Page 116 of Poison Wood

“Let them pick.” His steely eyes harden, and even though he’s just home from the hospital, I see his strength in them.

“Tell me about what happened?”

He calls for Dos, and the dog jumps in his lap. “She had that bad fall off her horse, and she had those stupid pain pills. I knew I should have monitored her better. I should have ...” His voice cracks and trails off. “She just took too many.”

“I wish you’d told me the truth,” I say.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I sit up. Those are not words I’m used to hearing from him.

“Thank you,” I say. “Maybe we can start from here and have more honest conversations.”

“I think we can do that,” he says. He sighs. “I still see you as my little girl who needs protecting.”

The tears start before I even realize it’s happening. I’ve cried more in the last week than I’ve cried in the last year. I wipe them away and exhale. Of all the conversations we’ve had over the years, this short one drills deeper than all the others combined, all the way to the emotions I’ve kept buried since my mother died.

“I think we are off to a good start here, Dad,” I say.

“Me too.”

He stands up, and Dos jumps to the ground. I stand up too.

He pats my arm. “I love you, kid.”

I almost fall back into the chair. Like apologies,I love yous were not the norm with Judge Mac Meade.

“I don’t know if I can handle anI’m sorryand anI love youin one day,” I say, trying to bring humor into a moment that doesn’t need it.

He laughs and shakes his head.

“I love you too,” I say before the moment is gone.

Back upstairs in my room, I pack up my small bag. If everyone else is heading south for this story, I don’t plan on being left behind. My phone dings nonstop with pictures of me leaving the Kingston Hotelyesterday. Article after article, blurb after blurb. Speculations about my job, my connection to Poison Wood, and the details of my mother’s death. I delete them as soon as they appear.

Debby is scrubbing a sheet pan in the sink when I walk into the kitchen.

“I need to take his truck again,” I say.

“Sure.” She looks over her shoulder at my bag.

“Just a couple of nights.”

“Okay, hon.” She hands me the keys.

As I’m loading up, she walks into the garage with a biscuit and a cup of coffee in her hands.

“You need to slow down,” she says. “Eat.” She hands the coffee and food to me, and I take them through the truck window.

She studies my face. “You’ve got to take care of yourself, Rita,” she says, her voice cracking. “Your dad ... he needs you.”

I open the truck door and step out. “I will,” I say, but before I can say anything else, tears stream from her eyes. It’s not even noon, and Debby, my father, and I have all shed tears.

She grabs me and hugs me. Debby and I have hugged maybe twice, ever. I hug her back, and she presses her head into my shoulder.

“I’ve been so scared,” she says, looking up and wiping her eyes.

“It’s okay. He’s okay,” I say. “He’s going to be okay.”