That almost made me laugh. Melissa had apparently found time to exclude me, plot a demand for money, and insult my daughter in writing. The deadline for an apology was approaching.
A few days later, my father came to my house with shopping bags and a plastic toolbox because the kitchen faucet had been leaking for months. He fixed the leak and then sat at my coffee table drinking bad coffee while Lily played on the living room rug.
"I should have seen it before," he said.
—See what?
"The way your mother and sister have been treating you since the divorce." She rubbed her jaw. "I knew your mother was being... formal. I told myself she'd change. I didn't realize how far it had turned into contempt."
The word remained between us.
"I tried to win my place back," I admitted. "I brought food, I acted cheerful, I pretended nothing hurt."
"That's over," he said.
I looked at him. —You make it sound easy.
—It's not easy. It's necessary.
He was seventy-one and still possessed the candor of a man who had spent forty years running a machine shop on the outskirts of Joliet. My mother cultivated appearances; my father solved problems. All week I had been going over his words from that night—my help, or my silence—and understanding them differently. He hadn't just stood up for me. He had withdrawn the one thing that had protected everyone else for years: his willingness to keep the peace without saying a word.
Two Sundays later, Melissa arrived alone at my door.
She looked impeccable, as always: camel coat, gold hoop earrings, expensive boots, but her eyes were swollen. It was obvious she had cried before arriving and had touched up her makeup in the car. Very typical of Melissa: sad, but put together.
"I won't be staying long," he said.
I stepped aside and let her pass. Lily was at a friend's house, which was probably for the best.
Melissa stood in my living room, looking around: the toys in the basket, the stack of books on the bookshelf, the shoes by the radiator. Real life made her uncomfortable unless it was an informal gathering.
"I'm sorry," he finally said. The words seemed to weigh heavily on him. "I was afraid for the money, and I made you the easiest person to get rid of."
It wasn't a nice apology, but it was sincere.
"You didn't just push me aside," I said. "You also took advantage of my daughter."
CONTINUE READING...>>
