Page 147 of Smooth Sailing

“She told me you did.”

“I know.”

Oh my God.

I jumped from my seat and shouted, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dad stood too, as did Hugger.

Hugger’s hand lighted on the small of my back and immediately commenced stroking.

Dad spoke. “Why would I do that?”

“Why?” I all but screeched.

“Diana—”

I slammed my glass down on the table between me and my father, thankful it didn’t shatter, and straightened, saying, “She made you out to be the bad guy.”

“And what was I to do?” Dad asked. “Cast your mother in that role?”

I threw out both hands and cried, “Yes! Since she earned it.”

“When you have children, sweetheart,” Dad said quietly, “you’ll understand.”

“You protected her,” I whispered.

“No. I protected you.”

Holy shit.

I turned into Hugger and he wrapped his arms around me.

I was not going to cry.

I was not.

Instead, I deep-breathed as Hugger smoothed his hand up and down my back.

It was like he felt I was getting a lock on it because I’d just started doing that when he bent and murmured into my ear, “Not sure it’s me you should be hugging, baby.”

I looked up at him.

Then I turned to Dad. “Were you going to tell me when I got old enough?”

Dad shook his head. “I was never going to tell you.”

“I always blamed you for the divorce.”

“I know, Buttercup, and you always loved your mother unreservedly. Girls need their mothers like that.”

“They need their dads too.”

Dad’s face fell and he said, “Maybe I mishandled it.”

“No,” I said fiercely. “No. No, Dad. You didn’t mishandle it at all.”

And with that, I walked around the coffee table and threw myself in my father’s arms.

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