Page 146 of The Route to You

Dad raised his brows. “I thought you wanted to help your sister.” He reached out to the table beside Sloan, pulled a tissue from the box, and held it out to her.

“I did. I do. But that’s not what I meant, and you know it.” She ignored the tissue in his hand, reaching for one of her own.

Slowly, Dad lowered his hand to his side, crumpling the tissue in his palm. He focused his gaze on his feet, on the worn brown leather shoes—same brand he’d worn before he had stocks and bonds and more money than he could spend. And he didn’t spend it, really. He had a nice house, but that was it. Still drove a Toyota, and not a decked-out one either.

Didn’t buy designer suits.

Penny would tease him, calling him Steve Jobs, but it sort of fit. He wore the same navy-blue polo shirt he’d always worn. With khakis.

The silence between them lingered and thickened, Sloan’s father continuing to study his shoes while his jaw worked. At last, he lifted his gaze. “I don’t think I do.”

She gave him a bewildered look. “You don’t think you do what?”

“Know what you meant.” He cleared his throat a little. “In fact, I know I don’t. Why was it hard for you to come to San Francisco?” A beat. “Because I paid for your ticket? I know you don’t want me paying for things—you’ve made that very clear—but it was an emergency. For your sister.”

“No, Dad. No.” Her anger threatened to surge again but then she stared at him—really stared at him—for a second.

He did actually look confused.

Shocking. Dad was more robot than he was human when it came to his brain—maybe that had extended to his heart, too.

She had the Tin Man for a father.

Then she laughed, unable to keep herself from the visualization of her father in the Tin Man outfit, silver face paint and all.

And if her father was the Tin Man, maybe that makes me . . .

Her thoughts sobered. Maybe I am Dorothy. Maybe she’d never known how to appreciate home until she’d lost it.

Except I can’t tap my heels and find my way back.

The distraction of her thoughts did enough to cool her temper, though. Drawing a breath, she said in a calmer voice, “This, Dad.” She gestured around them. “This is why I didn’t want to come. I hate hospitals. I still have nightmares about Mom. All the time.”

Dad’s hand shook as he reached out awkwardly and placed his hand on her knee. “I do, too.”

That nearly undid her. Her eyes narrowed at him. “What are you talking about? You erased every memory of Mom from our lives the moment she died. Don’t act like you miss her now.”

Dad flinched. “Erased her?”

“Yes.” Her head throbbed with pain now. She knew Dad probably hadn’t intended to upset her like this, but it sucked that she was here, and it sucked that rather than being able to rest and recuperate, she was dealing with this. “You got rid of everything, Dad. Sold everything . Including Mom’s wedding dress. I dreamed of wearing that one day when I got older. And you threw it out. Just like you threw her out.”

The paleness had returned to Dad’s face, his body still. “It’s all in a storage facility in Nashville, Sloan. I’ve been paying for it for years.”

Sloan’s stomach roiled, nausea rising in her throat. “What?”

He blinked at her, then removed his glasses, rubbing them against his shirtfront in an old habit. “Why on earth would you think I threw it out?”

“You told me! You told me you got rid of it. Those were your actual words. That you couldn’t stand looking at it.”

Dad returned his glasses then scratched his forehead. “I couldn’t stand looking at it.” His voice went soft. “My life lost most of its sense of meaning and purpose when your mother died. But I didn’t mean I got rid of it like that. I never would have thrown her things out. I saved the things she loved the most for you and Penny.”

What in the absolute fuck?

Her heart throbbed somewhere between hysteria and hope. Mom’s stuff is still out there? Safe?

She covered her mouth, her breath shallow. “And you never told me?”

“It’s in my will, and Penny knows about it. She has a spare key to the unit. But we never talk, Sloan. You’ve been shutting me out for years. I can barely get a smile out of you when I do see you—what? Once a year? If that? The only reason I’ve even seen you a bit more this year was because of your engagement ending, and now this. You never call.”