He was checking where Natalie was.
“I need proof before I tell you everything,” he said.
“Proof of what?”
“Because otherwise, someone might say I’m getting confused.”
He stopped and swallowed.
“Or accuse me of trying to interfere with your marriage.”
There are sentences you hear and immediately understand.
Then there are sentences that keep expanding after they are spoken.
That was one of them.
Dad had not said Natalie’s name.
He did not need to.
“Who would accuse you of that?” I asked.
He would not answer.
Instead, he put one rough hand on my shoulder.
“I’m trying to give you something I should have given you a long time ago.”
I knew my father well enough to hear what was underneath those words.
Urgency.
Maybe fear.
