Free In My Father's Eyes by Kat McCarthy Page B

the scars on her legs, the slices where she’d opened her skin to let out the pain, proved how wrong that effort had been. She hadn’t succeeded in ridding herself of anything; merely buried it beneath the surface where it seethed and roiled until it had to come out, had to erupt to the surface or drown her forever.
    She’d promised Harold she wouldn’t do that anymore; yet it was getting harder and harder to keep that promise. Being with him, talking with him, confronting her fears she kept under the façade of toughness, left her with no means of dealing with those emotions.
    And worse, along with the anger and guilt and shame, Harold had made her feel something she hadn’t felt in so long it took her a long time to put a name to it.
    Hope.
    It was a dangerous feeling; the idea that tomorrow would be better. It felt wrong. Feeling it made her edgy and exposed; vulnerable.
    For years she’d trained herself to feel nothing, to keep everyone away, at arm’s length. How had Harold gotten past that barrier? How had he become so important to her; so much a part of her thoughts?
    Settling onto her back, Emily tucked her arm behind her head and let her eyes drift close. Her thick coat protected her from the wet turf and the bright sun warmed her despite the November chill as her thoughts tumbled.
    She wished Harold had been her father. He would be a good father, she thought. He was patient and gentle; never demanding and abrupt. He always looked at her with kindness as if he could see just how fragile she was and wanted to protect her.
    Not like her own father. Not like those eyes filled with pain and anger that turned on her, that blamed her, that made her want to cut and cut until nothing was left of her but a mass of scars; scars thick and tough and unfeeling.
    Worn out from crying, warmed by the sun, Emily drifted in and out of slumber.
    She didn’t know how long she dozed. The sun was still high in the sky when she felt a cold, wet nose nuzzle her cheek.
    Startled, she sat up quickly, blinking sleep from her eyes to find herself face to face with a shaggy Golden Retriever looking at her with deep brown puppy dog eyes.
    “Hey, boy,” Emily said, catching the friendly dog before he could lick her chin, ruffling his fur. “Where’d you come from? Are you lost?” She asked. The dog looked at her appreciatively as she stroked his soft fur.
    “Sam,” a man’s voice admonished, “quit bothering her.”
    Emily looked up as the young man approached carrying a leash in one hand. He was breathing hard having chased the dog through the cemetery.
    “He’s no bother,” Emily said, scrunching Sam’s mane. “Are you, boy? No. You’re not. You’re a sweet boy, aren’t you?”
    “Don’t encourage him,” the young man laughed. “He’ll lick you to death if you do.”
    Emily smiled.
    “Well, we’re in the right place for it.”
    The young man chuckled. “Yes…I suppose we are.” His eyes shifted back the way he’d come and Emily saw the flash of pain and realized he must have been there visiting someone as well.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t joke about it…not here.”
    “It’s all right,” the man said, turning back to her. “It’s been a long time.” Stepping forward, the young man clicked the leash onto Sam’s collar. From this close, Emily caught the scent of him; a freshet of citrus and pine underlying a soapy cleanness.
    When he looked at her, Emily tensed. His eyes caught hers and warmth spread over her face and neck. She was sure she’d never seen him before. He was older than her by a few years and she would have recognized him had he been at her school, but something about him tugged at her memory.
    Her mouth went dry and she licked at her lips.
    “I’m Colin Connors” the young man said, standing, Sam’s leash held loosely in his hand.
    “Emm…” She cleared her throat. “Emily Walls,” she finished.
    Colin’s hand stuck out, and Emily took it, allowing him to pull