Carlie's words struck Paul like a fist, and they cut like a knife.  There was a certain irony in them - unintended, he was sure - that seemed to speak of the very act with which he'd caused such pain for his youngest daughter, even while it provided perhaps the simplest and bluntest rebuke possible.  He stood and sighed as his sixteen year-old girl ran off, seeking what he didn't know; the only thing that seemed plain was that he was incapable of providing it at the moment.<br/><br/>He felt Celeste's arms enfold him, and he was grateful for it, Paul's eyes closing and his breath pouring out in a sigh as he reached for her hand and squeezed it.  "Thank you, baby," he said to her.  She could hear a little of the old helplessness back in his voice.  Not enough so that things had broken completely, but certainly enough to be concerning to the older sister.  "I don't think that she wants to hear from me right now.  But if she doesn't want to talk to you either, don't force her, alright?  We'll just give her a little time, and I'll try again when she's calmed down."  He paused.  "Right now she's in shock.  You and I know that what we do together is right - it's right for us - but Carlie's just going off what she's been told her whole life; she's been told that what she saw was wrong, and a breach of trust.  So be understanding with her, okay?"  He sighed again, and turned, hugging Celeste and kissing her on the forehead gently.<br/><br/>When she left, Paul went to the bathroom.  He got some toilet paper, and disinfectant spray, and set to cleaning up the sickness that Carlie had left behind in the hallway.