“You could take a cruise.”

He laughs, a short, bitter bark. “Yeah, suppose I could.” He flashes me another look, those eyes squinted as always. “So I’ve told you my vices. My weaknesses. So what about you?”

I’ve been thinking of my vices since the second he brought it up. How do you define a vice, exactly? At what point does something cross the line between being a simple human frailty and a significant character flaw?

There is one thing that bubbles to the surface. One thing about me I know to be true. Whether it’s a flaw or not, it’s the first thing I thought of when he asked.

“I’m not good at forgiving,” I say.

This time, his laugh has sincere delight in it. “Are you kidding me? Rosie, that’s not a vice. That’s a virtue. And, by the way, you can thank me for that trait.”

“And I have a hard time moving on from the past.”

He considers this for a bit, nodding.

“The past is a whore,” he finally says. “The present is your mistress. The future is your only true love.”

I don’t completely understand what he means, but the word mistress burns into me and makes me say what I do next without much thought.

“I was going to leave Riley.”

His face freezes for a second, followed by an almost imperceptible raising of his eyebrows.

“Interesting.”

I lower my voice, though I know we’re far beyond earshot of Max’s room.

“I told him I wanted a divorce.”

“When?”

“Six months ago. I was about to move out when he died.”

“Did Max know?”

“No,” I say. “I don’t think so. I didn’t tell him. Maybe Riley did, but I doubt it.”

“What was your plan?” My father is always about the plan. “Where were you going to go?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I had to get away.”

He sits up, leans forward, and cradles his glass in both hands. I have his full attention, and it’s a bit unnerving. I both fear and admire his intensity.

“Why?” he asks.

I take a deep breath, hold it for a moment, then release it and tell him something I haven’t told anyone else.

“He was cheating on me.”

My father considers this and offers no more emotion than a feeble grimace. “Cocksucker,” he says, and I’m not sure if he’s referring to Riley or the bitch he slept with. “Can’t say I’m not surprised, though. I always knew he wasn’t good enough for you.”

Men. Fucking men. Why is their field of vision so completely narrow? “Dad, I wasn’t even good enough for you. You cut me off as soon as I wanted to leave Bury.”

“You cut yourself off, Rosie, which was the best decision you could have made. Made you stronger, smarter. You think your sister would have made that choice?” He shakes his head. “No way.”

“So why do you enable her now?” I ask. “You hired Peter. You still give money to Cora. Why do it if you think it’s hurting her?”