She's fourteen and I don't know who she is. She stands up, all false bravado, and speaks in front of nearly two hundred people, and the only thing that crosses my mind is that she's a good speaker.

Sally mentions to me that this kid is adorable, and she's right. The girl's pretty… well, cute. A little awkward, but she's only fourteen. Still a good speaker.

She's sixteen and she drives a car the size of a small semi. I'm starting to figure out who she is, because she's so involved in the church… it would be impossible for me not to recognize her. By now, her name has come up every week in my Sunday school class, and somehow or another, she's become the Golden Girl. I can't help but wonder why I don't know her yet. It's a small church.

She's singing in the cantata, and shows up when she can – which isn't every week, but she still comes. She knows the music by heart – which works well for her, because I know she can't read music.

She comes strolling in for the performance, while I'm drinking salt water to clear my throat. But she's left her music book in her car, and there aren't any spares. I suppose I could give her mine – I know all the lines, I did some theater in college. But I don't really think it would be a good idea for me to volunteer it. She's busy being enamored with Luke, the only male under 40 in the choir. Sidney's daughter, Sarah, is dating him, but no one really knows. I only know because I'm wise.

Her father comes in not long after she does, and she lets out a squeal that I didn't think humans could emit. Dogs across the city are probably waking up after that. But Tim's got her music book in his hand, and I can tell she's grateful. She jumps into his arms.

"Dad!" she cries. "Thanks, oh my gosh, I love you so much."

He scowls playfully. "I'm going to get seats, sweet pea. Before you start asking for a new car."

She says something smart in response, but I miss it. The exchange makes me sit up and take notice – it's so casual. She's so unreserved about saying she loves him. My Sara… she has a reputation to uphold. She would never say anything like that to me, not even if it was just the two of us. She hasn't expressed any form of affection since she was little.

It makes me a little jealous.

Those are the first words I think I ever say to her. I take her by the elbow, catching her by surprise. "I just." The words fumble a little bit, and I try to think of what to say. She intimidates me. "I just wanted to tell you… what you said. To your father. I wish my daughter would say things like that to me."

The girl I'll one day call Ruth blinks. "Your – daughter? She doesn't say that kind of thing?"

I shake my head. "Not since she was very young."

A shocked look crosses her face. "It. I mean, I guess it can be hard to say, depending on the person. I guess. Sometimes it's the unspoken, you know?"

I smile at her, watch her features smooth out. "I'm sure it is."

But I've known my daughter for years. And I'm not so sure.

She's seventeen now, and I talk to her every time I see her. We go out of our way to find each other. She's outgrown the awkwardness of youth, and is becoming a young lady. Something about who she's becoming… intrigues me.

She passes me in the hallway with Melissa. I flinch a little, because I know I'll have to tolerate Robin's spoiled, malicious child for a minute. Ruth comes and goes like a breeze, so I can't guarantee that I'll get to talk to her if I let her pass. And I can't guarantee she'll ignore me.

I hear Melissa say something scathing – not hateful, so much, but I can hear the slight malice behind her words, and Ruth bites her lip. She's stopped letting Melissa's barbs get to her, but they still sting a little.

I stiffen as they approach, but they don't slow down. I get a cheerful grin from Ruth, and an answering smile from Melissa as they walk by. I flash a quick smile and extend my hand, which she takes as they pass. A flash of amusement when Melissa tries to extend her hand, and I turn away.

It's not that I'm being drawn into petty high school rivalries. But somehow Ruth is becoming someone I want to protect, someone I want to be around. I want to know who hurts her, I want to know who tries to take advantage of her. I want to know these things so that I can stop them.

But it's not my place.

Her fingers slide from mine slowly, and she glances over her shoulder at me, a little curiously. I meet her eyes briefly as my hand falls away, after holding on for a little too long. I know it doesn't look right, but I do it anyways.

I'm another year older, and she's not. She's that much farther behind me now. I don't know when birthdays stopped being about how far along I was, and became about how far behind she was.

She's babysitting tonight, I know. Jenny has been calling her to check up on her boys. I hear Jenny say her name just as she hangs up, and I jump. I tell her to let me talk to her, and so Jenny calls back nearly immediately.

I don't know what possesses me to say anything that I tell her. I'm not a high school student, and I'm not in a position to say any of the things that come out of my mouth. I have no right to tell her how hot she is. I've taken the phone into the office, though, and no one can hear us. No one can tell me I'm overstepping my boundaries.

It's the first thing that I say to her, and I hear her suck in a shocked breath. "Excuse me?"

And I feel a flash of nerves, that maybe she thinks I'm insane. And maybe it's not mutual, maybe the banter at church is supposed to stay in the light, where we have to play by rules. Maybe it was never supposed to come out in a situation where there's no one to say stop.

Maybe she'll be the one to put me in line. Or maybe she doesn't even think about me like that.

But when the next thing out of her mouth is sexy, I start to feel like I'm drunk. It's all coming out suddenly, and I don't know if I can stop suddenly. "Is that something you don't hear a lot?" I ask playfully.

She snorts. "If you'd said cute…"

"Not cute," I tell her. "Children are cute. You're all grown up."

"I'm still driving my first car," she reminds me unsteadily.

"You're not a child anymore," I counter. "You outgrew cute a long time ago."

"Right, and you noticed," she says dryly.

"I did," I say firmly. And I mean it.

Ruth falters. "So. Hot, huh?"

"Hot."

"Well… I guess you're not so bad yourself," she teases. "I always found Doug a little sexier, though…"

"But Doug is married."

She starts to laugh. "That's why you're sexier than Doug? If marriage is the deciding factor…"

I shake my head. "Doug's no good."

"And you are?"

Her words are light, but she's got serious implications behind them. "I'm honest with you."

"Doug's honest with me."

"How?"

"He says I'm cute."

"He's lying. You're beautiful."

I can almost see the look on her face. "You're bad."

"I'm a couple of things. Bad's only one of them."

Jenny pokes her head into the room. "Is she being responsible?"

Technically… no.

"Of course," I tell her. "Want to talk?"

She nods, and I say into the mouthpiece, "I'm giving you to Jenny. See you tomorrow."

She splutters for a moment, startled, but I pass the phone away and go still.

That's about the stupidest thing I've done all night.

She's eighteen now, and she sings. She sang for the church last week, and I was more than surprised. I asked her once if she sang, and she said no, she didn't.

I guess I should have asked if she could sing, rather than if she did.

But she's eighteen and crying now. I was going to wash out the coffee pot, and she was making a beeline down the hall to the stairs, eyes swimming and face devastated. She doesn't see me, and starts to blow right by me, but I call out to her.

"Ruth?" I ask.

She turns, and I smile. I know her middle name now, and I use it. She had it on her graduation announcements, and I never let her forget that I know. I don't think I call her by her given name anymore.

"I can't talk right now," she mumbles, and starts to leave.

"Wait," I say, and she does. "Are you okay?"

Fantastic. That was worded so well.

She nods. "Course I am."

"Then why are you crying?"

Her entire demeanor stands to crumble. "I just. I think I just got dumped," she admits, her voice tight with the effort of holding back tears.

I blink. "You had a boyfriend?" The news is more than a little shocking to me – I'd not heard anything about that.

Ruth nods miserably. "I… was stupid," she mutters, resent creeping into her tone. "I knew I was a rebound and all… he'd just dumped his last girlfriend when we got together. He made it sound like… their relationship had been over for a long time, but when I get dumped for her…" She wipes her eyes quickly. "I don't know. I figure it's going to keep happening, isn't it?"

I'm shaking my head. "He just wasn't the right one."

"Who finds the right one at eighteen?" she wails. "No one does! All I want right now is a good one."

I start to point out that I met my wife when I was eighteen… but it seems like a poor example to give right now.

She's looking at the wall, and her eyes are filling up again – crying women have never been my strong point. But I make an exception and pull her to me in a crushing hug, and she melts into the embrace, burying her face in my shoulder.

"It's what I get for dating older," she says, muffled by my shirt. "Lying, manipulative, bratty boys in men's bodies. My next boyfriend will be seventeen."

"Now don't rule out the twenty-and-older crowd," I warn her playfully. "There are still some good ones out there."

"They're either gay or married."

I sigh and place a light kiss on her forehead. "At least they're not both."

She's nineteen and I haven't seen her since the move. I know she isn't happy with me, because I didn't tell her about it. She found out when the rest of the congregation found out. And I know she doesn't like that.

So when she sweeps into the room, I'm not ready. I didn't expect her here today.

She looks good – she always does. I always tell her. I tell her again today, and she smiles at me. But now the smile doesn't reach her eyes, and her voice is different. She's not as bouncy, as over-emotional as she was before, and her tone is a little more reserved. It's odd, to see how much college has changed her.

I have my hand on her back as we talk, the way we did before. But she doesn't really lean into the touch anymore – she jumps initially and goes rigid, but lets out a sigh and gives me a what can you do? look.

"Ruth," I greet her.

She flashes a jaunty grin at the name. "Nat," she says with an echo of the cheer I'm used to.

I shake my head. "If you're going to abbreviate, it's Nate," I tell her.

"Right," she says. "I forgot."

"So. How's school treating you?"

…That look. I can't place it, but she's definitely lying to me. "It's fine. It could be worse… but beyond that, I'm great."

But she has every right to lie to me.

I give her a warm smile. "How about the truth?" I ask.

There's a shadow in her eyes that looks all too familiar. "Nate, this… this isn't the place for that," she tells me, and for the first time since I've seen her cry, her voice wavers.

I feel some sort of unease creep over me. "Are you all right?"

Her smile is too forced, and she does too poor a job covering it. "I'm here now, so I'm obviously fine," she reassures me. "Things are… different now," she sighs, and the way she steps away from my hand is proof of that.

I nod, a little surprised. "I figured they would be. I'm sure that… that college has been an experience for you, hasn't it?"

Again, that lingering darkness in her face. I wonder if I'll ever really know what the months have done to her, because the change is too stark to be gradual.

Ruth nods. "College has been a lot of things," she says quietly. "Maybe it just forced me to grow up."

And I realize, things really are different.

Maybe it's better like that.