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touching Clara's wallpaper. "Daddy, I wanna go on that ride. Want you to take me."
    "What ride?"
    "The one Grandpa's going on. Wanna see my Lala."
    "Tomorrow," he promised as he bent to lay her on her bed. He held off until Clara had pulled the covers back, then settled her down in the nest of ruffled pillows.
    "No, you stay home, Daddy." Suddenly almost lucid and nearly desperate, Anna gripped his jacket sleeves. "Sleep here tonight. Stay... stay home with us, Daddy."

Chapter 2
    "I'll make up the spare bedroom."
    He stared, his disbelief fairly bulging out his eye sockets. He hadn't spent the night under the same roof with her in almost two years. He wasn't sure he ought to now, especially with the offer couched in such a duty-ridden tone.
    "I can come back tomorrow."
    "It's too far to drive."
    "I've been drivin' it, haven't I?" Something about the way she'd dismissed his offer sounded like one of her indirect reprimands, the kind that set his teeth on edge. "Maybe not often enough, but I always try to get up here whenever—"
    "I think you ought to be here when she wakes up. I've dealt with you in that morning-after state often enough. You can deal with her."
    He scowled. "Fine."
    "Fine." She smiled, tentatively satisfied. "Are you hungry?"
    He shook his head, wondering how a referee might have scored that round. She'd gotten her digs in, but he'd gained more than a foot in the door, plus a free bed for the night. He didn't feel like making that hundred-mile drive.
    "My stomach's not too steady," he explained. "She threw up all over the side of the house."
    Despite the strain at the core of his remark, Clara expected, almost hoped for, a little Indian humor at this point, some ironic comment about him being sober and still feeling sick. Then she'd get after him for making light of a serious situation, and he'd tell her the problem was only temporary. Part of her would believe him, and the other part would be consigned to ready-reserve status, in case she needed to worry some more.
    In this case, of course, she did, and he wasn't attempting to persuade her otherwise, nor was he granting her an excuse to distract herself with some fussy little hospitality chore. He felt sick, and so did she, even though she had let him deal with the worst of tonight's incident, telling herself it was long past his turn.
    But that, too, worried her. She knew she had shirked her motherly duty.
    "I went to the window when I heard you talking, but then..." Then I backed away. Then I chickened out.
    She dismissed the notion with a curt gesture. A father had his duty, too. "I didn't want to interfere. You handled it well. Anna, the boy, the whole thing. I would have been—" Paralyzed and utterly useless, probably, but she refused to say such a thing aloud. With a nervous laugh she shrugged off candor in favor of hyperbole. "—a raving madwoman, no doubt."
    "She's safe now. She's home."
    And yes, that was a relief. The simple act of assenting with a nod instantly engorged her throat with embarrassing, burning emotion. God, more stupid tears. She turned away from him quickly, but he caught her shoulders and pulled them back against the wall of his chest.
    Which felt, for the moment, like blessed support.
    "I'm not ready for this." She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. This, she guessed, referred to more things than she cared to recognize. "It scares me."
    "It scares me just as much," he said quietly.
    It was hard for Clara to imagine what he meant by the word. He never sounded scared.
    But he always seemed to know when she doubted him.
    "Maybe more," he professed. "I thought Annie would stay away from it. She hated it so much when I was boozin'."
    "It's one thing after another." She wanted to delineate each and every one for him and let him carry at least half their weight. "I can't even catch my breath. It's like she wants to try everything all at once. Everything dangerous. Everything..."
    "Bad?"
    "If I say it's bad, it's on her list to