37 • Admiral Isley

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The next few days passed in a blur of packing, crying, and saying goodbye to places and people I'd only started getting used to

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The next few days passed in a blur of packing, crying, and saying goodbye to places and people I'd only started getting used to.

I didn't ask South if he'd known about my dad's forced retirement, and he didn't say. Guilt bubbled alongside the resentment that was forming over it. There were things I hadn't told him about that night at Castle Hill Inn or about the mysterious Jack Dougherty.

The night before Spencer's Charity Art Gala, I decided to stay home and spend time with my family. After my mom and dad helped me pack my car, we sat together on the couch and watched movies until mom and I fell asleep.

But, at two in the morning, something had woken me. I pulled a blanket over my mom's shoulders and got up as quietly as I could, walking towards a kitchen window that faced our busy downtown street.

I hadn't spent enough time here to explore each park and beach or have a favorite go-to restaurant. I wouldn't see the Newport Yacht Club's Sailing Regatta or the much anticipated Jazz Festival.

We wouldn't be in town when West debuted as Lumiére in Beauty and the Beast.

I stretched and looked back at my sleeping mother, who I'd always been so close with. More importantly, I wouldn't be home for my parents, who were going through something I couldn't even comprehend: the end of my father's career.

While we'd flexed around dad's naval career—changing schools and friends—he'd always had the reliability of a uniform.

This retirement had rocked him to the core. I'd never seen my dad so down—not since the day of Lydie's funeral. He wasn't sleeping on the couch, and I suspected I knew where to find him—sitting on the back porch, smoking a cigar and drinking warm whiskey.

The smell of tobacco smoke hung heavy in the night air, and it made me nostalgic for a time in my life I knew I'd never get back. A time when I believed my parents could do anything or solve any problem I had with a smile and a hug and a bowl of ice cream.

But life wasn't that easy. And I couldn't fix what had happened to my dad with a hug.

"Hey, Millie," dad said. The laugh lines around his eyes and mouth pulling tight. This time, I didn't correct his use of the old nickname. I welcomed it after my earth-shattering week. "How's my little girl doing?"

I sat down beside him on the settee. My shoulder pressing against his. "Just tired."

Sadness hung in the air right along with bluish smoke. No one prepares you for seeing your dad at the brink of tears, but here I was, sitting beside a fifty-seven-year-old man with glassy eyes.

What hurt the most was knowing this was all my fault.

"You still planning on driving down to Virginia on Sunday?" dad asked. Leaning back and easing his arm around the back of the small outdoor couch.

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