Dad.”
I lifted my coffee cup.
“Morning.”
That was all.
Daniel stood beside the counter, waiting.
For almost a year, our Sunday mornings had followed the same miserable script.
He came home late.
I asked what time he had arrived.
I asked where he had been.
Sometimes he said he had stayed at his friend Mark’s house after poker. Sometimes he claimed that work had required him to meet someone. Occasionally, he told me that he had lost track of time.
And when his explanation was especially weak, he became
