Dad joined me. “Don’t look directly at the sun.”
“Dad,” I reprimanded, because I was too old to receive such parental advice. Even though, admittedly, I had been looking directly at the sun. Just a peek! It glowed orange, perfectly round, and it was amazing youcouldlook at it and see anything besides blinding light.
Dad held up his hands. “I have no choice. It’s in the rulebook. See someone seeing something, say something.”
I rolled my eyes but then leaned into his side. “I startedMapping.”
Dad looked confused for a second, though we traditionally called his first bookMapping—the whole title,Mapping the Atlantic: A History of American Maritime Cartography, was too much of a mouthful. And often, we didn’t even say that, just “the book” or “book one.” Slowly, he realized what I meant, and his expression looked torn between happiness and terror. “Really?”
“Yeah.” I expected him to ask what I’d thought, but he didn’t, instead continuing to look astonished. “I’m halfway through. It’s good.”
“Really,” he repeated. “You like it?”
“Yeah. It’s fun. And smart.” I ducked my head, feeling almost shy. “I really like it.”
I once again expected a different reaction—for Dad to joke and say, “I am really fun and smart.” Instead, he smiled widely. “Thank you, Jordan.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t read it before.”
Dad looked scandalized. “Why would you be sorry?”
“I don’t know. I feel like I should have? To support you.”
“Jordan.” He leaned toward me, a crease in his brow. “I’m really glad you’re reading and liking the book. But there is no pressure or expectation for you toeverread any of my work. You support me by being a great daughter. You don’t have to do anything else.”
I blinked rapidly and looked away. I wasn’t entirely sure I was a “great” daughter—I was fine, I supposed. Definitely adequate at the daughtering. Could do better. Six out of ten, tops. “Thanks.”
He kissed the top of my head. “I’m glad you came out here. Not just on the ship, but to Nantucket.” He hesitated. “It hasn’t been all bad, has it?”
My throat closed a bit at Dad’s earnestness. “No. It’s been nice.” I nodded at Cora, laughing with a group of other people across the deck. “I like working with Cora.”
“You seem to have learned a lot.”
“And she’s great.” I tilted my head. “Don’t you think so?”
Dad frowned. “I know what you’re doing.”
I looked up at the night sky, the pinprick stars and whirling clouds. “Hm?”
“With Dr. Bradley.”
I gave him an oblivious smile. “Categorizing space trash?”
He sounded sober and disapproving. “She’s too young.”
“She’s thirty-eight. I wouldn’t call her young.”
He flinched. “Brutal.”
“Foryou, Dad,” I said, finally admitting what we were talking about. “You’re only forty-four. That’s not even middle-aged. I mean, hopefully.”
“I’m ancient. And I’m balding.”
“True.” I patted the thinning hair on the crown of his head. He made a face; clearly I’d been supposed to defend his diminishing hair. “But you have a job, and you’re smartish.”
“Jeez, are those the requirements these days?” He struck a pose. “What about how I’m debonairly handsome?”
I tried to rein him in by flatly saying, “Dad.”
