“There’s something I owe you an apology for too.”
Surprise flickered across his face.
“After Dad died, I thought keeping our lives normal would help us both.”
“You stopped talking about him.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because every conversation reminded me he wasn’t coming home.”
He folded his hands together.
“Sometimes I forget what Dad sounded like.”
His confession hurt more than I could say.
“Grandpa tells me stories,” he continued. “He remembers things I don’t.”
“I should’ve told you stories too.”
“You still could.”
I got to my feet.
“Come with me.”
***
At the back of my bedroom closet sat a box I hadn’t opened since Michael’s death. I brought it to the bed and removed the lid. Inside lay his notebook, a photograph, his broken watch, and some folded papers.
Nathan picked up a sketch of the rocking chair. Written in Michael’s handwriting across one corner were the words:
“For our little boy.”
He gently followed the letters with his finger.
“He made this for me?”
“Before you were born.”
“Why didn’t you show me?”
“Because I couldn’t bring myself to look through any of it.”
Nathan looked down at the page.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Mom.”
“I understand that. But you frightened us, and you pulled Cole into the lie.”
“I thought you’d make me stop going.”
I acknowledged the painful truth.
“I gave you reasons to think that.”
He noticed the photograph I held. In it, Michael stood in our kitchen holding a pie he’d badly burned.
“Your dad once tried making Thanksgiving dessert without following the recipe. It was a pumpkin pie. Or it was supposed to be.”
Nathan laughed.
“Was it terrible?”
“Awful. He insisted the black crust was intentional.”
He gazed at his father’s smiling face.
“Tell me something else.”
I settled beside him and began sharing memories I’d kept locked away, without inventing another excuse to end the conversation.
***
The next Saturday, I took Nathan to Frank’s house myself. I’d arranged the visit, and Denise had permitted Cole to join them for the afternoon. Frank waited outside to welcome us.
“I want to apologize properly, Laura.”
