Except he had met me.
For thirty seconds, in the rain, when we were both at the bottom of the world.
Mr. Pennington watched the understanding cross my face.
“Yes,” he said softly. “All of it. Him.”
“He was at Mia’s recital,” I said slowly, a memory surfacing. “Two years ago. Before she got sick. There was an older man in the back, in a nice coat, and he clapped so hard, and I thought it was somebody’s grandfather, and when I looked again he was gone.”
Mr. Pennington smiled, very sadly.
“He went to a lot of things,” he said. “He stood in the back of a lot of rooms. He never once let you see him. He told me watching your girls grow up from a distance was the great privilege of his life, and that he had no right to more than that.”
I put my head down on my desk and cr*ed for a long time, and that patient man let me.
