Page 99 of Show Off

“Really?” My father cocks his head. “I’ve never found that to be true.”

“How can you say that?” Except he can. He’s standing here talking to the product of his wife’s affair.

As he searches my eyes, I know he’s not pulling my leg. He really believes what he’s saying.

“I’m not a perfect man, Lana.” He shrugs when I don’t respond. “Shocking, I know. And I’m not saying one betrayal cancels out another. That’s not what I mean at all.”

“What do you mean?” I really want to know.

“I mean,” he says slowly, “that forgiveness isn’t about wiping the slate clean and pretending the bad thing didn’t happen. People do bad things all the time.”

“You got that right.” A breeze lifts my hair off my face. Dad tucks it behind my ear, then gently chucks my chin like he did when I was little. “If they didn’t do bad things, I wouldn’t have a job,” I say. “I’ve made a whole career out of putting a positive spin on people’s bad behavior.”

“And you’re very good at that.” He looks deep in my eyes, his great big hand still resting on my shoulder. “But looking bad stuff square in the eye and choosing to decide it’s not the whole picture? That the full picture is a complex mix of good and bad, joy and anger, mistakes and amazing decisions? Being able to see that big picture and accept it for what it is?” He holds my gaze, waiting for me to get it. To fill in the blanks of his lesson, of my life.

“What?” I whisper, not sure I get it. “What is it?”

“That’s forgiveness, baby girl.” He opens his arms, inviting me in. “That’s love.”

I step into his arms, letting myself get snot on his shirt. My dad holds me tight, stroking my back like he has my whole life. This is my father. The man who raised me, who loved me the same as the others, even knowing I’m not quite the same.

But to Laurence Judson? “You’re my daughter, Lana. Always. Forever and ever, you’re my little Lemon Drop.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you, too.” He circles his palm on my back, same as Cooper did a few hours ago. “And I like that young man of yours, too.”

With a sniff, I draw back. “We broke up.”

“Because of what he said on the show?”

I blink. “I thought you didn’t watch the show.”

With a shrug, he picks up his golf club. “I see more than you think I do, sweetheart. And for what it’s worth, he thought he was protecting you.”

Frowning, I watch him take a practice swing. “I don’t need protecting. Especially notthatkind.”

“I hear you, and I’m not saying he made the right call.” He takes another swing, whiffing the club through thin air. “Just that he wasn’t dishing dirt to hurt you. The opposite, really. He saw you taking a beating and did what he thought might deflect the blows.”

That doesn’t make it better. It doesn’t, right? “I’m so angry with him.”

“Oh, I hear you on that one.” Dad swings again. “That’s the thing about love. Its flip side can be fury so hot it can burn you up from inside.” He takes one more swing and then turns back to face me. “In some ways, that’s how you know it’s love.Indifferenceis when you get worried. That’s the opposite of love, but anger? The non-violent sort with a whole lot of passion behind it?” With a shrug, he goes back to swinging. “That’s worth paying attention to.”

Huh. I’m not sure what to make of that. Though given my parents’ history?—

“All I’m saying,” Dad continues, “is that your young man seems like a good guy at heart. Misguided, sure. And he certainly screwed up.” He’s got that right. “But if you love him, don’t give up too quickly.”

I swallow hard, not sure what to do with all these emotions swirling through my chest. “I should go now.”

“Tell your mother I’ll be back in a few hours.”

I start to turn, then stop. “Can you do it?” That might not be fair, but I don’t feel ready to talk with her just yet. “I need more time.”

“Of course.” He catches my hand and looks square in my eyes. “I’m not saying forgiveness makes it all go away, Lemon Drop. But it sure as hell beats holding on to the rage.”

Tears fill my eyes once again, but I blink them back. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too.” He squeezes my hand, then lets go. “Daughter.”

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