9
“Dad?”
My father cleared his throat on the other end. “I thought I might talk with you, but somehow I never expected you’d answer Lisa’s phone. I don’t know why.”
I cleared my own throat, trying my best for an adult voice. “Where are you?” I asked.
“Minnesota. I’ve been here for almost a week, fly-fishing with a couple of old colleagues and being eaten alive by mosquitos the size of birds. I’ll never complain about ours again.”
“There’s always the palmetto bugs,” I said.
He chuckled. “Yes, I think those might even send the local Nordic men running.”
The silence between us wasn’t exactly comfortable, but then it wasn’t exactly silent either. There was a hum of energy, like some quantum connection that reminded us we were actually right next to each other, somewhere, somehow, close
