“Hi, Evie,” he whispered. “Hi, baby girl. I’m your dad. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t there. I’m here now. I’m here now, I promise.”
I stood by the window and watched them, and I didn’t cry. I’d done enough crying. I just watched.
When the hour was up, my dad came to the doorway. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there.
Ben looked up. He nodded. He stood, very carefully, and handed Evelyn back to me.
At the door, he stopped.
“Same time next week?” he asked. “If that’s okay. Only if that’s okay.”“Same time next week,” I said.
He came every Saturday after that. Then, after a month, Wednesdays too.
My dad stopped standing in the doorway after the fifth visit. By the eighth, he was asking Ben if he wanted coffee. By the twelfth, they were standing in the backyard together looking at my dad’s tomato plants, which were dead because it was December, and talking about them anyway.
