The morning of the final court hearing, Dad arrived at my apartment unusually early.
I opened the door with my hair still wrapped in a towel.
And stopped.
He was wearing a dark gray suit.
I hadn’t seen him dressed that formally since my mother’s funeral.
The jacket looked a little loose on him.
His shirt collar was slightly uneven.
“Dad? Why are you wearing a suit?”
“I’m driving you to court.”
“You don’t have to come. It’s only the remaining financial matters.”
He opened the passenger door of his truck.
“I’m coming.”
Something in his voice told me not to argue.
During the drive, he didn’t turn on the radio.
He kept both hands on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead.
“Dad, is something wrong?”
“No.”
“Then why are you acting so strange?”
He was quiet for several seconds.
Then he said, “Whatever happens today, let Claire handle it.”
