Someone knocked on the bathroom door. “Occupada,” I said. “Hazel,” my dad said.
“Can I come in?” I didn’t answer, but after a while I unlocked the door. I sat down on the closed toilet seat.
Why did breathing have to be such work? Dad knelt down next to me.
He grabbed my head and pulled it into his collarbone, and he said, “I’m sorry Gus died.”
I felt kind of suffocated by his T-shirt, but it felt good to be held so hard, pressed into the comfortable smell of my dad.
It was almost like he was angry or something, and I liked that, because I was angry, too.
“It’s total bullshit,” he said. “The whole thing. Eighty percent survival rate and he’s in the twenty percent?
Bullshit. He was such a bright kid. It’s bullshit. I hate it. But it was sure a privilege to love him, huh?”
I nodded into his shirt.Gives you an idea how I feel about you,” he said.
My old man. He always knew just what to say.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A couple days later, I got up around noon and drove over to Isaac’s house. He answered the door himself.
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