Page 119 of Someday You Learn

“Thank you,” I murmur, smoothing his shirt nervously.

“Cashlynn,” my father says, pulling my attention toward him. And when our eyes lock, I see the remorse in his that I’ve wanted to see for years. His eyes move around the room. “You created this, June Bug?”

Parker takes my hand and stands to my side, grounding me. “I did, Dad.”

He blinks away tears as he looks around. “It’s beautiful. Your mother would have loved this.”

I suck in a breath as I fight to keep my emotions under control. “That means a lot.”

When his eyes land on the framed picture on the wall by the main counter, he walks over to it, leaving Parker and me behind.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Parker whispers to me as I watch my father study the painting on the wall that my mother made for me when I was a little girl. It is the one piece of art in the gallery that isn’t for sale. It’s a reminder of what my mother gave me—a piece of her that I’ll always cherish.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“He assured me he wouldn’t yell.”

I sniffle through a laugh. “Well, that sounds promising.”

“I’ll be around if you need me, okay?”

I turn and look up at him. “Thank you. I love you so much.”

“Ditto, sweetheart.” With a chaste kiss, he leaves me, and I head in the direction of my father, who hasn’t moved from admiring the picture on the wall.

“I remember the morning she painted this for you,” he says as soon as he senses me. “You were obsessed with the color pink, so we slathered the canvas in every shade she could find and began putting lines in it, turning it into a collage of flowers.”

“I had it hanging up in my apartment in Philly, but I knew it belonged here, where everyone could see it.

When he turns to me, I see unshed tears in his eyes. “Can we talk?”

I look to Hazel, who agreed to help if I needed her, and she gives me a nod with a thumbs-up when she silently understands I’m in need of that favor.

“Sure. Let me take you to the back.”

I have my father follow me down a small hallway to a storage room where it’s quiet enough that we can speak but not be overheard by potential customers. “Look, Dad—”

He holds a hand up, cutting me off. “No, Cashlynn. I have a lot to say and I need to get it off my chest, please.”

“Okay.”

A tear slips down his cheek. “I have been a terrible father to you.”

“What?”

He swipes away the tear and clears his throat. “I took the past few days to really think about everything that Parker said to me the other night, and he was right. I haven’t supported you the way I should have.” My eyes begin to sting, but he continues. “Losing your mother nearly killed me, June. And I wanted to find someone or something to blame, so I blamed her passion for art. If she hadn’t been in the car, driving to that gallery, she wouldn’t have died.”

“I know, Dad.”

“But if she hadn’t gone, she would have regretted it for the rest of her life. It’s taken me a long time to get past the guilt and anger of losing her, and on some level, I don’t think I’ll ever be over it. But I wasn’t the only one who shut down when she died. So did you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You stopped talking to me, stopped sharing your life with me. I knew you were still painting, but you never showed me.”

“I thought it would hurt you. I didn’t want to make you angry or sad…”

“And that’s my fault for ever making you feel that way,” he says. “But seeing the parts of your mother in you doesn’t hurt me, June. It fills me with love and pride that she lives on in you.”

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