“Do you have the hots for this boy?” her father asked in all seriousness. “Do we need to have him over for dinner so that I can show him my own gun collection?”“Dad.”“Threatening the police isn’t one of your best ideas, Frank,” her mother offered in Olivia’s defense.“He’s not the police, Katy. He’s some hormone driven boy who wants to sweet-talk our daughter into bed so that he can fire off a few rounds of his own.”“Dad!” Olivia’s face grew hot with humiliation.“I’m just speaking the truth, honey. He’s a man. Don’t think he’s never considered it. You’re a beautiful young woman. All I’m saying is that I’d like to send him a little message before he gets any ideas.”Olivia melted into her seat, covering her face with her hands.“Frank, we’re eating.”“Yeah, and?”

“And girls tell me he’s hot.” He grinned and finished, “I wouldn’t know, seein’ as I’m a guy but I look like him and I’m smokin’ hot so he’s gotta be hot.”

“Jordan couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “Yeah, I like this guy. He rescued me from a crazed man with a gun, he makes me laugh, and he calls his mother Ma. I’d say he’s a keeper.”

“Ten minutes ago, Frank though he was going to prison. Now he knows he’s not, and part of him thinks he should just be glad he’s getting out of this at all, but he’s not. He’s not glad. He’s furious. He’s known the world is broken for a long time, he’s known that, but sometimes he’s amazed at how broken; even now, at this point in his life, nearing fifty years old, he can stumble across something that makes him realize all over again that the world is not only broken, but beyond fixing. No amount of glue can ever make it right. And yet, you have to focus on your little part of it, don’t you? You have to focus on your little corner of the world and glue what cracks you can. Otherwise there’s no hope at all.”

“This is so cool,” I said as Dad walked away. “Have you met the tattoo artist? Is he hot?“He’s a she,” Mom said.“Is she hot? Cause I’m still young, you know. My sexual identity isn’t fully formed.”

“He seemed to be drinking in her face, looking at her instead of into her.“Stop. Stop that. This isn’t goodbye.”Blake pulled her left hand to his mouth and kissed her ring finger. “I’m still glad it’s empty. He never deserved you. Of that, I’m very sure.”Livia saw moisture in his eyes. “You’re saying goodbye. No. Here’s what I’m sure of. I’ll walk away from this house right now, wearing only what I have on my back and be happy. With you I can taste forever—it’s right here.” Livia pointed at her lips and then kissed his.Blake allowed the kiss, but mumbled a question as well, “How many shotguns does he have?”“Not enough to get me away from you.” Livia traced his jaw.Blake took her hand and kissed her palm, then her forehead, “Livia, go in there and let him talk to you. He’s a father. I’d want to talk to my daughter at a moment like this. Let’s give him that respect.”“I will not go in there. Where will you go?” Livia felt a gentle tug on her heart. She was torn. She wanted to comfort her dad and get him to understand who Blake was, but in as little time as possible so she could get back to Blake.“My inamorata, you know where I’ll be: where I’ll always be. Waiting. For you.” Blake began putting the mask on.Livia looked around wildly, feeling close to irrational. “I don’t want you to go.” These words were inadequate to express her need.Blake smoothed her hair away from her face. “I’ve often wished I had a father. Let me help him be that. He needs you to himself for a just a little while.”Livia’s love for her dad gave her the strength to step back and nod. She stood on the porch and watched Blake’s retreating form. Every once in a while he turned to wave, and just before he reached the end of her street, he stopped to look at her. Neither of them waved this time.”