“Dad,” she said, “what do I do?” He shook his head, not ready for the question. “It’s not for me to say, Duck.” He sighed, turning his head away. His water rippled slightly in its glass. She looked at him. He could feel her stare. “You’re my dad,” she said. “Yes.” He nodded. “So, what do you think?” she asked. She had moved closer, she had stopped crying, she looked to him for an answer. “These things happen, Pig,” he said, unable to look at her.
