Where Rivers Part by Kellie Coates Gilbert

extended weekend and headed to the Hill Country for a little getaway. Your mother had that station wagon crammed to the hilt. I suggested she might save some room for you.”
    Juliet nodded. “And she gave me a history lesson during the drive.”
    He rubbed his chin, smiling. “Ah yes. You leaned forward from the backseat and asked why there was a sign pointing to Lyndon Johnson’s ranch.”
    Juliet laughed. “Which prompted an introduction to his presidency and the Kennedy shooting.”
    â€œAnd the whole conspiracy theory, from her very liberal Oregon point of view,” he inserted. “I glanced in the rearview mirror and you rolled your eyes, bored to death.” He fingered the photo. “So I diverted her attention by pointing out the bluebonnets, and she squealed and told me to pull over. You quickly took advantage of the opportunity and begged to get out for a closer look.” Her father placed the photo back in the box. “One of the rare times you and I joined forces and pulled one over on your mom.”
    Juliet leaned back, enjoying the memory. She also remembered walking back to the car and seeing her parents walk with her dad’s arm around her mother’s shoulders. After they’d tucked her back inside the car, she looked out the open window. Her dad patted her mom’s bottom and whispered in her ear. She’d laughed and slapped at his hand. Told him, “Later, Bennett, after Juliet is asleep.”
    Juliet shifted the box of photos onto the sofa and pulled the afghan from her lap. “You need a refill on your iced tea?”
    He glanced at his nearly full glass and shook his head.
    Juliet grabbed her glass and headed for the kitchen. When she returned, she slipped back into place next to him. “What’s that one?”
    He held up a photo of her in a little white lab coat. The one he’d taken of her that day he came to her classroom. “This is myfavorite photo of you. Pretty, smart, and mouthy. But it was that fierce intensity I loved most.”
    Juliet stole a glance at him, puzzled. She wasn’t used to this side of her father—the one generous with praise. Losing her mother had somehow softened his sharp edges. Despite feeling awkward, she reached out and squeezed his hand.
    Their eyes locked, and a long overdue moment of understanding passed between them before they turned their attention back to the box.
    â€œWho’s this?” Her father extended a photograph of her with another little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s nightgowns and high heels. Juliet took the snapshot, pulling it closer for examination.
    She shook her head. “I don’t know—” She stopped midsentence. “Oh,” she said, her heart thudding painfully. “Just a friend.”
    Juliet watched her father to see his reaction. He scooped another photo from the box. “Oh, hey—here’s one of you in your graduation cap and gown.”
    Unexpectedly, her eyes burned with tears. She quickly blinked away the show of emotion.
    Unaware, her father burst into laughter. “You probably don’t remember back when you were six.” He held a different photo in his hand. “This is when you took my razor and shaved off an eyebrow. Your mom was horrified, of course. Even more so when you used a black marker and drew it back on.” He extended the photo so she could take a look. “You sure kept us on our toes.”
    Like a robot, Juliet glanced at the photo and contrived an artificial smile.
    No matter how you cook an onion—one burp and the true flavor appears.
    She looked at her father, his attention already directed back to the box. Clearly, he didn’t recognize the girl in the photo. But then, how could he? He’d remember her much differently.
    â€œJuJu, is something wrong?”
    Juliet stared at the photo in her trembling hand. “Why did you do that to Mom?”
    He looked