"My father wasn't my father?" Athena couldn't decide whether she should be stunned or annoyed. "He certainly acted like my father!"
Old Man tried to be gentle, but he had a lot of bottled up information that wanted to come gushing out. "Well, really, how would you know?"
"What do you mean?"
"Did he act like David's father? Like Valeria's? Like Carlo's? Like Taryn's?"
Athena stopped a moment. She squinted as she thought about it. "I don't remember their fathers, actually." She tried to think some more.
"You don't remember their fathers because they left at the same time yours did. You're all pretty much the same age. Your fathers were all representatives in Washington, DC together."
"Just the fathers? Just men?"
Old Man made a face at Athena. "No, not just men. It's just that in your case, your plural, it was fathers. All fathers with Spanish last names. All arrested. All born here. The problem was, they could all prove they were born here, and they were all highly indignant. And very vocal about it."
"So they were released."
"No, they were moved."
"What I heard was that they were moved to a place called Gitmo. It was already set up for ... arrests." Athena opened her mouth to ask another question, but Old Man got up and went to the bedroom again. He came back with a weird twisted and tied rope thing in his hand, around two feet long.
"It's called macrame."
"What do you do with it?"
"Your father left it for you."
"Seriously? Kids in old books get left invisibility cloaks, and I get left a piece of knotty twine?"