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I can do my own laundry."
    Harriet did this about once a month. It was nice of her, but it left him with nothing to do. Ray preferred their twice-weekly lunch dates, where he felt like the two of them were on an equal footing. When she cooked for him he felt like a helpless bachelor being babied by his twenty-year-old daughter, which was exactly what he was.
    He sat in the kitchen for a while and tried to make conversation, but she was too busy to give more than one-word responses to his questions. Finally he gave up and moved into the living room. The Tanner girl was all over the news, so he put on SportsCenter and immediately fell asleep.
    "Daddy." He forced his eyes open but didn't see anyone. "Daddy, wake up." He blinked, but he still didn't see her.
    "Harry?"
    "Dinner's ready." Her voice came from the kitchen now. "Are you awake?"
    "I'm awake." He sat up on the couch, rubbing his face.
    "Can you dish up your own lasagna? I need to use the bathroom."
    "All right." The lasagna was still steaming, and there was garlic bread and spinach salad besides. He shoveled it all onto a plate and grabbed a Diet Coke from the fridge. "Do you want me to make you a plate?"
    "That's OK," came her voice from the bathroom. "I'll be a minute."
    "Are you sick?"
    "No, Dad. I'm fine ... I just, it's my period, if you need to know."
    "Oh." Nothing made him feel so inadequate as a parent as when Harriet was having her period. "Do you need anything?"
    "No, I've got stuff here. Go ahead and eat."
    Ten minutes later she was still in the bathroom, and he'd flipped through seventy-some channels without finding anything to watch. The lasagna was criminally good, but he forced himself to sit with the illusion that he wasn't going to have another piece.
    The bathroom door opened. "I'm going to check on my laundry," Harriet yelled. The back door slammed, and footsteps tromped down the back stairs. Ray shook his head and went to get more lasagna.
    He was pouring himself a glass of water when the back door opened again. "You'd better get some of this before it gets cold," he said. But there was no one at the door. He crossed to it and looked out. He thought he heard breathing, but there was no one there. "Harriet?"
    Silence. He hurried down the stairs, his heart wanting him to move quicker yet. The washer was washing, the dryer drying, but no one was there. No one in the utility area, either, and the rest of the basement rooms were locked. "Who's here?"
    No answer.
    Then he heard someone walking around upstairs, and he ran, not caring if Harriet teased him, hoping it was her and he was just getting old—going deaf and hearing things at the same time.
    She was at the counter, dishing up lasagna. He didn't say anything, just breathed his relief and locked the back door behind him.
    "Where were you?" she asked.
    "I thought you were downstairs."
    "I was. I came back up. Are you OK?"
    "I called, and you didn't answer. I got worried."
    "I didn't hear you." Sweat stood in beaded rows on her forehead, and her breath came quick and shallow.
    "Are you feeling all right?"
    "Better." She swept past him into the living room.
    They watched most of the movie in silence. Eventually Harriet relaxed a bit and started to giggle at some of the stunts, but she was still bothered by something. Ray knew his daughter well enough not to press her. If she thought he could help her, she would ask. Part of him was indignant that she wouldn't ask his help with all her problems, but realistically he didn't want that. He just wanted her to trust him and to feel that she could come to him whenever she wished. That, and he didn't want to drop out of her life. He wanted her around, and not just a voice on the phone. She was fun, and she was smart, and she constantly amazed him.
    She woke him when the movie was over. "Must be a record," she said. "You only slept through the last twenty minutes."
    "I don't always sleep through movies, you know."
    "No," she said. "Some of them you walk out