He came close, close enough that she could see the specific grey of his hair and the specific line of his jaw, which was her jaw, and the specific eyes, which were her eyes, looking back at her with everything that thirty-one years of absence and cassette tapes and letters had been building toward."You have Rosa's certainty," he said. His voice. The voice from the tape. Older, slower, carrying more weight than it had at twenty-nine, but the same voice. "You got that from her. But the eyes—""I know," Elena said."I'm sorry," he said. "I need to say that first. Before anything else.""I know," she said again.He looked at her.She looked at him.And then she covered the last foot between them and put her arms around a man who was her father and had been alive and three thousand miles away and was now here, on a gravel drive in British Columbia, in a coat that was too light for October.Behind her, she heard Rosa walk forw
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