“To Daanis and Zack,” the pavilion echoed, and I sat down with the taste of champagne in my mouth and tears in my eyes.
—
“That was areal nice toast,” my dad said later, when we were on the dance floor.
The DJ had segued from Ed Sheeran to Elvis Presley’s“Can’t Help Falling in Love with You.” “Old-man music,” my father had teased when I came to find him.
The warmth of his approval thawed the lump inside me. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Oops.” He stepped on my foot, tightening his grip as he stumbled. “Little out of practice here. Haven’t danced with you in a while.”
“Since fifth grade. The father-daughter dance at St. Anne’s.” He held me as carefully now as he did then, his big, calloused carpenter’s hands making me feel safe. “I think they were playing the same song.”
“Maybe we’ll dance to it at your wedding one day.”
I snorted. “Maybe. Like, in a million years.” Something flashed across his face and was gone. “I mean, I’d love to dance with you,” I added hastily. “But I’m not getting married until I finish college. Maybe even grad school. I’ve been tutoring a kid this semester, a student at this private school in Chicago—Ravenscrest.” I didn’t talk a lot to my parents about the jobs I’d taken over the last three years. Work-study in the library. Cleaning bathrooms at the Catholic Center. Even with a full academic scholarship, I knew they’d sacrificed to send me to Northwestern. “Anyway, Sarah—Sarah Thompson, his AP English teacher—she told me teachers with a master’s degree make more money.”
“Thought you were going to be a writer. A famous one, you said.”
“Well, until I’m famous, I need a day job.”
He nodded as we shuffled through a turn. Darling Dad had never moved beyond the dance moves of his twenties. On the other side of the floor, Daanis swayed in the arms of her new husband, both of them lost in the moment and each other’s eyes.
“As long as you come home sometimes,” my father said.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I will. That’s the great thing about being a teacher. I’ll have summers off to write. And, you know, help out Mom in the shop. If she’ll let me,” I added.
“Course she’ll let you. She loves you. Besides, she’s always shorthanded in the summer.” He cleared his throat. “So…a teacher.”
“Since I can’t be a wild pony.” I grinned. “Or an astronaut.”
He chuckled.
“I’ve already talked to Sarah about student teaching with her this fall. I still want to tell stories,” I added. “To be that voice that maybe somebody needs to hear. But teachers make a difference, too, to the way you see the world, the way you see yourself. Like Mrs.Powell.” I glanced at my old English teacher being friendly—almost flirty—with the curly-haired blond woman sitting beside her. I slanted a look up at my dad. “You’re not disappointed, are you?”
“In you?” He squeezed my hand. “Never.”
Love for him flooded my heart.
Joe was standing alone by the buffet table in a collared white shirt and dark jacket. The unfamiliar outfit made him look like Mr.Darcy at the Meryton assembly, all dark curls and brooding eyes and attitude. Which was stupid, because anyone less like a book boyfriend than Joe Miller was hard to imagine.
Dad followed my gaze. “Shame Brittany couldn’t come with Joe today.”
“They’re still together?” I asked and then kicked myself.
“On and off,” Dad said. “Mostly on, now she’s back working at the hotel. Joe said they were looking at rings.”
That flat taste was back in my mouth. Joe and Brittany, another high school relationship that had dragged on into adulthood. My chest felt tight.
“I think…I’m going to get some air,” I said to Dad when the dance had ended.
I kissed him on the cheek and hurried outside to the patio. White clouds billowed in the blue sky like laundry on a line. The bright horizon curved and broadened like the future, glittering with promise.
I rubbed my arms, shivering in the wind off the lake.
“You okay?” Joe asked behind me.
I jumped and turned, wiping hastily at my eyes. I wasnotcrying. “What are you doing here?”
