CHAPTER 7
Sadie
Just like my brother on a good day, my father looks at least ten years younger than his actual age. I must take after my mother in seeing my exact age reflected in the mirror, although I will never know.
Dad’s waxing a surfboard when I arrive, etching my most precious memories of him a little deeper into my brain. Every time we came home from school, or from anywhere else, we would always find him in his workshop, working on a surfboard. Or as Sam sometimes puts it, “after Mom left, he married his workshop.”
“Sadie,” he states matter-of-factly, when he sees me, as though I was just here yesterday.
“Dad.” A smile blooms in my chest and works its way to my mouth at the sight of him.
He puts away his materials and opens his arms to me. He smells like he always has, of sw
