62 of the night he ’ d be cross-eyed trying to look down the bridge of his nose at her . If he tried hard , he could imagine the baby smell and remember the rippled texture of her little wrinkled feet . It made him heavy with misery that his clearest memories of her were from when she ’ d been an infant , seven years ago .
Yet , behind the anger and the bitter resignation to the impulse , still he loved her so . She was most precious to him in this world , second only to his angel Sarah . And although he understood that he was wading waist-deep in thick , sticky Bad Decision , he also understood the danger he was to his family . Most of all , he feared that what he ’ d allowed himself to do to his wife might someday catch on Sarah and he couldn ’ t stand the thought of it .
So he became aloof , keeping his distance and loving them from afar . On nights when he felt the rage on him , he ’ d go out drinking and try to stay out late enough that his ladies were sure to be safely in bed by the time he returned . He slept on the couch those nights to keep himself away from Yvette and if he ’ d drank enough and done things right , he ’ d sleep straight through till the women had left the house the next morning .
He lived this way for as long as he could , but soon nights spent on the couch outnumbered the nights next to Yvette and he was watching Sarah grow up without him . Even when he was home , he would look over and be stunned to realize he hardly recognized the changing face that shone out from under those glossy black curls . On Saturdays , he would watch Sarah from the window as she played in the backyard . He ’ d see her wandering around talking to herself and he could almost cry he wished so badly she were talking to him . By November he spent those hours at the bar staring at her picture from his wallet . With every beer , he felt her floating farther and farther away , so he ’ d hold the picture closer and closer and by the end
62 of the night he ’ d be cross-eyed trying to look down the bridge of his nose at her . If he tried hard , he could imagine the baby smell and remember the rippled texture of her little wrinkled feet . It made him heavy with misery that his clearest memories of her were from when she ’ d been an infant , seven years ago .
It was a Wednesday . He was at the Sun Dog Tavern on Tanzy Street and at the bottom of his eighth bottle when an idea came to him , and it was beautiful in its simplicity : Sarah was his daughter and dammit if he wasn ’ t still her father . He ’ d been thinking about the phrase “ the sins of the father shall be visited upon the son ” and how that very fear was robbing him of his life . And the thing was , he could feel his life going , could feel his death approaching . His time was running out . He had to see her , he had to know what her face looked like , what her hair smelled like , had to memorize it so he could take it with him to his grave .
And that ’ s why he came home early on Wednesday , why Sarah and Yvette were still awake , why he had tried to hug Sarah but he was just so drunk and instead he was smothering her . His poor baby girl was crying and screaming for her Mamma , but her tears made him hug her all the tighter until not even her screams could escape his arms . Yvette hit him over the neck with the crockpot and the pain was so blinding he didn ’ t even notice the beef stew was burning down his back . He groaned in a heap on the floor long enough for Sarah to crawl away under the kitchen table . Then he was staggering to his feet and Yvette was in his face , wide-eyed and sobbing , blubbering through her