Page 60 of The Infinite Light of Dust

“Oh.” He stood next to Estelle and looked me up and down, taking in my work clothes. I felt underdressed and suddenly insecure. I hated that one look from him could do that to me, no matter how old I was.

“What’s wrong?” he asked me, softening the smallest of bits.

Shaking my head, I held my hand up. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, I just . . . I don’t know. I wanted to come over. I should have called or something before but—”

“You can always come here, no need to call ahead,” Estelle said. The look she gave my father felt like she was coaching him or reminding him, like she was forcing him to agree with her.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t come here. I assumed something was wrong because you never just come here out of the blue,” he said.

What the heck was my plan now? To sit in the living room and watch TV with him and Estelle? To ask about the weather? His health? My head ached at my own stupid, spontaneous choice to come here.

“Have you eaten dinner?” Estelle asked as she closed the front door behind me.

“No, actually.” I hadn’t eaten since the morning when Kael handed me a piece of toast as I left for work. I’d overslept, my body tired from organizing and rearranging every inch of my house all night.

“Why don’t we order some pizza?” she suggested, looking at my dad, who would never in a million years turn down pizza.

“Not Domino’s,” he said, as always.

It had been years since I’d thought about his boycott of Domino’s, and it made me laugh a little that he was still holding strong to such a petty thing. When I was in middle school I won a certificate for a free pizza for reading the most in my class over winter break, and when my parents took me to get my prize, they wouldn’t accept the coupon. My father argued with the manager for nearly an hour while my mother doodled all over their wooden table with a hairpin, carving thin swirls into the wood. I sat quietly, no longer wanting the pizza at all, but wasn’t used to my father fighting for me over anything, so gladly sat there waiting for a resolution. We left with no pizza and went straight to Pizza Hut, and my dad vowed to never eat Domino’s again in his life, which he’d apparently kept up with.

“I know, honey.” Estelle smiled, making me wonder if he had told her the story. If we’d had a normal relationship, I would ask her or tell her about it, but we didn’t, so I relived the memory myself as we moved to sit down in the living room.

Estelle called Pizza Hut herself, which felt nostalgic. No one called places to order food anymore; apps and laptops and iPads were the way now, but I kind of liked that she called even though it took forever for such a simple order. While we waited, I could tell my dad was uneasy, not sure what to do with me. This was different than the forced family dinners; I’d come here of my own free will. He kept glancing at me, then at the football game on the TV, then back to me.

Once the pizza arrived, I stood up from the couch to go to the dining room.

“Let’s eat in here. I’ll grab some plates,” my father suggested.

I’m sure to most people it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary, but I had never seen my dad or Estelle eat in any room of the house other than their dining room. The casual pizza, to eating in the living room, to my dad being the one to offer to get the plates? Was he worse off healthwise than he was acting? It sure as hell seemed like it.

“I heard Mendoza’s been healing better than expected,” my dad said when we were done eating.

“Yeah, thank god,” I agreed, wondering if my father even cared about Mendoza or any of the soldiers under him or if he was just making conversation with me.

“Karina . . .” The tone of his voice sounded a bit like he was choking. “When I got that call, hearing that you and your brother were in danger—” He paused. “I understand that you don’t see me as a protector and barely as a father, but it was the scariest moment of my life. I never wanted you to be affected by this part of military life, and I always expected you to stay away from it the best you could, like your mother.”

“Dad . . .” I was just as fumbly and speechless as he was. We had never had a conversation like this before, and I thought I even saw a gloss of tears in his eyes as he found his next words.

“I will do everything in my power to make sure Phillips is off the streets and locked away somewhere. He won’t be coming near you or Elodie again. And if he would have succeeded in killing my son or my daughter, I would have ended his life myself.”

The intensity of my father’s words and the way his mouth twisted was overwhelming but felt good, a relief that he actually gave a shit about us. Or maybe I was being naïve, I didn’t know, but it felt better than nothing, which was what I’d expected.

“How are you feeling, Karina? You must have been so scared,” Estelle asked me, holding a paper towel in her hands, tearing at the edges with her eggplant-hued painted nails.

“Thanks again for taking care of me after it happened,” I told Estelle. “I’m okay. I think? Yeah, I’m okay.” My response was jumbled, but it was how I felt.

Her eyes widened in concern. “If you need to talk to anyone, I have some friends who work in mental health, all across the spectrum, so don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Friends?” I blurted. It was absolutely meant to be an inside thought.

Her laughter surprised me. “Yes, I know it’s hard to imagine, but I do have friends. Not many, but I do have some.”

Her lighthearted response to my insult made me feel a little better. I was genuinely surprised at the idea of her with friends, or with anyone who wasn’t my father. From my perspective, it seemed like her life began and ended at the front door of this house, but I was glad to know that wasn’t true.

“Thank you for the offer. I’m still processing what happened, but thank you.”

“I’ll make sure Mendoza and his family are taken care of,” my dad added. “He saved your brother’s life.”

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