“You’re an asshole,” she responded. Her tone was that of a sulking child protesting in frustration while knowing it’d bear no result. I turned around. She was sitting up, peering at me through narrow slits, and I searched her rigid face hoping it’d reveal none of the answers to questions I yearned to ask. But it disclosed plenty in the way it held itself aloft in self-righteousness, as though she felt justified in writing my father and had no regrets about doing so. She had looked forward to his letters, and I imagined the way she must have torn open each envelope and raced through his words with the giddy impatience of a schoolgirl, perhaps finding him endearing, maybe even charming.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.

She pressed her lips into a thin, straight line.

“How about what I want? Has that ever mattered to you, Stratton?”

“In regard to my father? No, it doesn’t matter to me,” I said, my own eyes narrowing into piercing slits to match her own. Anger lurked around the room now and had chased away whatever sadness had been present.

“Do you even know a single thing he’s gone through over the past twelve years?”

“Please tell me that’s a joke.”

“Does it matter that he’s spent every day wishing he were dead because of the guilt, Stratton? Does it matter that he’s written you hundreds of letters begging forgiveness?”

“No, it doesn’t matter, Carolyn,” I replied, mocking her by adding a little extra edge as I said her name.

“Stratton—”

“No, it doesn’t matter, okay? I’m not talking about this with you. Some things in this world are unforgivable. I’m done. Some people don’t deserve forgiveness for what they do, for the way they treat others. Fuck him.”

“I’m sorry you believe that.”

“What, you don’t?”

“No, if you want the truth, I don’t. God believes everyone deserves forgiveness.”

“Carolyn, do not even start in on the God shit with me,” I replied. “I’m not listening to ‘the invisible man in the sky who grants wishes and sees and hears everything’ bullshit, okay? I hold more faith in Santa Claus. They’re one and the same as far as I’m concerned.”

“Have you ever even heard his side of the story?” she asked after a pause.

I started nodding my head, rapidly, like a madman. “Yes, I have, okay? I’ve heard the whole damn thing, trust me.”

“Well, I bet he’s never heard yours.”

I threw up my arms. “Christ, what the hell do you want from me?”

“I really wish you’d write him back.”

I shook my head and muttered, “I just can’t win.”

“It’s not a competition, Stratton. We’re on the same team.”