ASHAL
Skylar has been admiring an artwork in the presidential suite of our most expensive hotel while I sit in silence watching her, unsure how to kick off the tranche of questions floating in my head.
"This is…nice." She turns to me and folds her arms across her chest. "You four have always had it…nice." Her eyes sweep the opulent décor, everywhere except my face. The wandering eyes and forced idle talk indicate she's just as uncomfortable talking about our father as I am. I lurch to my feet and jam my hands in my pocket. Something about the arch of my back and my serious face tells her I'm over her stalling.
"You are not going to ask me where I have been because you already know, don't you?"
I say nothing, but continue to watch her.
"You didn't tell them about dad, did you?" Her eyebrows arch curiously. "You haven't told them about your call with dad."
"I didn't call anyone. My therapist did."
