Part 122 (1/2)

understand how I feel. He was shot down on the street-not for robbery,

not for pa.s.sion. Just because of who and what he was. You're mine,

Emma. That makes you every bit as vulnerable.”

”What about you?” she countered. ”Every time you step out on stage,

you're exposed. It only takes one sick person among the thousands with

the price of a ticket. Do you think that never goes through my mind?”

He shook his head. ”No, I didn't think it went through your mind. You

never said.”

”Would it have made a difference?”

He was silent as he sat on the windowsill and took out a cigarette. ”No.

You can't stop being what you are, Emma, even if you'd like to. But I've

lost one child.” He struck a match, watched it flare. ”I couldn't

survive losing another.”

”I don't want to talk about Daffen.” The old grief welled up, thickening

her voice.

”We're talking about you.”

”All right then. I can't live for you anymore, or I'll hate you. I

gave you Saint Catherine's, Dad, and a year at a college I detested. I

have to start living for myself. That's what I'm doing here.”

He drew in smoke and wished for a drink. ”I almost think I'd rather you

hated me. You're all I've got.”

”That's not true.” She went to him then. Resentments and

disillusionments were crowded aside by love. ”I've never been all, and

I never will be.” She took his hand as she sat beside him. He was

beautiful to look at. Even without a daughter's prejudiced eye. The

years, the strains, the life, hadn't scarred him. Not on the outside.