“And that’s what took you all night?” The question was rhetorical, disbelieving.

“We had to drive back—from Brookfield.”

A slight slackening of his forehead told me the distance wasn’t expected, allowing me a chance to regroup.

“We went down there for a show, and it didn’t start till nine.” Not that it was any of his business. I straightened. Since when did he become my keeper? “It was a magic show, to be specific. And actually, it was the grandest time I’ve ever had.” I added the jab, knowing that kind of activity was historically ours.

When his jaw clenched, I felt a twinge of guilt before he gave me a once-over. “Well, that’s pretty obvious from your breath. Never mind the looks of you.”

He’d caught the wine. And, I imagined, a suggestive smearing of my lipstick. Blindly I went to wipe it away, but he stepped forward, looming over me a full head taller.

“If that bastard got fresh with you—pushed you to do anything—you tell me this minute.” His seething showed in the taut muscles of his neck and chest, both of which had broadened with age.

It was then that the core of his mood emerged: he was being protective.

Even so, that didn’t give him the right to an interrogation. Overriding my undue shame, I jutted out my chin. “Nothing happened that I didn’t allow.”

His eyes widened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re not my father, so stop pretending to be.”

He gave a nod, but not the agreeable sort. “You’re right. And thank God he isn’t here to see you acting like a tramp.”

I sucked in a partial breath, pierced clean through by the accusation. And yet, like an arrow ablaze, his conjuring of Papa in such a way lit a powder keg within me. It erupted so fast and forcefully that I didn’t register the raising of my hand until after I’d slapped his cheek.

Slowly he looked back at me. Through the moisture filling my eyes, I could see his own words sweeping through his head, clearing away the anger, leaving a path of regret. “Fen…” He reached out a tentative hand, yet I backed up, trembling.

“No” was all I could say before rushing off to the solitude of my room.

***

A good half hour later, as I lay on my narrow bed with my face dried of tears, the kerosene lamp on my bureau flickered a low flame over the room. I’d kept the decor feminine but scant, never forgetting the space belonged to another.

Just then, two sets of taps traveled through the wall beside me, signifying hi.

Literally the word hi.