Mom made Dad’s favorites for dinner. We had a pot roast cooked with potatoes, carrots, and thick brown gravy. Mom had fixed herself up too. I could tell she’d washed her hair and freshened her makeup.

“I’ve asked around,” Mom said, “and Janet Moore has a garage apartment that might work for you.”

“Phoebe’s grandmother?” I asked.

“Yes,” Mom said. “Phoebe’s grandmother, baker of homemade cookies and reader of romance novels.”

Dad grinned. “I’m only interested in the cookies.”

Mom smiled back at him. “That’s good. Mrs. Moore is about twenty years too old for you.”

Dad had seconds on the pot roast. “Sure you don’t mind me staying until I find a place?”

“No problem at all,” Mom said. “Allie’s in charge of laundry, so you’ll have to work that out with her.”

“Mom pays me two bucks a week.”

“How about I double that?”

“Deal.”

While I cleared the table, Mom served apple pie. We never had dessert during the week, but it was an unusual night. My parents were in the same room and actually being nice to each other.

“I’m in charge of cleanup,” Dad said. “Maybe Allie could help me.”

Mom was happy to put her feet up with a good book.

Dad washed the dishes while I dried and put them away. “Tell me about Sam,” he said.

I hugged the plate I was drying to my chest. The same feeling washed over me as when I had first started wearing a bra. I was embarrassed.

Dad scrubbed the pot and waited.

Sometimes when I didn’t know how to put my feelings into words, I wrote them down. That’s what gave me the idea to show Dad my interview with Sam. “Wait here. I’ve got something I want you to read.”

When I got back, Dad had finished the dishes. He wiped his hands on a towel, sat down at the table, and reached into his shirt pocket for his reading glasses.

I took a seat across from him and chewed my thumbnail.

Dad chuckled as he read my article. “Sam and her dad arm wrestled for the last burger, huh?”

I nodded.

He read the last sentence out loud: “‘Whether on or off the court, Sam Johnson makes every day more interesting at Daniel Boone Middle School.’ Do you still feel that way?”

“Yes.”

Dad laid the newspaper down. He reached across the table and patted my hand. “I understand,” he said.

“You do?”

“Yes, growing up with your uncle Jeffrey taught me a lot.”

My embarrassment turned into the biggest feeling of relief in the whole universe. Somebody finally understood, and even more important, that somebody was my dad. My eyes filled with tears, and I didn’t even care. Dad’s eyes filled too and melted part of the iceberg. “Mom doesn’t understand about Sam.”

“We should probably see a family counselor,” Dad said. “Will you do that for me?”

“Will the counselor try to change the way I feel?”

Dad shook his head. “I’ll screen counselors ahead of time and make sure we get a good one.”

“But you refused to see a counselor when Eric died.”

“I know. Cut me some slack, Allie. Adults make mistakes too.”

“Not this time, Dad. This time you got it just right.”