16 Chapter 16

“And the fact I never considered that,” Robin declared, “could be further evidence that more than halfway through my life by most reasonable measures, I still may not recognize love when I see it.”

Hendrix squeezed his arm.

“My father,” Robin said, “he passed a couple years ago. Four years. Shit.” The length of time it had been hit Robin harder than the grief. “Time flies when…” Frank had been gone many more, and that awareness hurt too, for several reasons. “I hadn’t seen my father since the mid-eighties.” Robin ignored the pang and continued to recite his history. “I didn’t go to the funeral, my father’s, I mean.”

“That’s sad.”

“It is. There was no service for Frank.”

“Oh.” What else was there to say? Nothing on that, apparently. “Do you answer your sister when she writes?” Hendrix asked.

“Why should I? She made her choice years ago.” Robin shrank into himself, away from Hendrix and the hurt.