My daughter, Emily, was twelve years old.
She said the sentence so casually, as if she were telling me what she had eaten for lunch at school.
I was standing in the kitchen at the time.
“Mom, Grandpa told me today that I have a very beautiful body.”
The glass in my hand froze in midair.
For a few seconds, I didn’t move.
Then, trying to sound as normal as possible, I asked,
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“Why did he say that?”
Emily shrugged.
“I don’t know.”
I turned toward the sink so she wouldn’t see my face.
My father, Robert, was
