Chapter 18: Father's Office

At seven fifty-eight on Monday morning, Caleb and I stood outside my father's office with the board packet between us.

Neither of us had slept.

He had my hand again, and I let him have it.

Mara was at her desk twenty feet away, pretending to read a spreadsheet.

She gave me a thumbs-up with the hand below the desk.

I had told her everything the night before, over the phone, in one breath.

Her only reply had been: "I knew it was him. I'm not even surprised. I'm just furious I didn't win the pool."

The door opened.

"Come in," my father said. "Sit."

He was in yesterday's shirt.

His glasses were pushed up on his forehead, and he looked ten years older than he had at breakfast on Saturday.

Diane sat on the couch by the window with a coffee in both hands.

She had not told me she would be there.

We sat in the two chairs facing his desk.

For a moment my father only looked at us.

"I'm not angry that you're together," he said.

I almost laughed.

"I want that on the record first, because I spent the night thinking."

He looked at me.

"I am not angry about that."

"Dad..."

"Let me finish. I'm angry you hid it."

"We thought..."

"I know what you thought. You thought I'd shout."

He took off the glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"Diane told me last night about the walls, Caleb. She told me the whole thing."

Caleb sat very still.

"You asked her. She asked me. I said yes and I never asked why."

He looked at me.

"Lena, I let him have the far end of the floor."

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