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Dad chews on his lower lip, staring out over the water.
I fiddle with the lead half of my pencil, drawing shitty stick figures in the margins of my notebook.
“She did leave you.”
“Yes.”
He nods, still thinking.
“You should lay it all out. Tell her everything.”
“I—what do you mean? She already knows everything.”
Dad shakes his head, scratching the back of his neck. “Naw. She knows you went to prison. She knows how you thought she’d react to that. But she doesn’t know why you thought she’d react that way."
I’m still having trouble following. “What are you saying?”
“Actions. She’s got all the actions. You’ve gotta lay out your feelings.”
“I did. I told her I love her.” Multiple times. And it didn’t do anything but piss her off more.
“But you didn’t trust her.”
Dad’s words are like a punch to the gut. Me not trust Summer? Try the other way around. “Of course I do!”
He doesn’t respond right away, just lets me seethe while he reels in another fish. Once his line is back in the water, he breaks his silence. “What are you afraid of?”
“Nothing,” is my immediate response.
“Liar.”
I grind my teeth, even as I consider his question. “Losing her forever.”
He snaps his fingers. “There’s a start. What does it feel like when you think about the time you served?”
“That’s in the past.” Again, the response feels automatic.
But Dad is shaking his head. “I don’t think it is. You don’t have to tell me. You don’t have to tell anyone. You also don’t have to earn the love of that sweet girl. Build all the walls you want, but don’t expect her to hang around on the other side of them.”
The bench seat is suddenly extremely uncomfortable, and I find myself fidgeting.
“So what, you think I need to spill my guts? Tell my sob story? Earn her pity?”
“Earn her trust. Figure out what scares you most, and give it to her.”
We’re quiet for some time, each in our own head.
“Where is this coming from?” I ask. “Is this some kind ofif I’d done this with your mother she wouldn’t have leftthing?” I’m immediately guilty for throwing her in his face.
But dad just gives the water a sad smile.
“No. Your girl is better than your mother. She liked playing house. Until she didn’t. She knew I loved her, but that didn’t matter so much to her. She didn’t have walls or fears because she didn’t have any cares.”
“Summer cares about everything,” I mutter. My dad nods.
“You should let her care about you. All of you. Not just the bits you think are good enough.”
From the firming of my dad’s jaw, I get the sense that he’s done relaying wisdom. I’m still reeling from how intimate the conversation was. We never go deeper than me getting on his case about bills.
