I nodded.
I waited on the sidewalk, watching him as he rushed around tidying the garage and putting his tools away. He disappeared into the back and then came out wearing regular blue Dickies and a flannel shirt. It was chilly, so I wrapped my scarf around my neck two more times.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked.
“I’m good.”
“It’s right down here.”
We walked down a quiet commercial street and through a jingling door into a small, empty diner. An older waitress poured coffee and spoke over her shoulder without turning around. “Anywhere you’d like.”
“Two coffees for us, Pat,” my father said, and then he motioned for me to sit down in the booth closest to the door. The booth itself was classic blue vinyl, and the Formica tabletop looked like it had come straight out of the sixties, though it was in pristine condition.
Pat wore a standard diner waitress uniform, a tight gray bun, and glasses on a chain around her neck. “Hi, Benny. Who’s this pretty girl?”
“This is my daughter, Emiline.” My father’s face was alight with pride.
“Oh,” she said with a smile. “How nice to meet you.”
I didn’t doubt for a second that Pat knew our whole life story. My father was obviously a regular here, but I could tell Pat was the type of woman who understood the value of discretion.
“Likewise,” I said.
After she left us, I looked over the menu as my father watched me. “Do you know what you want?”
“Yeah.”
He called Pat back over. I ordered a grilled cheese and French fries, and he ordered a turkey sandwich.
“I don’t know if I’m gonna have much of a stomach after this, but hopefully it will be worth it . . . for both of us.”
“After what, Dad?”
He reached across the table for my hands, and I gave them to him. Staring down at them, as if he still couldn’t believe I was here, he said, “After I tell you what I need to tell you.”
“Okay.”
He sniffled. “Daddies are supposed to protect their little girls. You know that, right?”
I felt a lump rising in my throat already. “Yes.”
“Men, daddies, boyfriends, husbands . . . they should never hurt a woman or a child, with their fists, words, or otherwise.”
I nodded, too choked up to say a word.
He looked up from our hands right into my eyes. “I’m so, so sorry, Emiline.” His face scrunched up. Suddenly, we both collapsed across the table. His body was a shaking mass of sobs—painful, body-jarring sobs that matched my own.
Pat left a stack of napkins next to my elbow and then went into the back, leaving us alone.
“I couldn’t forgive myself. I didn’t think I deserved your forgiveness,” he cried.
We held each other over the table until the tears subsided. “I didn’t think so either, but I need to forgive you. I’m ready to forgive you,” I told him.
“You don’t have to, Emiline. For so long, I made excuses. I blamed your mom and I blamed the paper mill for closing, but it was all my doing. Your mom left because I pushed her away.”
“But she left me there with you,” I said. He flinched, like my words had hurt him. “I mean, how good could she have been if she abandoned her daughter like that?”
“She’s far from perfect, but I don’t think she knew how far I would sink after she left.”
I nodded. “Do you remember Jase?”
“Of course I do. If I could apologize to him as well, I would.”
“Maybe you will someday. He wrote a book about everything we went through. He’s practically famous now. I think the book is helping me work through it all.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Tell him thank you from me.”
Thank you? That surprised me.
“Jason was always like that . . . driven to help you, driven to protect you. He looked out for you . . . when I should have.”
“He did,” I agreed. I tried to will my eyes to stop watering, but it was impossible. Just the sheer emotion of being in his presence made my throat ache.
After a few deep breaths, my father nodded to Pat, who was peering out from the back room. She returned with our plates, and we eased into our meal. He’d look up every couple of bites to shoot me a subtle smile, like he was making sure I was still okay.
“I spoke to your mother about a month ago,” he said, breaking the surprisingly companionable silence between us.
I choked on a piece of grilled cheese. “What? I had no idea you even knew where she was.”
“Emiline, I said a lot of bad things about her when you were growing up. It might be hard for you to believe, but some of them were true. Not all of them, but some.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I said I drove her away, I meant I drove her into someone else’s arms. She was always looking for a hero. She’s on her fourth husband now.” He arched his eyebrows. “That poor schmuck.”
I laughed bitterly, and my smile faded quickly. “How could she just leave her daughter, though?”