My Father Knew Him the Second He Stepped Into Frame

bad.”

I sat on the edge of the bed.

“You skipped it too.”

“I was at my game.”

“You could’ve said something at breakfast.”

He looked down at his hands. Big hands. Athlete hands. A little tape residue still stuck to one thumb.

“I know.”

That almost made me angrier than if he’d come in defensive.

He stared at one of my notebooks on the floor. “Did you really continue reading …