Chapter 130

“No, Dad,” I say, growing angry myself. “I did.”

With great difficulty, he focuses on me, standing right in front of him. For the first time since I can remember, he looks in my eyes, not through them, not atthem, but in—he studies my face, the smooth skin, the blondish eyebrows, the slanted nose that looks like his own did twenty years ago, before long nights of alcohol ruddied it. He looks me over like I’ve suddenly become a complete stranger to him, someone he doesn’t know, and there’s a wariness in his eyes that I like, a look that says he’s not quite sure what to do now. The fact that it was mywords that put that confusion there, that strengthens me, it makes me stand taller, my shoulders back and proud. Now he sees me, me, not his son but a man before him, a man with dreams he might not know about, a man with a life beyond his own, a man to be reckoned with. Me.