Morris and his sad eyes and his plans for Andrew. All those hopes and dreams.

I take a deep breath, dangerously close to tears. “I don’t know that I can leave Dr. Morris yet. I don’t know that he could continue his practice. Knowing him, he’d retire and sell the practice.”

“Maybe that would be the best thing for him.”

I frown. “Why? He loves his practice, loves his work.”

“Maybe he puts too much emphasis on his practice.”

Dad is very black and white. He doesn’t do ambiguous, but he’s being plenty ambiguous now. “What does that mean?”

“Everyone always talks about what Dr. Morris wants, and what’s best for him. But what about you? And what about Andrew? Was working in Scottsdale for his dad the best thing for him? I don’t think so.”

I suddenly can’t remain seated and jump up to cross the room to the sliding glass door. I look out the door onto a courtyard with a fountain surrounded by white roses, lavender, and neat green boxwood. It could be the courtyard of a hotel. Pretty and manicured but also very empty.

“Does anyone ever go out there?” I ask, noting the stone benches that look terribly uncomfortable.

“No. But it’s a nice view.”

“Mmm.” I stand there another moment but I’m not looking at the roses. I’m thinking about what Dad said regarding Dr. Morris. “I like Dr. Morris. I love him. He’s like my other dad.” I turn to face my father. “And he’s a good dentist. A really good dentist.”

“Not saying he isn’t. And I think you were cut out to be a dentist. I don’t know that your Andrew was.”

My Andrew.

The heaviness in my chest is back. It’s a weight that never completely lifts, but sometimes bears down, relentless. Crushing. It feels crushing now.

And beneath the grief is anger. Terrible, terrible anger.

I keep my back to my dad so he can’t see how much his words hurt, and infuriate, me.

My Andrew was laughter and light and he made the world a beautiful place. A better place.