It was only 4:30 p.m. He was never home this early.
The engine stopped. The door opened.
Dad stepped out into the storm in his expensive suit.
Then he saw me.
He froze.
Across the yard he stared at the soaked girl curled on his porch like a stray animal. His briefcase slipped from his hand.
Behind me, the deadbolt clicked.
The door flew open.
“Oh my god! Emily!”
Melissa rushed outside holding a fluffy towel, her voice suddenly panicked.
“Mark! Thank goodness you’re home! She ran outside during a tantrum—I didn’t realize until I heard the wind!”
She wrapped the towel around my shoulders while digging her nails into my collarbone where Dad couldn’t see.
My father ignored her.
He ran straight to me and dropped to his knees in the rain.
“Emily, look at me,” he said urgently.
My teeth chattered too hard to speak.
“Mark, she’s freezing,” Melissa said anxiously.
“Shut up, Melissa.”
The words cracked through the storm.
In three years of marriage, I had never heard him raise his voice at her.
Dad wrapped his suit jacket around me and carried me inside.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered.
Inside the warmth burned my frozen skin. My fingers tingled painfully as circulation returned.
Dad sat me on a stool in the kitchen.