Page 85 of Gave Proof Through the Night

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I know.” I don’t, and she doesn’t push, and that alone tells me enough about her.

“I never met mine.” She rips a corner of croissant and stuffs it in her mouth.

I wait while she chews. Swallows. Takes a sip of coffee. Then she shrugs and continues on.

“My mom. She was not great at taking care of an infant, I guess. One day, she just up and left. Just like that.” She says it plainly. Eyes bright and radiant. Not mournful or downcast with self-pity. “Then it was me and my dad in a camper trailer on the open road.” A small laugh, like it’s a special memory she takes out of a box every now and then. “He used to say we were out to conquer the world. His truck broke down outside Scranton. Twice. It was the thought that counts.”

There it is. Another piece of her I didn’t have yesterday.

“You were happy, though,” I say. It’s not a question. I have the feeling, no matter what situation Erica finds herself in, she will find joy in it.

“Yeah,” she says. “We were.”

I can tell by the soft, distant look on her face that she really loves her father in a special way. This little detail is a gift. But I want more of her, any little crumb she will give me. So I lean over and brush my finger along her eyebrow.

“How did you get this?” I whisper, feeling the groove of her scar with my thumb.

There’s a playful glint in her eye. “Would you believe… I’m secretly a hockey player?”

“Hmmm. I’d have to check if you have all your teeth. Come’eer you.”

I grab her hips and slide her closer to me on the small sofa. Giggles pour out of her as I lift her top lip to expose her gums, then pull down on her chin, opening her mouth even more. I make a show of examining her teeth like a dentist.

“Hmmm. All incisors intact, it seems. Canines… number eleven cuspid a little crooked… Nope. Not a hockey player.”

I use the opportunity to tickle her, and she screams in delight.

“Mercy! Mercy!” she squeals through fits of laughter.

I ease up and give her some reprieve.

“Okay, let me guess, then. Not a hockey player. So… fight club?”

She shakes her head, biting her bottom lip, and it’s so adorable that I might die right here.

“How about… you lost a staring contest with a cat?”

She giggles some more. “Nope.”

“Tried to shave it into a cool shape and your hand slipped?”

Shakes her head again. “Nah-ah.”

I throw my hands up. “I give up.”

“You really want to know the gory details?”

“Every lurid one.”

“Brow piercing.”

“Oh no! I see where this is going.”

“Pulled a hoodie over my head too fast and the drawstring caught the ring like a fishhook.”

“Gaaah no! Agggh! That’s worse than fight club. Ouch!”