Page 54 of The Design of Goodbye
He grinned. “I’d love that.”
My heart flipped hopefully because his words sounded so authentic, and I let myself believe he trulywantedmy help.
As I shifted through the pictures, my dad said, “So, I think dinner went well? What do you think?”
I was probably imagining it, but I let myself hear the double meaning in that question:Things between us were good tonight, weren’t they?“Yeah, it was good.”
“Liam’s a nice kid.”
“He is.” I tried to hold back a smile but couldn’t.
I chose the first picture: the indoor pool. The pool was enclosed in a sunroom with a perfect view of the lake. The picture was taken at sunset, the lake calm, the pool welcoming and peaceful. If that picture alone didn’t get someone to want to view the house, I didn’t know what would.
“Does he play sports?” My dad took a sip of his coffee. We Winters could consume massive amounts of caffeine before bed and still fall asleep. It was our special talent.
“I don’t think so.”
“That was a nasty bruise on his face. I figured he got it playing hockey or something.”
“I think,” I started slowly, concentrating on my task, “he got it from falling off his bike but won’t admit it.”
“That’s quite the fall.”
“I think he’s pretty clumsy.” The next two pictures were easy to choose: the kitchen, with its blue glass subway tile backsplash and main bedroom, with its hidden reading area with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. “But I don’t know him that well.”
“I understand.” He downed the last of his coffee and yawned. “It’s time for your old man to go to bed. What about you?”
I glanced at my phone. “It’s not even eleven.”
“Oh, to be young again.” He placed his coffee mug in the sink and asked, “Want the last of the coffee?”
I nodded. He walked through the dining room and to the stairs leading up to his room, but before he took his first step, I called out, “Hey, Dad?”
He stopped. Turned around. Waited.
Do it!a voice shouted in my head.Ask him. Ask him if he’s still mad, if he forgives you. Ask him what you can do to make sure he never leaves you. Don’t be scared. You can do this. C’mon, he’s your dad.
“Uh, night.”
“Night.” He pointed to the pile of pictures. “Don’t spend too much time on that.”
I was going to. It was the first time he’d asked me to help him with something for work in a long time. I wanted the set of pictures I picked to be perfect.
Once he retreated upstairs, I poured myself the rest of the coffee, grabbed the pictures, and made myself comfortable on the couch in the living room. I turned on the tiny lamp by the couch, its orange glow all I needed.
I chose the fourth picture. It was of the basement recreation room, complete with a pool table, full-sized bar, and an angled view into the theater room. Kind of boring, but it would spark interest.
The last picture took much longer. I knew I should go with a picture of the impressive main bathroom, with its marble floors and shower that was as big as my room.
But there was one picture I couldn’t stop looking at.
It was of the backyard, which spanned all the way to the lake. Nothing was exciting about the yard—no fancy outdoor movie theater or gorgeous gazebo, just lots and lots of open space, with a lone outdoor couch that was surrounded by trees and fairy lights strung on the branches. The picture spoke to me.
It said:
Look, here, at all this space. Come, where you’re free to dance and be yourself and dream of all the possibilities in which you mightsoar.
chapter twenty
