“And you might mention that she shouldn’t expect to waltz right back into first chair when she’s returned from finding herself.”

“Maybe she won’t want first chair. Maybe she won’t want anything.”

“I just want her to be happy,” Dad said quietly. “That’s all I want for any of you.”

His eyes crinkled as they landed on mine, as if he were asking forgiveness. Before I could decide if I wanted to give it, verbally or otherwise, we reached the house, and he drifted over to lay a hand on Oscar’s shoulder.

“All right, let’s call it,” he said, extending his other hand. “Ruby’s got an early flight.”

Dad shook with Oscar like he was finalizing a deal, then strode straight to me, physically shepherding me up the stairs.

“I’m taking her to the airport,” Oscar called out. “To see her off.”

Dad turned to see my reaction. I nodded.

“Ah.” Dad sniffed. “Well. That’s nice. Take the car. I’ll make sure it’s here with plenty of time to get you out before rush hour hits. Night!”

He held the door open, watching me step through, then latched it shut behind us.

While I packed, Dad sat in his study with the door open, listening to a recording of Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet Suite, as if trying to send a subliminal message about the dangers of young love.

I put on my pajamas, then popped my head into Dad’s study to say good night. He had a million scattered folders open on his desk. The top page was a row of numbers. Financial records.

Dad jammed the papers together at the sight of me, his face going pale. “You scared me.”

“I have that effect on people.”

He didn’t even try to smile.

I sat in his armchair. “Amberley stuff?”

“It is. It’s nothing to . . . It doesn’t . . .” He leaned his mouth against the knuckles of one hand, then straightened. “Yep. It’s all gonna be fine.”

The room seemed to wobble. “This doesn’t have anything to do with our finances . . .”

“If it did, we wouldn’t have gone out to Roland tonight, I’ll tell you that.” Before I could inquire further, he stood. “Get some rest, sweetheart. I’ll be up in the morning to see you—ah, see you and Oscar off.”

I turned my cheek so he could kiss it.

As I was walking out, he said, as if musing to himself, “He’s pretty invested in you, kiddo. I hadn’t seen it until tonight. Still not sure it’s a good thing. You know what he is, don’t you?”

The question sounded so sad, so raw, that I had to turn and let him finish the thought.

“A lightning strike.”

Dazzling, incredible, beautiful, keep your distance.

“Not an easy road,” he said, slumping against his desk. “Being with somebody like that.”