He handed us everything.
Then my father reached over and, almost gently, tapped the top of the old radio.
“You just gave us every word we needed, Damian.”
A tiny red light was glowing on the side of the speaker.
Chapter 13 — Our Eyes Met
Damian shot to his feet so fast his chair went over backward.
He stared at the radio like it had grown teeth.
And then he heard it — the smallest rustle, my dress shifting against the floor, the sound of a held breath that couldn’t be held any longer — and his eyes dropped to the hem of the tablecloth.
I lifted it.
I don’t fully remember deciding to.
I looked out at him from under my mother’s table, and my husband looked back down at me, and I watched the whole architecture of his face collapse.
I had spent twelve years being looked at by that man with manufactured warmth.
I had never once, in all that time, seen his real face.
I saw it now.