Page 2 of From Nowhere

Her jaw drops. “You are the worst father in the world.”

“I love you too. Let’s get to school so you won’t be lateandhankering for a doughnut.”

I inhale all but one bite of my fritter, and just as we begin to ride out of the parking lot, I offer her the last morsel.

She frowns despite steering her bike closer to take my peace offering.

“Lola, I don’t need your help finding a date.”

“Dakota said his sister said their mom said she’s surprised you haven’t started dating.”

When we stop at the light, holding our breaths from the bus exhaust, I replay her statement for comprehension—Dakota, his sister, and their mom.

Dakota’s mom is on her third husband. I can see why she’d be surprised.

It’s hard to date when I can’t drive a car. And it’s hard to explain this to Lola when Victoria, her therapist, said I should never say anything that might make my daughter feel bad about “the situation.”

“Have you discussed this with Victoria?” I ask. Thankfully, the bus turns right, and we can breathe again.

“No. Why?”

“I think you should,” I say, just as we pass the congested line of cars along the street in front of the school.

“Fine. I will next week.”

“Great,” I say.

“Dad, that’s far enough.” Lola glances over her shoulder, eyeing me before I roll past an invisible line.

I stop at the crosswalk. Heaven forbid Lola’s friends see her dad escorting her to school.

“Have a great day,” I say.

“How am I supposed to do that when I’m starving?” Without another glance at me, she walks her bike through the intersection with the crossing guard.

The gray-haired lady holding up the stop sign in the middle of the street eyes me with disapproval.

“She had a breakfast burrito.”

While I finish my coffee, Taylor, the maintenance manager at Cielo Aviation, gives me the rundown on the plane engine I need to rebuild. And before donning my coveralls, I use the men’s room. After I flush the urinal, someone in the stall clears their throat.

“Excuse me,”shesays.

I quickly zip my pants as if I’m in the wrong restroom. “Yeah?” I say slowly.

“Could you find me a roll of toilet paper?”

There’s only one stall, so I glance around the floor-to-ceiling tiled room for toilet paper while washing my hands.

Nothing.

“Uh, give me a minute,” I say.

“I’ll be here,” she singsongs, followed by a tiny laugh as I leave the men’s room.

Near the door to the hangar, Taylor stares at his phone’s screen.

“Where’s the toilet paper?” I ask.

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