ceiling. I could cock my head to tease Richard. Seated on the couch, I
could turn to smile at the person next to me.
That person was Shawn, and I was looking at him but I wasn’t seeing
him. I don’t know what I saw—what creature I conjured from that
violent, compassionate act—but I think it was my father, or perhaps
my father as I wished he were, some longed-for defender, some
fanciful champion, one who wouldn’t fling me into a storm, and who, if
I was hurt, would make me whole.