Dad looks down at his plate. “What do you want to talk about?”

I take a deep breath and ignore the ache growing in my chest. “Did she stop loving us? Did she stop loving me?”

Dad looks up. “Of course not. Your mother loved you more than anything!”

“I guess I feel like, when she died, I didn’t really know her anymore. She didn’t seem to want me around. She was always thinking about something else.”

“She was under a lot of pressure at work.”

“Did she tell you what kind of pressure? Did she show you what kind of things she was working on? Did you ask—”

“Damn it, Meri!” Dad’s fork slips from his hand with a clatter. “Of course I asked her about it and she told me she would explain everything when she had it all worked out. She was on edge and said she needed space and I didn’t push her. Maybe I should have. Maybe if I had insisted she tell me what she was working on instead of turning my back on her when she went out that night she’d still be alive. But I didn’t, and now I have to live with that for the rest of my life.”

He picks up his mostly full plate and takes it to the sink. Without turning, he says, “Your mother loved you, Meri. But the truth is I’m not sure if she still loved me. I have to live with that, too.” When he turns his eyes are clouded with pain and anger and the hollow hopelessness that I remember from the weeks immediately after my mother was killed. I have pushed him as far as I can. Any further and I’m not sure if he’ll ever forgive me.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” I say quietly.

He shakes his head and looks like he is going to say something else but changes his mind and sighs. “Leave the dishes. I’ll take care of them after I watch the game.”

Shoulders slumped, Dad goes into the living room. I run the water full blast, hoping he’ll hear it and come back to help clean the dishes. But he doesn’t. And I don’t go into the living room to keep him company the way I know I should. Instead I go upstairs and stand in front of my father’s closed bedroom door. He has a bottle hidden in there, and after the questions I have asked I know he’ll crack the seal on it tonight. This is my chance to search for the bottle. To keep him from drinking himself into oblivion. Because he will. After that conversation I know he will.

For one heartbeat, I wish I could, too, because I still don’t know if the mother I lost is the person I thought she was—or someone else entirely.

I don’t think I can sit here day after day waiting for something to happen. That is my only choice unless I take the option that was presented by the woman who waited for me across from the school. If I go tonight, I will have to be brave enough to face people who want to do this city, and maybe even me, harm. I’ll have to face learning the truth about my mother.