I remember Zachary Finch as a quiet, thoughtful lad. In the front row of the old village school he always chose the seat by the window, eyes drifting toward the lane outside as though waiting for someone who might never appear. The other boys didnt bully him, but they never made an effort to befriend him eitherZachary seemed odd to them.
He lived with his grandmother, Martha Finch. His mother had died when he was very small, and his father was a stranger he could not recall at all. Martha would say he was lost in the world, and that was all she would add.
Each morning Martha walked Zachary to the school gates, and each evening she met him at the same gate. She was frail and shuffled slowly, yet she always held his hand firmly. When her health faltered, Zachary would trudge to school alone, and then he would stare even longer out of the window, hoping for a familiar face.
One break, a new boy with a head of freckles and ginger hair came over. His name was Thomas Hartley, though everyone called him Tom.
Whatre you doing there, sitting like a nightowl? Tom asked, pulling up a chair beside him.
Zachary shrugged. Nothing. Just that.
Im not a fan of doing nothing, Tom said, fishing a crumpled chocolate bar from his pocket and snapping it in half. Here, have one.
Zachary blinked in surprise, then took the piece. He wasnt used to anyone sharing with him.
Thanks, he muttered.
No trouble, Tom waved it away. My dad works at the chocolate factory, so Ive got a sea of sweets.
Zachary managed a small smile.
From that day they were inseparable. Tom was loud and full of schemes; Zachary listened, laughed, and followed along. After lessons they would roam the fields, sometimes ending up at Toms house. Toms father, a tall, booming man, would offer them hot cheese toast and spin funny tales.
Zachary would watch them and think, If only I had that too.
One afternoon Tom asked, Wheres your dad?
Zachary fell silent. Grandma says he disappeared.
How did he disappear? Tom frowned.
Just left and never came back, Zachary whispered.
Tom scratched his head. Odd. Maybe we should try to find him.
Where would we start?
Lets ask my dad. Hes clever.
That evening they sat in Toms kitchen, and Zachary, stumbling over his words, told the whole story.
Sometimes adults lose their way back home, Toms father said thoughtfully. Maybe hes ashamed, or fears we wont forgive him.
Can you not be forgiven? Zachary asked.
You can, the man replied, if you truly wish it.
He paused, then pulled out a notebook. I have a friend in the constabulary. He deals with missing persons. If your father is on any record, we might track him down.
Zacharys fists clenched. Really?
Really. Give me his name, any detail you have.
Zachary supplied the name his grandmother remembered, the surname, the town where his father was born, and promised to find his birthday from her. Toms father wrote everything down.
Dont expect it quickly, he warned. These things take time.
Weeks slipped byone, two, threeuntil hope began to wane.
Then, on a crisp autumn afternoon, as Zachary walked home from school, a tall man stood by the council flats, cigarette trembling between his fingers, eyes darting at his watch.
Zachary froze. The man looked up, their gazes meeting.
Zachary? the stranger whispered.
Zacharys mouth stayed shut; fear clenched his throat.
I Im your father, the man said, stepping forward. Zachary stepped back.
Is Grandma at home?
Yes.
Then shall we go together?
Zachary nodded.
They entered the cottage. Martha opened the door, saw the man, and tears streamed down her cheeks.
At last, she sobbed.
That night, at the kitchen table, the man spoke of the years hed wasted, of regrets and the yearning to start anew.
I didnt know how to come back, he confessed, voice shaking. Shame held me until the police called.
Zachary listened in silence, then asked, Will you stay?
The man met his eyes, nodded. If youll have me.
I will, Zachary whispered.
He dropped his gaze, then threw his arms around his fathers neck.
Stay! he murmured, clutching the mans coat. Just dont vanish again, alright?
His father embraced him so tightly the old wooden chair creaked.
I promise, he said, voice quavering. Im not going anywhere.
Martha dabbed her eyes with a kitchen towel and set a steaming cabbage piehis fathers favouriteon the table.
Eat, love, she urged. Its homemade.
While they ate, Zachary stole glances at his father. He wasnt the hero of any film, just a weary man with laugh lines around his eyes. When he laughed, those lines turned into cheerful little roads, and his eyes sparkled mischievously.
Later, as night fell, his father slipped into Zacharys room.
May I read? he asked, pointing to a book on the bedside table.
Zachary nodded and shifted aside.
His fathers voice, warm and a touch hoarse, filled the roomjust as Zachary had imagined in his childhood dreams. He listened, thinking perhaps sleep would now come easier, yet the night held him awake, yearning simply to hear his fathers words.
Dad, Zachary interrupted at the most tender moment, tomorrow shall we go for a walk?
His father set the book down. Of course. Where to?
To the park. The rides Ive never been on them.
Then tomorrow will be your first, his father smiled. Its a deal.
He ruffled Zacharys hair, switched off the lamp, and left the door ajar, just as Martha used to do.
The next morning, Zachary raced into the schoolyard, breathless.
Hes here! Your dad helped! he shouted to Tom.
Tom laughed and clapped him on the back. Of course he did! How could he not?
From that day onward Zachary no longer stared out the window during lessons. He knew someone was waiting for him.
In the evenings, when his father helped with homework, Zachary watched him twirl a pencil thoughtfully.
Something wrong? he asked.
His father sighed. Im just thinking I missed so many yearsyour first steps, your letters, your first day at school
Zacharys brow furrowed, then he sprang up, pulling an old album from the shelf. Look! Grandma kept all these photos. Take a peek.
They leafed through the pages, laughing at the foolish poses, and then his father pulled Zachary into a tight hug.
Thank you for giving me a second chance, he said.
You promised not to get lost again, Zachary replied seriously. So everythings right.
Outside, the streetlamps flickered on, the cottage smelled of Marthas pies, and unfinished worksheets lay on the table. It mattered little now. The most important thing was that they were together, and no one would drift away again.
