She looked toward the sealed boxes. "You packed my belongings before I got home. You decided without talking to me. How is that different?"
It was a fair question, and I made myself answer it fairly. "I should have been more careful about packing anything of yours before we spoke. I haven't changed the locks, and I'm not going to throw you out. If you'd rather repack those boxes yourself, you can. But I don't need your agreement to decide I can't be engaged under these circumstances."
Rachel wiped her face. "You always find the sentence that makes you sound reasonable."
"Being reasonable isn't the opposite of being hurt."
I told her she could stay in the bedroom that night and I would sleep on the sofa, or I could stay with Julian if she preferred. We would make a practical plan the next day. She stared at me, waiting for another qualification, another chance to reopen the argument. There wasn't one.
"Where will I go?" she finally asked.
"We can take time to figure that out. I won't force you to leave tonight."
"I thought you'd fight for us."
"I have been fighting for us. I've just been fighting in a way that kept requiring me to lose the same argument."
She held my gaze for a moment, then stood and walked into the bedroom. The door closed softly. I stayed on the sofa with the letter in my hand until the light outside went from charcoal to black.
I didn't call Leah that night. I looked at the number several times, then decided I wanted to be able to speak without turning my first conversation with my sister in years into a report about Rachel. I wrote a message instead: Leah, it's Bruce. I just received the letter you sent in April. I am sorry I didn't see it sooner. I want to talk if you're willing. Is Dad all right?
The phone remained quiet for seventeen minutes. Then it rang.
I answered on the first ring but couldn't find a word. Leah found one for both of us.
"Bruce?"
It was her voice, older and rougher than my memory, but unmistakable. I heard a television in the background, then a door closing as she moved somewhere private.
"I'm here," I said.
"You got my letter?"
"Tonight."
She was silent. I could imagine her standing with one hand on her hip, staring at the wall the way she did when she was furious and determined not to show it.
"I thought you didn't want to hear from us," she said.
"I didn't know you'd written."
"Somebody answered me."
The words chilled me. "What do you mean?"
"I sent a follow-up email after a month. I used the address you had on a wedding announcement your friend posted. I got a reply saying you weren't interested, that Dad was not welcome at the wedding, and that I should stop contacting you. It was signed Bruce."
I sat forward. "I never sent that."
Another silence. Then Leah exhaled as though she had been holding her breath for half a year.