"I never realized that when I show up as Marcie, you'll have to explain..."

"Well..." Dad said, in a noncommittal way.

"What are you going to say?"

After telling Jerry about the move, I went home and called my dad.

My hands were shaking a little bit, but I had to do it before I lost my nerve.

"How did the name change go?" Dad asked.

"Fine. It was pretty easy." I gave him a quick version of the day. "So, now I'm Marcella Antoinette Donner," I concluded.

"Oh," he laughed. "Your mother finally got that name in there! Did she tell you the story? That before you were born she wanted to call you Antoine? — or Antoinette?"

"Yeah, she did," I said. "And you wanted to call me Rusty?"

"Yes," he said. "It's a good, strong name. I thought it was a great name for a boy. I still think so."

"Oh, Dad! It's a good name for a dog!"

"That's what your mother said," he replied. "But a friend of mine, in the Navy, one of the best friends I ever had, his name was Rusty."

"And this guy... he had red hair, right?"

"He did, yes, he did have red hair."

"Oh, Dad! It was just a nickname! His real name was probably Clarence or something," I laughed.

"I liked it," he said simply. "I knew it was a nickname. Anyway, at this point it's all moot anyway."

"I guess," I agreed.

"So what's on your mind?" he asked after a little pause.

"How do you know something's on my mind?"

"This is the first time you've ever called me," he said. "Usually it's me or your mother who calls you. Did your mother give you any news?"

"You mean about the move? Yes, she told me. We'll all be in New Jersey soon. Yay!" I said, ending with a bit of fake enthusiasm.

"Right," he said. "I'm looking forward to it. But listen, you have to prepare... mentally. This is a very small apartment. We'll be a little tight here, but at least we'll all be together. We've never lived under such cramped conditions, so there will be some adjustments. There's only one bathroom."

"Uh-huh. I can deal with it."

"You say so now," he joked. "We'll see!"

I paused, feeling very awkward. My father yawned, then apologized.

"Dad?" I leaped right into it. "The real reason I'm calling is that I wanted to say thanks."

"Oh, you're welcome," he said. "What are you thanking me for?"

"For everything."

"It's okay," he said. "Don't worry about it. I'm not really sure what you're thanking me for, but it's okay."

I felt so totally inadequate. It was frightening. I could handle something being weird or hard for me, but thinking that I'd made things difficult for my father... at his job... that was too much to handle.

That picture in his office, I knew just which one it was... he always said it was his favorite. Someone had snapped a picture of the three of us at my cousin's wedding. We were outside, and the three of us were smiling at each other, unaware of the photographer. It was a perfect picture, a good likeness of each of us... everybody happy...

"Um, Mom told me that you have a family picture in your office and that the people you work with ask about me — about Mark, I mean."

He was silent for a moment. Then he said, "People ask about each other's families all the time."

"Yeah, but I never realized that when I show up as Marcie, you'll have to explain..."

"Well..." he said, in a noncommittal way.

"What are you going to say?"

"What do you think I should say?" he gently countered.

"Maybe I could be a child of a former marriage?"

He scoffed. "Your mother and I have never been married before, and anyway the numbers don't work. We'd have to be married after you were born, right? Besides, then people would ask about our exes."

I couldn't quite work all that out, so I took a different tack.

"Could I be adopted, or the child of a cousin or something?"

He drew a breath. "I don't think I could pretend that you're not my child. I'm sure your mother couldn't. And even if we did say that, what happened to Mark?"

"He stayed in California."

"You mean we abandoned him?"

"No — He just liked California and stayed."

"That's not a very good story, Marcie." His tone was very quiet and gentle.

"Sorry. I'm just trying to help."

"I know you are. And I appreciate it, but if we're going to make up a story, it has to make sense and hold together. We can talk about it once you and your mother get here. Honestly though, I don't see a way around telling the truth."

I didn't know what to say.

"Try not to worry. I can take a little flack. And we'll talk about it." He sounded a little tired. I remembered the time change; that it was later for him than it was for me.

Then I started thinking: if the people he worked with knew about Mark, it might eventually get to someone in school. I mean, people know people, and this is exactly the kind of story that people would want to tell. I felt the panic creeping up my spine.

"Dad," I said. "If one person knows, then everybody could know. My school could find out."

"I know," he said. "We've thought about that. If I tell at work, we have to tell your school too. Maybe we'd have to tell them first."

A chill ran through me.

"We'll talk about it when you get here," he repeated. "And I want the school to meet you first, before we potentially tell them."

"Potentially?" I repeated. "Does that mean we might not tell?"

He hesitated. "We'll talk about it when you get here, okay?"