I glare at him intently.Part of me is taken aback by the dampness in his eyes.I have neverseen my father cry.Not once.But I've shed more than enough tearsfor us all, and the fact that I'm finally reaching him doesn'tnegate what he's put me through.
"But it wasn't my fault.None of it."My voice grows quiet as I realize how fervently Ibelieve it."I know that now," I add softly.
One tear slides down myfather's cheek, and it stuns me into silence, which he takes as hiscue to respond.
"Of course it wasn't.Itwasn't your fault.I'm so sorry, sweetheart—"
"Don't call methat."
He nods."Okay.I'm sorry.I'm so sorry, Rory.I was blind.You were my little tomboy and thensuddenly you were a woman and I didn't know what to do with that.Ineglected you, and then...I couldn't let myself believe that I'dlet that happen to my little girl."His voice cracks.
"But you did let ithappen," I remind him."Denying it didn't change it, it only madeit happen more."
"God, I know that now.Idon't know what I was thinkin'.I let myself forget you were thesame little girl who broke that goddamn vase with a baseball," hesobs.Sobs.
My father is sobbing on mydoorstep.
I know the vase he'stalking about too, but I don't know what the hell it has to do withanything.
"I'm so sorry, Rory.Youhave to believe that.I won't ever forgive myself.But I need youto know that I believe you.That I know it wasn't your fault.ThatI was so goddamn wrong."Another sob.
I don't know what to say.I do believe him.That he's sorry, that he believes me...now.But what does anyof that really matter now?It may be exactly what I desperatelyneeded to hear from him a year ago, but now, his words are almostpointless.I don't need his support.I have support.From peoplewho mean a hell of a lot more to me than he does.
"Okay," Imurmur.
He takes a deep breath."Idon't expect you to just forgive me.I know I can't ever make it upto you, Rory."
I glare at him.Damnstraight I don't forgive him.
"But I was hopin' youmight give me a chance to try."
"I—" I blink at him.Ireally don't have a response to that.I don't even know what itmeans."I don't understand what you want from me," Iadmit.
"I just want a chance tobe better.To show you that I mean it when I say I'msorry."
I shrug."I don't get thepoint.You're goin' back to Linton, and I'm stayin' in New York.Nothing could ever be the same anyway.Does...does mom even knowyou're here?"
His expression tells meshe doesn't."She wouldn't have let me talk to you."
He's probablyright.
"But look, I know thingswill never be the same.And I know that's my fault.But I resignedfrom my position.I have nothin' keepin' me in Linton, and if Ihave a reason to relocate, I'd do it."
"What?"I practicallygasp.I don't want him moving here.I don't think.I don't knowwhat I want.I don't know how to react to this complete about-face.I need time to process.
"I was hopin' we might geta chance to get to know each other again," he sayscontritely.
"I don't know," I tell himhonestly.The little girl in me wants that more than anything, butthe woman who's been to hell and back knows it's all a facade—thefather figure he once was, the one he's saying he'd like to try tobe again.
"You don't have to decideanything now.Maybe I could just take you to breakfast?We couldtalk some more," he offers.
"I already have plans," Imurmur.
If I ever doubted Sam waslistening, him emerging from the front door right on cue tells mehe's heard every word.
His fingers find mine andI turn to him, his expression unreadable."Ror."
"I'll be right in," I tellhim.
