“What kind of man do you think I am?”
“That is not what I meant.”
He turned away from me and began rinsing a clean mug in the sink. I knew I had hurt him.
“I just want to understand,” I said.
“So do I.”
That night, I called my best friend, Rachel, and asked her for a favor.
Rachel and I had known each other since college.
She was honest to the point of being painful.
She could charm an entire room, but she could also detect a lie before most people had finished telling it.
If my father was doing something wrong, Rachel would notice.
“Go on one date with him.”
