My dear old dad didn’t come "later" as Francesca had said, but he did come eventually.
“Did I come late?” he asked as he entered, looking like someone returning from a date in his casual blue shirt and matching pants.
“You always come late, Oliver,” I returned, which only resulted in a smile from him; annoying as it was, it was really good to see that at least one of us had something to smile about.
“How have you been?” he asked as he took a seat.
“You always ask that too,” I returned again. “Of course you know that I’m not okay with you people locking me here like a criminal.”
“I came to talk to you about your nightmares,” he said, disregarding my complaint totally- not cool, Dad!
“Did Mr. Garvin tell you about that too?” I asked; I had really hoped that Mr. G. would keep that to hi
