But his hands were steady.
He looked up as we approached.
“Dad,” she said brightly.
His face lit up. That alone was worth the trip.
“Well, there’s my girl,” he said warmly.
He stood slowly, carefully. Belle hugged him, and he held on a beat longer than expected, as though confirming she is real.
Then his eyes shifted to me.
“And who’s this?”
Belle squeezed my hand once before stepping back.
“Dad, this is Raphael.”
She does not say husband. Not yet.
“Raphael,” he repeats thoughtfully. “French?”
“Yes, sir.”
He studied me with sharp eyes that flicker in and out of clarity.
“You look like you own something.”
I smiled at him. “I own hotels.”
“Ah,” he nodded, satisfied. “Explains the shoes.”
Belle snorted softly beside me.
We sat down at the table with him. The puzzle was missing a cluster of sky in the upper left corner. He gestured for me to join.
“You good with puzzles?” he asks.
“I am patient,” I replied.
“Same thing.”
Belle rolled her eyes affectionately.
He begins telling me stories almost immediately. About Belle when she was little. About rebuilding carburetors in his garage.About the year he took Belle to the Ohio State Fair and won first prize with vomit on his shoes from Belle riding one too many rides.
He told me like it was last week. Like the decades hadn’t slipped.
Belle laughed at the right moments.
I listened, because it is important. He was important.
The love between the two of them was evident. It was in the way he looked at her when she wasn't speaking. In the way that he still called her “kiddo.” This is what anchored her. The love of her father had driven her for so long.
As we worked on the puzzle, my gaze drifted toward the lobby. A woman was vacuuming near the reception desk. Her uniform was what caught my attention. Merry band of Maids, the same service Belle worked for.
I watched her for a moment.
