He shrugged. “Weekly?”
“Weekly is good. But honestly, I’m okay, it shouldn’t be a chore.”
“It’s not a chore. You’re my youngest. My baby.”
“That makes me a thirty-five-year-old baby, Dad.”
“You could be one hundred and you’ll still be my baby. My little girl.”
Sarah unfolded her long limbs and left the bed to hug her dad. “I love you, too, Dad.”
His big arms wrapped around her, gave her a quick squeeze. “We’ve always been so proud of you, your mom and I. You really were a ray of sunshine. Never gave us a moment’s worry.”
“That’s because you guys didn’t know all the bad stuff I used to do.”
He drew back, looked into her eyes. “What bad stuff?”
She laughed, held her hands up. “Just kidding, Dad.”
“But I mean it when I say you made us happy. We lucked out with you.” He gave her another intent look. “You were easy. Sometimes I worried that we didn’t fuss over you enough.”
“I didn’t need fussing over.”
“I know. But sometimes . . . others . . . did.”
Sarah understood where this was going now. “Everyone’s different. People have different needs.”
He was quiet a moment, choosing his words. “You might have been too young to remember, but your sister Brianna . . . she and I butted heads when she was growing up. She was stubborn, and she had her own ideas about things. I didn’t approve of choices she made. It wasn’t easy with her. Not like you.”
Uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken, and aware that at any moment Brianna could walk in, Sarah opened her mouth to protest but her dad continued on.
“That’s not to say I didn’t love her.” His voice deepened. “But I worried about her, and I don’t like worrying. I don’t like lying awake at night, wondering where my little girl is or if she’s okay. So it was easier pushing her away, putting up a wall, telling myself she was out of control. Out of my control.”
He paused, looked down at the ground, jaw tight.
Seconds ticked by. Sarah didn’t try to fill the silence. She knew her dad. He wasn’t finished speaking.
“She’s had challenges, obstacles, along the way, but she’s a good girl, and your mom always worried about her. Worried that Brianna didn’t have anyone. Worried that Brianna lived so far away.” He suddenly looked up, into Sarah’s eyes, his blue gaze burning, intense. “The last thing your mom said to me was to take care of Brianna—” His voice broke. He swallowed, and his strong jaw clenched, and a small muscle worked near his ear. “. . . that Brianna needed me, because more than ever before, our little Bree-girl needed love.”
Sarah’s heart turned over. She studied his face, seeing the small tear that clung to his lower lashes.
“Do you know what’s wrong with Brianna?” he asked, voice husky. “Do you know what’s making her sick?”
Sarah nodded.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Is it terminal?”
“Shouldn’t be. But she can’t go back to the Congo. She has to stay here. Get well. Her doctors are close. Mom found her good people at UCSF, and now all she needs to do is get treatment and get better.”
“So why did you say she was careless and selfish?”
Sarah lifted her chin. “I was angry.”
“Figured that much out.”
“I just—” She glanced sideways at him. “Brianna just doesn’t take care of herself. She’s just so . . . self-destructive. And it makes me mad.”
His brows pulled, his expression changing, and for a moment he looked stricken, and unbearably sad. “Right. So that’s how it is.”
Sarah’s phone rang but she didn’t move to answer it.
“You can get that,” he said.
She shook her head. “It can go to voice mail.”
Her dad just looked at her an endless moment, and then reached out to pat her cheek. “Our golden girl. Sweet Sarah.” He turned and walked out.
Sarah watched him go, her heart aching, a lump in her throat. He’d looked so lonely for a moment. Lonely and alone.
Her phone rang again. She glanced around, found it on the foot of her bed, and picked it up.
Boone.
“Hey, baby,” she said thickly, answering.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She wiped her eyes, missing Mom, wishing Mom were here because Mom would know what to do. Mom would know what to say. Mom would know how to comfort Dad and love Bree. But then, Mom would know how to love them all. She’d know the right words to bring them together, making them strong, making them a united family.