“I think I have some pop in the garage fridge. I oughta stock up before the weekend.” This weekend, when everyone in the family started arriving for Allison’s wedding. Tess shook her head. “No thanks, Dad.” Stuart Moore was sitting in his recliner like he always did. Well, not exactly like he always did, because the television was off and the recliner was fully upright. He looked about as comfortable as she felt, perched on the edge of the couch with her hands sandwiched between her knees, her h...eels bouncing in an anxious rhythm. “Something to eat?” “Dad.” He nodded, pressing his lips together. Stopped trying to offer her things she didn’t want or need. For the first time, the impulse to shut him down gave Tess a pang of something. Not quite guilt, not sorrow, but a sense that she didn’t just have to yearn for things to be different. There was a chance, however vague and slippery and distant, that things might be different. If she could only work it out, or her father could, this puzzling mess their relationship had grown into over the last sixteen or seventeen years.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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