Stranger, Father, Beloved by Taylor Larsen

her in an outright way. Nancy knew she would have to stay strong and continue to try to connect with her daughter. Michael had enough on his plate, and it was up to her to try to keep Ryan safe and on track. As Ryan advanced into the teenage realm and showed signs of being a woman, she continually wielded more power. A strong will lurked beneath her surface, one that could exert itself at any moment. She was the kind of girl, Nancy felt, who would run away from home and not be heard from again, living in musky lofts with degenerate rock band boyfriends. But now, with Michael looking so animated, maybe the two would rekindle their earlier bond over books and ideas. Ryan could read in the gazebo and would invite her friends over to their house instead of leaving it to go elsewhere. She made a mental note to encourage Ryan to bring her friends here when she saw her next.
    Nancy heard Michael quietly open their bedroom door and tiptoe over to the bed well after eleven. She knew he was most likely drowsy and hoping to fall asleep right away if he lay down before his mind started its turning. She should let him be, but she couldn’t help herself. She waited for him to get under the sheets, then turned to face him, grinning into the darkness.
    â€œCan’t sleep?”
    â€œNo, I can,” she responded. “But I wanted to stay up to see you.”
    They both paused. The large room around them seemed to grow more still with each passing second.
    â€œYour birthday is coming up. Anything special you want to do?” he asked.
    â€œNope. We can do whatever we feel like, I guess.” Nancy secretly had grown to hate the arrival of her birthday every year. Michael always made a fuss over it, several times throughout the day insisting that it was “her day” and asking what “the birthday girl” wanted to do. During the first couple of years of their marriage she had become giddy with the respect she commanded and the attention she received on that day, yet the fifth time around, she had a sinking feeling each time she was complimented or doted upon. To know that this was how she always wanted to feel and that on the day after her birthday it would all disappear was awful. For those twenty-four hours she had the husband she wanted, and then, after the celebration, with several new presents on their bedroom sofa, she would lay her head down and it would all end.
    â€œWe can just go to dinner,” she suggested.
    â€œOkay, but maybe I can think of something better.” He rolled over onto his side, his back facing her.
    There was the back she knew so well. She reached out her hand and began rubbing along the creases of his shoulder blades. A bony man, he always ached along his joints and ridges. Little knots of pain would lodge themselves in his back, always at these same places. He said nothing, but she could tell he was relaxing, softening into his pillow. This was her introductory maneuver to foreplay, but she didn’t overuse it. Half of the time she would rub the back of his shoulder blades, and then, as he began to fall asleep, she would curl herself around him, and force herself to doze off as well. The other half of thetime she would start to play with his hair and see if he would let the cycle begin. Tonight, like many nights, he was unresponsive as she stroked the back of his neck. She found it hard to let it go. She felt bold, excited. He was the sexiest man she had ever met—his coldness, his troubled nature hidden behind a calm exterior elicited a painful desire in her, one that only seemed to grow stronger as the years passed. She loved tall men with deep voices. She loved men who didn’t chatter on and on. She secretly knew that Michael was too smart for her, but she wanted to keep learning from him, to analyze the world and see the deeper layers underneath ordinary living. Michael had such depth. He was unlike any other man she had ever met.
    â€œI don’t know