Then he turned and looked at Kaylee.
Right at her. In front of four hundred people, my husband looked at my daughter.
“I was wrong,” he said. “I’ve been your dad for nine years, Kay. I just never had the guts to say it out loud.”
His voice cracked.
“I’m saying it now. And I’m sorry.”
He handed the microphone back to Mr. Halvorson, who took it like it was made of glass.
Travis looked like he wanted to sink straight down through that varnish into the crawl space.
Kaylee didn’t say anything.
She just turned and pressed her face into the front of his fleece vest.
And he put both his arms around her.
And her long blond braid hung down his back.
And that’s when my father did the thing I’ll think about for the rest of my life.
Kaylee had given him the rose. She’d put it in his hand the second they stopped at center court. The same way the other girls had given theirs to their parents.
