I looked at the ruined photograph. One lie. Eight years.
Then another thought hit me.
“The dates.”
Dad didn’t look up.
“You told every woman about Helen.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I showed them what your mother asked me to do.”
I frowned.
“Each woman got a letter from Maggie. What did they say?”
“That she had chosen them. That she hoped one might make me happy.”
Then I understood.
Mom had chosen every woman sitting across from him.
Dad hadn’t asked them out because he wanted them. He was working through her list.
And every one had eventually realized it. And every one of them asked the same question.
“Why are you still obeying her?”
“What did you tell them?”
Dad looked at me.
“That loving someone doesn’t stop when they die.”
“No,” I said. “But control should.”
His face crumpled.
Helen whispered, “Rachel.”
I turned on Dad. “You knew Mom didn’t want you near Helen. Fine. But after the first woman told you this was wrong, why keep going?”
“I thought I owed your mother.”
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