CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
We stay like that for a long time, holding one another and weeping. It is like we never want to let go.
“You’ve both grown so much,” Dad says finally, drawing back to look at us. He looks Bree up and down. “Eleven years old,” he says, shaking his head as though in disbelief. She was seven last time he saw her. Then he looks at me. “Seventeen.”
I nod. I wish he could have seen us back when we were in Fort Noix. We were healthy then, our muscles stronger, our hair and bodies clean. He would have been able to see firsthand how well I’ve looked after Bree. Instead, she looks more like a mangy cat.
“You’ve changed too,” I say.
He laughs, sadly, and points to his gray hair. “I look older.”
It’s been four years since we last saw each other, but Dad seems to have aged so m
