to say that to me. I thought he was full of it, and it made me laugh. I thought he was joking around with me, as he often did. But about three years later… you were just a baby, and I was actually babysitting you one night so your parents could go out on a date. When they came home, they found me sitting on the couch, with you fast asleep on my chest. Your parents were so quiet… they tiptoed up to us and leaned over with soft smiles to see you sleeping there. I don’t know what expression was on my face at that moment, but your dad gave me a knowing smile and said, ‘See… what did I tell you, Randall? A gentle spirit at your core’.”