Probably alone.
Probably while he was still there, with three days left on his deadline and his whole temper boiling over.
I didn’t say anything.
Dad nodded slowly, like I’d answered.
We went out into the hallway. It was long and gray with linoleum floors and a row of wooden benches. Claire had gone off somewhere with her phone.
I turned on Dad.
“You should have told me.”
“I know.”
Ezoic
“You don’t get to decide what I can handle.”
Ezoic
“I know.”
“I’m thirty-seven years old, Dad. I’m not fifteen anymore. You don’t get to protect me by keeping secrets.”
“I know, Nicky.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me he called you?”
He looked at me for a long moment. Then he sat down on one of the benches and patted the spot beside him.
I didn’t sit.
His expression softened anyway.
