He did not look sad, or contrite, or ashamed--not, at least, enough to notice.
He glanced at his watch, and then handed me a letter.
"There," he began briskly, "that is to Perry Potter, the Bay State foreman.

I have wired him that you are on the way." The gate went up at that moment, and he stood up and held out his hand.
"Sorry I can't go over with you," he said.

"I've an important meeting to attend.

Take care of yourself, Ellie boy." I gripped his hand warmly, though I had intended to give him a dead-fish sort of shake.

After all, he was my dad, and there were just us two.