55: The Holy Hour

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ONE MONTH LATER KAUAI, HAWAII * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * [ R Y D E R ] “Dad! There’s mail!” I shouted into the house and threw the big white envelope on the kitchen table. I just came home from my morning training at the beach, and I noticed this white envelope sitting on the front porch. It was addressed to my dad from some law company. I thought it might be important. Dad came out of his room seconds later. He picked up the envelope and muttered, “Oh, right…” “What is it?” Dad let out a sigh and opened the envelope. His eyes scanned the paper quickly before saying, “Nothing says Happy Thanksgiving like signing your divorce papers,” “Ah, dad, I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know it was that thing,” “Don’t worry, I’ll survive,” he stifled a laugh and pulled out a pen. A month had passed since I left New York City with my dad. Kara was doing well and she was discharged from the hospital days after our special rooftop moment. Since then,