Then I wobbled back to my chair. There was half a cold pancake floating in syrup on my plate, but I didn’t feel like eating anymore. Dad stood at the counter with his back to me, hands wrapped around a coffee cup. “The right thing doesn’t always get you money and a parade, Kev. Sometimes all it gets you is a fifty and a handshake. Sometimes you get worse.” There was a knock at the door of the trailer. Dad looked over at me. “Don’t move,” he said. I couldn’t have if I’d wanted to. He opened the door. A blond man with jeans and a dark blue sweater was standing there. He didn’t live in the park, and his hair was too long for him to be one of the holy rollers out to save our souls. We got a lot of them around the park. “Mr. Frasier?” the man said. “I’m Michael Tennant. Erin’s father.” “Erin?” Dad said. Then he got it. “The girl that...” Erin’s father nodded and offered his hand. “Yes.” They shook hands. “Could I talk to you for a moment?” Mr.
