Free Do You Know the Monkey Man? by Dori Hillestad Butler

pick the right number, there were only two others to try. Five minutes, tops, and I’d know which of those Joseph Wrights was my dad. Assuming one of them was.
    With my mom out of the house, this was the perfect time to try and find out. But I’d never been so nervous in my entire life. How was I supposed to make a phone call when I literally could not breathe?
    Of course, I didn’t have to call these people. I had their addresses, too. I could just write them each a letter. There were two reasons writing might be better. One, I wouldn’t have to explain the charge on the phone bill later (though I still might have to explain the charge for hiring the detective). And two, I could take my time and figure out exactly what I wanted to say. But I might have to wait to hear back. And what if the real Joseph Wright never replied? No, calling was definitely the better choice. That way I’d get answers right away. And I’d get to hear my dad’s voice.
    I just needed to work up the nerve to do it.
    I wished I had more than just names, addresses, and phone numbers. I wished I had photographs. And basic information like whether these guys were married or had children. I’d never thought about my dad having a whole new family before. But it was possible.
    “Just do it!” I said out loud. “Just pick up the phone and call.”
    But what was I supposed to say? I argued with myself. “Hi, this is Sam, your long-lost daughter?” What if all he had to say back was “Yeah, so?”
    I remembered what Angela said about how when you don’t know your dad, you can pretend he’s anyone you want him to be. Maybe she was right. Maybe deep down I did just want to pretend. Maybe I didn’t want to find out who he really was.
    No, I wanted to know who he was. I wanted to know whether he ever thought about me. Whether he ever thought about Sarah.
    So…which Joseph Wright should I try first?
    Probably the one in San Diego. I knew my dad had been in San Diego seven years ago when he sent me that postcard, so San Diego was a good place to start.
    I crept out into the hallway and listened for my mom and Bob. It didn’t sound like they were back yet. But if I didn’t hurry this up, they would be. I tiptoed back to my room, closed the door, and hopped back up onto my bed. Then I took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and quickly punched in the San Diego number before I could change my mind. The phone felt slippery in my hands. I could feel my heart in my throat. I almost hung up, but I forced myself to hang on until someone finally picked up on the fifth ring.
    “Hello?” It was a woman. A woman around my mom’s age, it sounded like. My dad’s new wife?
    “Um, hi,” I said. My mind suddenly went blank. Why didn’t I at least write out a speech ahead of time?
    “Yes?” the woman said.
    I swallowed hard, then plunged ahead. “Um, you don’t know me. My name is Sam. Sam
Wright.”
    “Yes?” The woman sounded a little impatient now.
    My heart was pounding so hard I thought my chest would crack open. “D-d-does that name mean anything to you?” I asked.
    “Well, other than the fact we share the same last name, no.” The woman sounded nicer this time. “Should it?”
    “I don’t know,” I said. Gee, if this woman was my dad’s new wife, this call could come as a huge shock.
    “I-I-I’m looking for my father,” I stammered. “His name is Joseph Wright. I know there’s a Joseph Wright at this number. C-could I maybe talk to him, please?”
    “I’m afraid not,” the woman replied matter-of-factly. “Joseph died three years ago.”
    “What?” No!
    “But Joseph couldn’t have been your father,” the woman went on.
    I breathed a sigh of relief when she said that. This was the wrong Joseph Wright. My dad was still alive.
    But the feeling disappeared almost as suddenly as it had appeared. “Are you sure?” I asked. Wasn’t it possible my dad ran off to California after Sarah died, got married, and never told his new