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Dad: The daughter will never find the drugs. No way.

Me: She doesn’t ever quit. I reckon she’s one clue away.

That night in bed, I lay texting Dad about the mystery we were reading.

Dad: She’s bloody tenacious, alright! Did you notice how the father and daughter detective don’t ever say they love each other? You can see them thinking, oh bugger, I don’t have to say it, he knows, she knows. They are alike enough that neither of them can break that spell.

So many emotions were trapped in my throat. I thought about the moment before he headed up into surgery when we said, “I love you.”

I read further up the text chain.

Look at that. When he chatted about books, he was talking about me and him.

I smiled. A rubber band pinged in my chest. They were like little unintentional love letters from his life. I hadn’t treasured them. But now I would.