Thinking that it had to do with sinning, [Caroline] quickly made her way out of that apartment, leaving her friend behind, rushing across Columbus Avenue to catch an Amsterdam bus uptown, her stomach and heart in knots. Happy and relieved to be getting home, she was mainly concerned that her father might have started to worry about her. She leaned her face against the window and noticed a battery of police cars and ambulances around 107th Street, their red lights flashing, building facades flickering on and off like neon signs, and she hoped that nothing bad had happened. Her thoughts focused instead on how she had been stupid and allowed herself to get carried away by a handsome face, and that the marijuana had not sat well with her, that the glue had a depressing aftereffect, even if it had been exciting to embark upon an adventure.
Caroline, Ives' daughter, makes some bad decisions the night her brother is killed. She goes to a strange apartment with one of her friends to meet some college guys. She smokes marijuana and huffs glue. One of the guys tries to force himself on her. Caroline is wracked by guilt for years afterward, as if her actions had something to do with her brother's death.
Tonight, my wife and I are going to a high school orientation with our daughter. Next year, I will be the father of a high school freshman. I can't believe it. As I was driving her home from the dance studio this afternoon, I started talking to her about electives and Spanish and geometry. She was acting like a little adult. It made me feel old. And proud. She's a beautiful, smart young lady. That's God's love number thirty-five.
I have a daughter who is soon going to be a young adult. Driving herself to the dance studio. Studying for the ACT. Applying to colleges. Getting a part-time job to buy a car. Sneaking out of the house to meet her dead-beat, football-playing boyfriend. Well, not on my watch, little girl!
Sorry, Saint Marty lost his head for a minute.