He was going to tell her that he wasn’t interested in yelling—that yelling didn’t accomplish anything—only he couldn’t seem to speak. It had been, what, only a few months ago that she’d been a chubby, happy toddler who loved her dad more than anyone in the world. He remembered how her face would light up whenever he walked into the room. She would stop whatever she was doing and rush to him. Becky had always been bitter about that, claiming she did all the work, so why was he the favorite.

There was no good answer to that, although he’d done his share, whenever he was home. He’d stayed up many a night when Lissa had been sick, and when he’d started coaching, he’d spent his summers with her. After the divorce, he’d been terrified of becoming a weekend father. He hadn’t wanted that—he’d wanted to see her every day. Lissa was his daughter and he loved her. He always had.

All of which was easy. What was hard was realizing that his baby girl was nearly a full-grown woman and that he was going to lose her a lot sooner than he was ready.

“What?” she asked, rolling her eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Before he could answer the question, she stood and put her hands on her hips.

“Say it,” she shrieked, her voice loud and intense. “Just say it. You want to get rid of me. You can’t wait until I’m gone.”

Lissa, like most teenagers, had moods, but until recently she’d never gone off on him like this. He felt as if he were staring at a stranger. Confusion held him immobile. He had no idea what to do and, in that second, was desperate to call Ellen and ask for help. Only this was his problem and he had to solve it.

“Just say it!” Lissa yelled again.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he admitted. “Lissa, what’s wrong?”

“You want me to leave. You don’t want me here.”

Suddenly talking about her and Luka seemed like a much easier path than this one.

“That’s not true. Why would you say that? You’re my daughter and I love you.” He searched desperately for linkage to anything that had happened in the past few days. “Did you hear from your mom recently?”

“No.”

There was something in her tone that made him circle back around the topic. “When did you last hear from her? Your birthday, right?”

She half turned away. “You mean did the great Becky deign to call her own daughter on her seventeenth birthday? What a silly question. She’s far too busy for the likes of me.”

The pieces all fell into place. “Lissa, I’m sorry. When I asked, you said she’d called.”

“I lied.”

He rose and pulled her close. “I wish you hadn’t. Now I know why you’ve been acting so weird. You’re feeling rejected.”

“I’m not acting weird.”

“You are a little.”