"Are you nervous?" Mr. Lombardi says. We're driving to Jiyugaoka for the magazine interview I promised to do with my father. "Should I go in with you?"

I toy with my amulet, the yakuyoke, the one that wards off evil. I wrap and unwrap the amulet's string around my fingers, over and over again. "It's okay." I smile.

Over the last few days, I read a novel by Yuri Kameyama. She's a single mom who writes about broken families with irresponsible or missing fathers and struggling, strong women. That's why they picked her to interview us. According to Margot, my father and I will interest Yuri's fans. She thinks the interview will draw some of Yuri's fans to my father's solo exhibition when it opens. It could backfire. Her fans might read what I say and hate my father. Or they might want to hear from my mother. But Margot said, "Say whatever you want. It's fine."

The Gears will tour Japan next month, so my father's getting busier. Our interview is just the first in a long line of media appearances. I've seen my father a few times since Cynthia demanded I condemn him, but I have no idea if he's sinister. I care. I'll be on the lookout for sinister, but it's not easy to just dismiss him now that he's back. Especially without really knowing.

"I'm a little nervous," I admit.

Mr. Lombardi shakes his head. "Don't be. Margot knows what she's doing."

The butterflies in my stomach aren't just because of the interview. I don't blame Cynthia's friend, the one I call the boy, for giving up on me, but Cynthia dropped me completely, and that sucks. She sucks.

When Joel disappears, I'll have plenty of time for my school friends, especially Risa, who read Yuri's novel too when I told her I was meeting the author. I'll just learn from all this, go with it. Maybe that's what my father wants. To toughen me up.

The area with the coffee shop where we'll do the interview is closed to traffic. Mr. Lombardi pulls over, so I can jump out. "You've never carried an amulet before, have you?" he says.

"No, but there's evil afoot." I kiss his cheek and open the car door. He stares ahead, but I can tell from his bright face that he's very happy. I wish it was that easy to make everyone happy. "I love you, Dad," I say.

***

After we sit down in a roped off second floor of the coffee shop, my father takes charge. "When was your first success as a writer?" he says to Yuri Kameyama.

"My first year out of college." Ms. Kameyama's older than my father. A red cashmere scarf printed or painted with flowers loosely rings her neck. The ends of the scarf fall off both her shoulders. It spreads across the front of her long sleeve, rose-colored sweater dress. Her hair includes some gray strands and is pulled back tightly into a ponytail.

I don't listen carefully to the small talk. My mind's on Joel and Cynthia and tiny clues that might verify Cynthia's claims about my father. During the time we shopped together, my father didn't ogle every beautiful woman in sight. That might mean something good. Ms. Kameyama is elegant, smart, and successful. My father should date her.

Ms. Kameyama doesn't let my father run the conversation for long. "How successful do you feel as a father?" she says. "Do you have any regrets?"

He stiffens and folds his hands into his lap. He gazes at my half-eaten cheesecake before meeting my eyes, but I glaze over and stare slightly to one side of his head, at the short dirty blond hair around his ear. Just when I thought I'm getting stronger - standing up to the Yakuza a little, standing up to Cynthia - turns out I'm the same old Makiko in most situations. I avoid getting emotional and don't want to ask about Joel.

"I'm sorry my selfishness interfered with us. I regret it very much, and I was a stupid ass for waiting so long to come here. I'm sorry." My father's hand touches my chair.

"Did you hear that?" Ms. Kameyama says to me in Japanese.

"Just the end," I say. "I'm sorry."

"What do you think of your father?"

My father only knows a few words of Japanese, but she has a notebook on the table. What I say is between her, me, and her fans, until someone tells him. "I'm still getting to know him." I'm not going to hurt him, not on purpose. "I think we have some things in common."

"Like what?"

My mother will read this article. Do I say it? "I like the opposite sex too." Ms. Kameyama laughs. Her whole head tilts back, and I'm more confident my answer is funny. She smirks at me, like I'm a dilemma, and that makes me want to say more. "I don't think my father is a bad person. He seems very nice. Even though he's famous, he's very humble about it. I'm so surprised."

Embarrassed about opening up, I try not to be so forthcoming during the rest of the interview. I let my father and Ms. Kameyama talk.

"I love her too, believe it or not," my father says at one point. It catches my attention, because he's talking about my mother. I don't believe it, and it makes me mad. I don't want anyone to ever say they love me while acting badly. That's not the way love should work. "In my own way, of course," he says.

Ms. Kameyama's eyes dart my way, checking to see if my anger will spill over into an attack. She doesn't want to stir up trouble, though maybe she does. When I stay silent, she speaks to me softly in English. "Are you angry with your father?"

"I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't be. I had a happy childhood without him."

That sounds harsh, even to me. My father blinks tears, I think. I didn't mean to be harsh, but I don't apologize or take it back either, because my mother and I had to leave Boston. He was a hopeless womanizer and horrible breadwinner. In a way, my mother's still a wreck because of it, though I suppose that's her fault now.

"My stepfather was very good to me," I say. "I love him too."

Surprisingly, my father perks up. "I've enjoyed my interactions with him. Look, I'm a stupid ass, but so was your mother." He goes on about that. I hear it but don't really listen, because Joel pops into my head, and I wonder if I'm a stupid ass like my parents, but I can't decide. Am I stupid for spending time with Joel, or am I stupid for not enjoying the time I have with him to the fullest? "Excuse me," I say and head for the stairs. I'll check my look in the bathroom mirror and take a rest.

When I get back, my father's as eager to end the interview as I am. "Great talk. Thanks, Yuri. Thanks, Makiko." A moment later, he pulls out a deck of cards he and Margot made. Each card is for a different Japanese celebrity who will be at the opening of his photo exhibit, and my father is supposed to memorize them.

I saw on the internet that Brian Keating, the actor, will be in Tokyo soon. If he comes to the opening, I might be able to see whether or not Cynthia is right about him and other celebrities, including my father. "Did you make a card for Brian Keating too?" I say.

"Wow, Brian Keating's going to your opening?" Ms. Kameyama says. "I may go."

"I hope to see him too," I say. When we get up to go, Ms. Kameyama takes my hand, and we swing our arms together. I'm probably not brave enough to confront Brian Keating, but I can observe and take mental notes. That I can do. For my ex-friend, Cynthia.

***

Boutiques and other shops fill the neighborhood, and I have a place in mind for us to shop first. The conversation with Ms. Kameyama got uncomfortable, but it cleared things up between us, at least for now. As we walk, it occurs to me that my father and I have never been by ourselves together, not recently.

A cobblestone path lined with stores ends at a street with a pedestrian crossing. On the other side sits our destination, a four-story building atop curved marble stairs that rise to the front door. We cross with the traffic light, but my father halts near the bottom of the stairs. "I hate shopping," he says.

"I know. Don't worry, I'll do the thinking." My father jokes about getting this over with and rushes up a few steps of the stairs. I'm wearing high heels, but I zip past him. "Come on, slow poke," I say.

Glancing back, I see that a high school girl holds his chest from behind. Her arms are under his. As I stare, she sticks her tongue into his ear. Her dirty blond hair contains more spray than worms pack the earth, and make-up cakes her face - Cynthia's face! Make-up cakes Cynthia's face! Her jacked-up school uniform skirt reveals muscular inner thighs. The hemline nearly grazes her crotch. "I knew it was you from your yummy butt," she says to my father.

I'm too confused to do anything. As far as I know, my father still doesn't know Cynthia and I are acquainted, unless she told him.

"Um, Makiko - this is Cynthia," he says.

Cynthia pushes her breasts against him. For a moment, I almost laugh. It's like she's playing a part in a drama. "My friends told me they saw you with a flat-chested bitch. Must be her," she says.

I don't know what she's up to, but I wish I had a bag of popcorn. My father grabs my wrist, as if he's afraid I'll run off like I did that time after dinner with my family, but I'm not going anywhere.

"Cynthia, what on earth are you doing?" he says. I'd love to hear her answer, and I wait for it, but a whirlwind of anger between my ears blocks my hearing. Cynthia's mouth moves, but I don't catch what she says. I'm aware of other people on the wide stairs staring at us, at them, but I'm too furious to care. "This isn't a joke, Cynthia," my father says. "This is my daughter. Why are you lying?"

"I don't give a damn who she is. You said you'd call us." Cynthia rubs the front of her skirt and basically grabs herself.

She's pretending he touched her and those other girls at his apartment that night. She told me he asked her to vouch for him... She must be doing this instead!

Cynthia lifts her skirt and flashes some shiny red panty. I'd applaud her performance, but then I'd have to explain everything to my father.

Cynthia and I glare at each other. It's quick, and my father misses it, or misinterprets it. I hope she's accomplishing whatever it is she wants to accomplish. I reach into my bag for my phone. "Go, or I'll call the police."

After some more trash talk, Cynthia saunters away. "Call me, Rob."

She slides her red panties out from under her skirt and down her bare legs. My father looks away.

I can't believe she's doing this. What if someone who knows us saw her? She throws the panties, and they land on my shoe.

She's so out of control. I can't not look, but I don't even notice when Cynthia leaves.

"Don't go," my father says to me. "I can explain."

"I don't want to hear it." I don't. I don't want to talk about that crazy person who used to be my friend. If she's right and my father's a bad person, maybe I don't want to know. But I really think she's jumping to conclusions and is insane. She doesn't know him.

"Thank you for staying," my father says. He doesn't let go of me. "Cynthia lied. I didn't, I don't."

I clench my hands into fists. "Don't explain. I hate it." I say things I don't mean, things that don't matter or make sense, but we work it out by forgetting Cynthia. We buy the clothes we came to buy. We don't get completely happy again, but it's good enough. We will.

Cynthia is convinced Makiko's father sleeps with teens. Did she do the right thing?

What stops Makiko from confronting her father directly? Does she make sense?

Thank you. I hope you are enjoying my story. If so, please vote!