One who stood in a courthouse hallway and spoke to her former husband without tears or shouting.
I like that woman.
I didn’t know her very well eight months ago.
I’m glad I do now.
My father visits almost every Sunday.
Sometimes he fixes things that don’t really need fixing.
Sometimes he sits at my kitchen table, drinks coffee, and tells stories about Grandma Lena that I’ve never heard before.
Last Sunday, I finally asked him a question.
“Dad, why did you wear that suit to court?”
He looked down at his coffee.
Then he smiled faintly.
“Your mother once told me that if I ever had to stand up for you in front of the whole world, I’d better look like I meant it.”
I couldn’t answer.
He finished his coffee, kissed the top of my head, and headed for the door.
But before leaving, he stopped in front of Grandma’s mirror.
