His mouth snapped shut.
There it was again.
The fact nobody wanted to touch.
He looked away.
“It was a stupid moment.”
“Yes.”
“She shouldn’t have done it.”
“No.”
“I told her that.”
“When?”
“Later.”
“Did you tell Clare?”
He didn’t answer.
“Did you apologize?”
Nothing.
“Did you call her?”
Silence.
I leaned back.
“You didn’t come here to apologize.”
“I came here because you’re making your mother sick.”
“No. I’m selling a house.”
“She hasn’t slept.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?”
His voice rose.
“You’re sorry?”
I stood now.
“Yes.”
“Then stop.”
“No.”
“Stop the sale.”
“No.”
He stared at me with an expression I remembered from childhood.
It had terrified me when I was twelve.
At thirty-six, it just looked tired.
Dad said, “I gave you everything.”
“You gave me a lot.”
“Everything.”
“You raised me.”
“Damn right.”
“And I’m grateful.”
