I laughed.
Then cried.
Then laughed again.
Dad rested a hand awkwardly on my shoulder.
“Thank you for calling me that night.”
“You already said that.”
“I want to say it again.”
He squeezed my shoulder.
“For as long as I’m alive.”
Then he looked at me.
“Thank you for letting me come get you.”
Down in the garden, a small brown bird landed beside the birdbath.
It hopped once.
Its tail tipped upward.
A wren.
Dad noticed it too.
“Is that actually one?” he asked. “Or just some generic brown bird?”
I smiled.
“That’s a real wren, Dad.”
His entire face changed.
“Good,” he said.
“I’d hate to get that wrong too.”
