A/N: Many thanks to my Beta 6footer!

24. In a sudden – our world can be turned upside down.

S.

I don't go back to Newport with my family. My way leads me to New York. I've already announced my visit to my mother. I hadn't thought I would meet with true genuine happiness at my arrival, but I do. I didn't count on my mother picking me up from the airport, but she does and as greeting she takes me into one of her bear hugs. Now I realise what my son must have been talking about when he complained about them in his teenage years, and at least now I know the source from which I learnt this hug.

"Sanford it's so good to see you." She tells me when she releases me from her arms.

"It's good to see you too, Mom." I tell her and then we make our way back home. Well, my old home. On our way to the apartment, I'm astonished that nothing seems to have changed. The buildings still look the same: there are the same red bricks, the same graffiti here and there a few new added ones. The road is still the same grey, wholly tarmac. It seems ages ago, since I had my first driving lesson on this street. New potholes let me know that I've missed parts of their history during my time away.

"So what's leading you the whole way from California back to the Bronx?" She asks me when we enter the apartment. It still looks the same, as if she hasn't changed a thing. Well, the curtains in front of the kitchen window are different and the set of chairs in the kitchen. The table is the same, as well as the walls. The kitchen is tidier. Well, there are no kids running around in this apartment. It's only my Mom who's left and I feel bad about it.

"What makes you think I need a special purpose for seeing my mother?" I ask her teasingly, well aware of the sting in her question.

"If you had wanted to see me, you would've dictated me to Newport and wouldn't have come all the way up here." She's right somehow.

"You remember Ryan, I guess?" I ask her.

"Ryan? The handsome boy you and Kirsten took in years ago? How could I forget these well trained arms? You haven't talked about him for ages. I hope everything's alright." My mother says.

"Well, we had a few rocky years and now I'm here to find his father." I let her know,leaving out the gap of a few years in our contact.

"I thought he was in jail."

"Well, now we found out the man we perceived for Ryan's father isn't his father."

"Oh, and why the sudden need for finding out who it is?"

"Ryan's sick…he needs a bone marrow donation." Now is all out. She looks shocked, but at the same time comprehending.

"Oh…how's Kirsten dealing?"

"She's holding her own quite well." I let her know. This concern for my wife astonishes me, but as well it shows me that the antipathy the two of them share against each other can't be the truth.

"And where's this mysterious man living?" She asks me.

"Actually not too far away.I thought I try to reach him tomorrow. On a Sunday the possibility to meet him is higher than on any other day."

"You're probably right about that. So what do you want to have for dinner?"

"Meatloaf?"

"I should have known this, right?" She laughs and gently slaps my head.

The evening flew by in a rush. There was so much we had to tell each other and it helped me to forget about the hopelessness of my mission. It made me forget the fact that I was walking the last path of hope which had remained open to me after my visit at the trailer park.

The next morning I make my way to the address. I didn't sleep well last night. I couldn't. I was thinking about how to approach this man. A 'hey, I'm your youngest son's foster father and we need some of your bone marrow' wouldn't make it. But what else was I supposed to say if not the truth? I have tossed and turned around in bed, but couldn't come to a conclusion. I have to come up with something from the scratch.

I knock on the door and wait. Thousand of sentences for how to start this conversation are running through my head, but none seems to be the right one. The door cracks open a bit, allowing me only to make out a small part of the face behind the door.

"Yeah?" The man asks in a harsh and hoarse voice, but still something familiar is swaying with it. One day back in New York and I fall victim of the sensitivities of nostalgia. I have to brace myself to not to roll my eyes about myself.

"Sandy Cohen, I'm here to talk to you about…" The door opens wholly in a rushed motion and the man behind it looks at me. A stranger and though such a familiar face. I have the feeling as if my heart misses a beat. I look into these eyes. Eyes I haven't seen for ages, the last time when I've been seven. He'd closed the door forever as it had seemed.

"Sanford?" He looks at me, not moving. I can't answer him. I have counted on everything, but not this. He has changed. He definitely has. Hell, I haven't seen him for over forty years.

"How did you know that I was here?" He asks me. I realize the question. I know I should answer it, but I can't. What to answer your father you haven't seen for decades? I didn't even know that he was still alive. I've erased him out of my life and now he pops up in it again, after all those years. Well, it's me popping up in front of his door. There's no difference. I should say something.

"I …I didn't." I stammer. In a sudden I realise something I don't want to be true. I can only hope that this is a misunderstanding. I must have the wrong address.

"Who else did you think you would find here?" He asks me again.

"I…dunno, but certainly not you." I answer. I start to slowly recover from my shock. I'm an adult man. I should be able to cope with this situation. I am and I will. This man, what does he mean to me? He had left me, without a word. He never called, cut all ties. This is just another man among all of the whole population. Nothing more. A sudden disappointment envelops me. This man didn't care where I've been for so long and now he cares about me staying in front of his door? I feel a rush of hatred burning through my veins. This fucking bastard. Why in Hell's name has he to occur now? I can't deal with it now. I have other things to think about. But there are so many questions swirling around in my head, going in hand with all states of frustration, sadness and disappointment.

"But you must've been looking for someone, or did you just knock occasionally on this door?" He asks me. Who the fuck is he, to ask such a stupid question? It's not like the whole situation is already awkward enough. He doesn't need to make it any worse as it already is.

"I was looking for a man who had been living in a trailer park in Fresno and might know this woman." I hand the picture to him, glad having won back my composure. I need to focus on the reason for why I'm here and this…oh my God. Please let him have a friend he's sharing his apartment with.

"Well, I've been living in Fresno for a while, and I…can remember having spent some precious time with this woman." He answers with a smirk. This doesn't proof anything. I don't know what I'm supposed to think about this. Shall I hope that he's Ryan's father, the only person that might be capable of helping him? Or shall I hope he isn't for my own sake? It would make things only worse and more difficult if…he…I …I feel as if I'm stuck in a never ending roller coaster speeding around in circles.

"Did you sleep with this woman?" I ask him, brushing my feeling aside. This isn't about me. This is about life and death.

"What chutzpah! You come here, without warning me in advance and now you want to know the details of my sex life?"

"If I'd had a telephone number I probably would have called in advance, but all I have is this address and now I'd be glad if you could answer my question." My frustration has reached a very new level. I've never felt so much anger at once that I have to use all my efforts for keeping myself from punching something or someone to pulp.

"Don't you think this is a little too much being asked for? I mean after all those years…"

"It's not my fault that I didn't hear or read from you during all those years. You took off without looking back and now you want what?"

"That you behave like a son and that we talk a little before you ask such an intimate question."

"Behaving like a son? No worries there. I would've already turned around and left, if this information wasn't that important for my son's well-being."

"What has your son to do with this?"

"My foster-son is the biological son of this woman and we need to find his father." I explain to him, slowly calming down again.

"Sleeping with this woman doesn't make me a father of her brat." It only needs such a statement from his mouth to make me boiling with rage. I haven't felt anything about this man for such a long time, and it only needs me facing him a few seconds to make me feel all kinds of hatred I have left in my repertoire.

"So you admit that you've been sleeping with her?"

"Yes, and now? How is this supposed to help?"

"I would ask you kindly to undergo a paternity test, so we can have certainty about this." I let him know.

"What? No, this is not going to happen."

"I'm not asking for fun, this is about life and death and we need to know whether you're his biological father. The boy is off age. He doesn't want any money. We only need to know whether you're his father." I want him to get the importance of this.

"Sanford, you can't show up on my threshold and demand a paternity test from me. How shall I know that this is not meant for some ulterior purpose?"

"You're still the same suspicious stubborn man you've been when you left."

"And you're still the rude boy you've been when I left." That's it. I'm not going to take it any longer. I turn around and leave. I won't allow him to insult my pride: my pride I've been working so hard for and without his help. He has no right to talk about me like that. He barely knows me, so do I know him.

When I enter my mom's apartment I catch her sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. I sit down in front of her, not even trying to be quiet. I want to disturb her, because I want her attention now. She puts the news paper aside and looks at me.

"Did you know that he was back here?" I ask her. It's not her fault and I shouldn't sound that harsh, but this incident has shaken my world and I don't know how to deal with it: with his sudden presence, with his rejection and with the fact that he's blocking the last hope I had – we had.

"Who are you talking about?"

"Father. Did you know that he was here?" There's a gap filled with heavy silence. I can see that my mother is evaluating what to say.

"Yes, I did." She finally comes up with the truth.

"And you didn't think it was necessary to let me know?" I ask her. I'm her son and this man's son as well. I had a right to know that my father was back.

"I was thinking about it and seeing you in such a state of rage, I know that I've made the right decision. It only would've hurt you."

"It hurts having met him without even knowing that I was going to do so."

"Sanford, you have to understand me. Your father hasn't changed. He's still the same man who left his children without second thought. He doesn't care about anyone but himself. I wanted to protect you from this experience. You would've come up here expecting that this man has changed, but he hasn't. I just wanted to protect you. You can't take this amiss. You're a father yourself, you know what I feel." She explains herself. I want to be angry, but after her explanationit's impossible. She's right. This man is still the same egoistic bastard, and she's right: I too, would have done everything to protect my sons from such an experience.

"And did you at least get what you were asking for?"

"He's refusing the paternity test and I'm not sure whether I'm supposed to be angry or relieved. It's not only that I faced my father after forty years, but also the dimension…of the results of such a test. It could mean that I have a brother in my son's age who I love like he was a son. It…would make things just unbearably difficult. What…had happened would get a whole different dimension."

"Sandy, don't worry about something that hadn't come out yet. He might not be…the father." She takes my hand. I know she only wants to reassure me, but this isn't working right now. I'm trapped between two solutions and I have to decide which one is the worst.

"If he's not…then…the possibility that we'll lose Ryan will increase exponentially with each passing day we don't find anyone else who might be a match." This situation is tearing me apart. I feel bad for hoping that he's not his father, because I doubt our relationship can bear anymore setbacks. This thought is egoistic and self-centred for sure. For Ryan's well-being I hope that he is his father so that he can save Ryan, and for once do something good to his family. But I'm afraid of it too. I would only be another family member that had let him down.

"So, no matter what the results would be, the outcome was uncomfortable." My Mom concludes without letting my hand free. "But what is worse: losing him forever, or losing him with an option of getting him back at some point of time?" She says and she's right. Nevertheless I doubt that in both situations I'll lose him, without any option of getting him back. Ryan had reached a state in which he had been more determined to not forgive anyone that easy as he used to do.