“You shouldn’t just open the door like that,” she said. “I could’ve been a home invader or something.”

 “In Santa Rosa?”

 “We have crime here, you know.”

 “Would you like to come in?” he asked.

 “I don’t want to interrupt. I just had something on my mind and... Maddie’s growing up so fast.”

 He stepped back and held the door open. “I’m having a cup of coffee. Would you like one?”

 She absently rubbed her tummy. “I’ve had too much of everything today. But I wondered if we could have a little talk.”

 “Something wrong?” he asked, walking back into his living room.

 “No, I—” She stopped talking and looked around. He had a tan velour sectional, a tall dining table surrounded by stools—looked like a poker table. There was a wall unit and a big-screen, but it looked like someone had actually helped him decorate. There were female touches—throw pillows, a marble bowl on the table, a couple of framed prints on the wall, shelved books, a shadow box with pictures of Maddie from childhood. “This is very nice, Jock.”

 “Would you like to see Maddie’s room?” he asked.

 “Sure,” she said.

 He led the way and she was stunned to see an actual girl’s bedroom. The furniture matched, the bulletin board was covered with pictures, there was pretty bedding, a couple of her trophies were on the bureau, there was a desk and chair, and her pom-poms from seventh grade were hanging up on the wall. On her bedside table was a professionally done portrait of Jock and Maddie. It was beautiful. She walked over to it and picked it up.

 “When did you have this taken?”

 “Last year. We’d have given you one but I was pretty sure that wouldn’t work. My mom has one.”

 “Why didn’t Maddie tell me?” she asked.

 “I suppose because she thinks you don’t like it that I’m her father,” he said.

 “Oh, nonsense,” she said defensively, with the slightest blush. “I’m surprised by all this. Maddie doesn’t stay over here very often.”

 “She has, though. Did you think I put her on the couch? She knows she has a room here whenever she wants it or needs it. I bet she has a room at Adam’s...”

 “No,” Riley said. “No, of course not. But if Mom and I were both going somewhere and needed a babysitter, he wouldn’t mind coming over to my house. Or Mom’s house. But this is so nice. Thanks.”

 “She doesn’t use it that much,” he said. “Come on, Riley. What do you want to talk about? You never want to talk.”

 She turned and went back to the living room. “We talk,” she said as she went. She sat at the end of the sectional, as far from where his coffee cup sat as she could get. She put her purse down on the floor beside her but didn’t even open her coat. “We talk,” she said again.

 “Not really,” he said, sitting down. “You’re very businesslike.”

 “Well, I suppose that goes with the territory. I run a business and I’m used to being that way.”

 “And tonight?” he asked.

 She sighed deeply. “I don’t know why, but it just struck me—things will be changing again. Maddie’s growing up. She’s a woman now.”

 “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. “She’s still a young lady to me.”

 “Jock... I did a good job, didn’t I?”

 “Huh?” he said, obviously completely confused.

 “A single mother, barely holding it together, living with her mother and brother... Maddie seems to be remarkably well-adjusted. Don’t you think?”

 “She’s fine, Riley. She’s amazing.”

 “She’s been asking me difficult questions lately.”

 “Really? Like what? She hasn’t had anything new for me,” he said.

 “She said you two have talked a lot about back when... When we were so briefly together.”

 “I wouldn’t say a lot,” he said. “I think she was about twelve when she asked me why we weren’t married. I figured that’d be coming. So I told her.”

 “But what did you tell her?”

 “I told her that getting pregnant was an accident, that we weren’t careful about preventing it, about birth control. Mostly my fault. And I issued a warning—teenage boys and young men are idiots, do not trust them. So—we were pregnant and we talked about marriage but didn’t think it would work for us. We were too young, for one thing. But we both wanted her—I made sure to tell her that. My mom always said that kids want to know two things—that you love them and wanted them.”

 “You offered to give me money for an abortion,” Riley reminded him.

 He shook his head sadly. “Look, I did what I thought men did, what I thought they were expected to do. I didn’t think it through. Thank God you didn’t want that. Thank you for that, Riley. You’ve always been the smart one.”

 “You didn’t tell her about that, did you?”

 “Of course not,” he said. “That wouldn’t do one single positive thing for Maddie and I’m so damn grateful for her, you will just never know. I did tell her that as far as stupid eighteen-year-olds go, I was the dumbest. I told her I had a lot of regrets but none had anything to do with her. She made me the luckiest dimwit alive.”

 “She wants to know things, like did we love each other,” Riley said. “I told her I loved you.”