25. Clover

Ifind Dad sitting in his truck.

He turns away from me as I crack the passenger side door open, and I feel my heart drop through my feet all over again.

He won't even look at me.

My knees begin to shake, but I fight through the urge to turn and run.

I have to do this. It has to be me.

Newt whines and paws at my pant leg while he tries to stuff his nose into the narrow gap of the door.

"Dad?" I say.

My voice shakes almost as much as my legs.

He doesn't move.

I try again.

"Dad. Can I talk to you?"

He keeps his face turned away from me, but after a moment, he nods.

I pull the door all the way open and climb into the passenger seat. Newt plops himself down on the ground just outside, so I leave the door hanging open to keep him from making a fuss.

Through the windshield, I can see the sky is stained an inky blue, the last traces of daylight fading as night takes over the campground. A few bonfires are already burning, glowing like rubies sprinkled over the campsites. I watch them flicker for a few moments before I speak.

"I'm sorry."

Dad flinches. He clears his throat, and I can hear how hoarse he is, like he's been sitting out here on the verge of tears.

My own throat burns at the thought.

"Clover—"

His voice is ragged, and I know if I hear him say more, I'm going to end up sobbing so hard I won't be able to get through all that I need to say myself.

"I'm sorry I have to do this," I interrupt, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I never meant to. I never planned to. If there was any way I could not do it, I would try that. I would try anything."

He takes a shuddering breath and finally looks at me. His eyes are shining and rimmed with red. A stab of pain jams between my ribs, so hard I gasp.

How can I do this to him?

"Dad, I'm so sorry," I whisper. "Please don't be angry."

"Angry?"

He narrows his eyes, his glassy look disappearing as he squints at me.

"Clover, I'm not angry," he says, shaking his head. "I'm not angry at you, at least. I'm angry at myself."

My eyes go wide as shock hits me like an icy bucket of water.

"What? Why?"

He flinches again, deep worry lines carving into his face.

"Because I've made you feel like you need to be sorry for this. I've failed you. I couldn't...I couldn't even sit at that table and keep it together for you. You shouldn't have to see me like this. That's why I came out here. "

My jaw drops, and for a few seconds, all I can do is gawk at him while my mind races to make sense of what he's saying.

"Dad, of course you haven't failed me," I urge. "You've given me everything. I have the best life ever. I know it's selfish that I want to leave it. I know—"

He lifts a hand in the air to cut me off and shakes his finger at me like I'm a misbehaving kid.

"That is nonsense, goose girl." He glares at me like I've said something rude. "Nothing about you is selfish."

My head spins. This doesn't make sense.

"Then why do I want something else?" I whisper.

He shifts in his seat to face me, staring me down until I've got no choice but to meet his eyes.

"Because you deserve the world," he says, his voice now clear and strong. "At the very least, you deserve to see it, and I hate that I ever made you think I'd stand in your way."

He keeps staring at me for a few seconds, like he wants to make sure I've absorbed every word, before he turns to peer out the windshield.

I watch him observe the place we've both called home all our lives.

"She knew, you know?"

His voice has taken on a faraway note, like part of him has drifted off somewhere else.

I tilt my head as I try to figure out who he's talking about.

"Who knew?"

"Your mother."

I stiffen in my seat. I'm still not used to hearing him talk about her, not after he spent so long careening into a tailspin whenever anyone brought her up.

"When you were little," he says, still staring out at the grounds like he's watching a movie play in front of his eyes, "sometimes we'd sit watching you play. You'd be bandaging up one of your stuffed animals or building a little habitat for bugs. God, you loved your habitats, didn't you?"

He chuckles at the memory of the intricate enclosures I'd craft for a variety of insects based on any information I could find in my collection of nature books. I'd try to keep the creatures under ‘observation' for a couple hours, but they'd usually escape long before then.

"We'd watch you play," he tells me, "always so caught up in your own world, and your mother would say, ‘Robert, that little girl is going big places. When the time comes, you better be ready to let her go.'"

His breath hitches, and he slumps in his seat as he seems to drop back into reality.

All my instincts are telling me to stay quiet, to let this moment pass instead of pushing him farther, but I've spent so long swallowing my questions about my mother. I can't hold back now that he's brought her up himself.

"She said that?" I ask, not quite ready to believe she knew me that well, long before I even knew myself.

Dad nods. "Many times."

He looks at me again, and my eyes burn when I realize his are all shiny again.

"I knew you'd go someday, goose girl. I know you. I'm your dad. I just didn't…I didn't know I wouldn't have Mary here with me when you left."

His voice cracks, and so does my heart. A hot stream of tears leaks down my cheeks as I grab his hand and squeeze it in mine.

"Dad, I'm sorry," I gasp out.

He shakes his head as he squeezes me back. "Enough of that. No being sorry. Listen to me. I know I wasn't there for you girls the way I should have been after she died. I lost my way."

He pauses and reaches for my other hand, staring down at our knuckles, mine smooth and tiny compared to his huge rough ones.

"I lost my way," he repeats, "and I'll always be ashamed of that. I should have been taking care of you. I can't go back and change it, but I can take care of you now, and if that means sending you out into the world with my blessing, I'll buy you the biggest, fanciest, most expensive backpack they have in the store, and I'll drive you to the airport myself."

He lifts my hands up to his face, his arms shaking, and presses a kiss to each of my palms.

He's never done anything like that before. He's more of the begrudging hug and quick kiss on the forehead type. The tenderness of the gesture rips a sob out of me, and I lean in to throw my arms around his neck.

"Dad," I croak, letting his wiry beard scratch my face for a moment before I pull away.

As I do, he reaches up to flick the silver goose charm dangling on my wrist.

"You were made to fly, goose girl. Just promise me one thing."

I nod. "Of course."

He sweeps his hand towards the windshield, drawing my gaze out over Three Rivers.

"Don't forget this will always be your home. You can always come back whenever you like. You're a Rivers. Always. No matter how far you fly."

I look back at him, and I only last a couple seconds before I pull him into another hug.

He pats me on the back, and I hear him sniff as I sob again.

I'm about to apologize for crying like this, but he's saved from telling me not to be sorry when Newt decides enough is enough and launches himself into the truck. He scrambles to climb up into the seat and tackles me like a puppy, licking my ear and any other part of my face he can reach.

"I think Newt agrees with me," Dad says, laughing as he watches me try to defend myself from the onslaught of dog breath. "He's telling you not to forget."

Once I've gotten Newt calmed down, I turn back to my dad.

"I won't," I tell him, the words a solemn vow. "Not ever."