I snorted a little. “An idiot with a lot of influence.”

He just looked at me a minute. “I’m sorry, Sadie.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s nothing I haven’t heard a hundred times before. Two hundred. Five, maybe. Anyway. How are you?”

“Good.”

That seemed to be all. “Well,” I said. “Nice to see you. Love you.” Shit. “I do. I mean, you know that. Anyway. Have a good day.”

I left before I made things worse, and went to see my dad.

He hadn’t spoken again since that day. It was awfully hard, finally admitting he was the man in front of me, in a place I couldn’t reach or see. Maybe he’d have another breakthrough, but I had a feeling he was done.

Rose Hill had space for him in their new wing. It was only a half hour away. Still, the tears slid down my face. I’d visit a lot.

“I’m thinking about staying in Stoningham, Dad,” I said. His expression didn’t change. “Maybe I can get a teaching job up here. Keep doing my couch paintings, pop down to the city once in a while, keep the apartment on Airbnb. I don’t know. Maybe not Stoningham, since it would be hard to see Noah, you know? Maybe Mystic or Old Lyme.”

I sighed. Even talking to myself, I couldn’t make up my mind.

Hasan had told me what I’d always known. Those skyscapes weren’t all that special. Not to the New York art world. Any first-year art student could do them. They weren’t even that hard, technically speaking.

“I’m not that good as an artist, Dad,” I told him, and tears filled my eyes. He didn’t answer, but I wedged myself in the chair against him and put my head on his shoulder. His arm came around me, just like old times, but for once—for the first time since his stroke—I didn’t look for more. Sometimes an arm around you is all you need.

“Thanks, Daddy,” I whispered, and there it was again. Joy, soft and quiet this time. My father loved me. It was May. I had a good dog and options in front of me. Joy would be the key to my life. Be in the places that made my heart sing, do the things that made me feel whole and fulfilled, spend time with the people who did the same. No more phoning it in, no more good enough for now. I would find a way to make a life based on joy, because really. What if you fell off your bicycle one day and injured your brain?

“Thanks for the pep talk, Dad,” I said, and maybe it was my imagination, but I thought he held me a little closer.

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