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nothing he later tells her, just happy to see her and he hopes his crying doesn’t stop her from coming to see him more and she swears it doesn’t but inside he thinks he’s also bawling because he’s thinking all he’s missed not living with her the last eight years, nine years, ten and when he sees her he sees Julie for they looked almost like twins when they were kids except for the three-year age difference and he figures this is probably close to what Julie would have looked like if she hadn’t died, or seeing her he thinks of Julie and what happened to her that day and what she looked like dead in the shot-up car, bullet hole in her chest just below her neck, expression, once he picked her arms off her face, no, that’s not it, the hole was some other place, in her neck and it was car glass in her cheek and chest, why was she up? why wasn’t she down? he’d told them both to be so why couldn’t she have listened to him as Margo did? didn’t he yell loud enough? wasn’t there enough anger and power and force and alarm in his voice to scare them to stay down? and a minute or two before when he was driving side by side with the van and looked quickly in the rearview to see if they were okay and before that when they started out on the car trip, on their way back from a weekend in New York, wife staying with her folks two more days and then returning by train, talking during the start of the ride which rest stop they’d stop at if they didn’t have to stop before that for one of them to pee, and then when they decided, which eating place there, Bob’s Big Boy or Roy Rogers or Sabarro he thinks the Italian place was called or maybe a combo of all three? and one of the last times Margo saw him in prison and when they were silent a long while with her looking at anything but him she says, something she’s always wanted to say but never had the heart or courage to or whatever it takes she says, she wishes he hadn’t gone after those men so drivenly, and that’s no joke, like her mother and she told him not to years and years ago, although okay she was just a kid then so he’d hardly listen to her but to his own wife? for what good did it do even if he’d killed both of them and they were the real men and almost more important and she’s surprised he wasn’t thinking this then, what good was he as a father after that when she really needed one, not just for the year or two after the shock of her losing Julie and all that blood and stuff but through her entire growing up, and even now he’s not there the few times she could still use him for advice and bouncing off her views or just being there for her, with or without her mother, or driving her where she needs to be before she gets her own car, or whatever real biological fathers are supposed to be good for and do for their children besides the money she could really use for college and which her mother’s husband doesn’t have or if he does he’s not going to part with so easily since he has his own biological kids with her mother and his first wife to support and he says “Money, what can I tell you?—I don’t get paid a whole lot here and they don’t have any college tuition plan for the children of their workers, but as for the rest—moral support and all—I’m here for you, I’m here, where else am I?—I’m not any ghost, and I write you almost every day, you’re the only one I do, so in that respect you have more communication with me, and even more if you’d answer a letter every now and then, than maybe most girls your age do with their dads who are all out to work half the day and then bring it home with them and things like that—just not interested, lots of them, or only interested in the things they’re not—but maybe you don’t even read half my letters, which’d be all right, being I send so