Madison said. She plucked a minuscule piece of lint from the charcoal wool slacks her father wore and flicked it onto the floor. “I want a cuff on them, though,” she directed. The salesman, his mouth full of pins, nodded and began to fold up the hem. Charlie stood stock-still, but he smiled at Madison in the mirror. They’d spent a lot of time together since her visit to his motel, both on- and off-camera. Sue Beth had finally sent the box of his letters that she’d kept hidden, and Madison had read them all in one tear-soaked sitting. (Dear Maddie, It’s fall so you must be getting ready to start sixth grade. I hope you have a pretty new dress to wear on your first day of school. . . . My dear Mads, Your old man misses you so much! I bet you’re getting taller by the day. . . .) After that, she’d been more willing to listen to his explanations and apologies. There was still a part of her that wanted to remain furious and unforgiving—but a larger part than that just wanted to have a father, no matter how imperfect he was.
