at blaming himself, but he didn’t need to go there. Especially when the rest of what she’d said was so important. “You raised River?”
“Mm-hm. Our father was an electrician. He worked full time and picked up extra work at night whenever he could. He was working at a factory in the middle of the night when an electrical fire broke out and he was killed. I was eighteen and River was thirteen. You know how I said I was oddly intuitive? The night he died, my father came to me in a dream and told me to take care of River. I woke up in tears, begging him to come back. The police showed up to notify us a little while later.”
“Jesus, that’s awful. But it says a lot about the connection you had with your father. Have you had other dreams like that?”
“Yeah. When I was little, I had one about River’s mom before she left us. I told my dad she was leaving and never coming back. She was gone two days later.”
“Damn.”
“I’ve had a lot of those dreams. Stupid things, about school or work, and big things like knowing I was going to have a boy and two girls in my future.”
“River and the girls,” he said, astonished.
She nodded.
“I can’t imagine what it must be like to know things like that before they happen. Did you know about the accident?”
“No, or I never would have let him leave that night.”
Now it was his turn to take her hand. “I’m sorry I asked. It must have been rough mourning your father and suddenly raising your brother.” Rough sounded too mild, but he wasn’t great with words. He laced their fingers together and held her hand between both of his.
“We were devastated. We were our father’s world, and he was ours. He would have moved heaven and earth for us. He worked a lot to make ends meet, so I’d been pretty much raising River since he was little. I graduated high school early so I could be home when River was out of school, and I worked at a music shop when he was in school. I never minded, though. I loved working, and I’d have done anything for River and my dad. It was just the way our family worked out. But it was hard after our dad died. He had a small life insurance policy, which covered his burial and helped for a little while financially, but we missed him so much.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “I still miss him, and now I miss them both.”
Tank put his arm around her, pulling her closer. “I’d love to hear about them, if you’re up to it. What was your father’s name?”
She looked at him with a small smile. “You’re the first person who has asked me that because you want to know and not for some form or legal reason.” Her face brightened. “You know what? Come inside. I have some pictures I can show you while I tell you about him.”
He followed her in, and she said, “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
She pulled the girls’ bedroom door most of the way closed and went into her bedroom, returning a minute later with a shoebox.
She sat beside him on the couch and opened the box. “These were my dad’s pictures. I haven’t looked at them in a long time.” She withdrew a picture of her sitting on her father’s shoulders; her wild mane looked even thicker around her young face. “My dad’s name was Leonard, but everyone called him Leo. I always knew he was a great father, but after raising River and the girls, I have a new appreciation for just how amazing he was to have raised us alone. He believed in all the right things—family. Hard work. Laughter. Helping others, and he instilled that in us, too.”
“How old were you in this picture?”
“Four. Junie’s age. We were at a picnic for his work. I remember they had one of those bounce houses for the kids and a clown making ice cream sundaes. Most of the other parents were mingling, but my dad stayed with me the whole time.”
“Let me see that.” He took a closer look at the picture, noting the light in their eyes, and the similarities he’d noticed in the picture of them in the girls’ room. “God you were cute, Lee.”
“Thanks.” She put the picture back in the box and took out a few more. She was older