Nobody seemed interested in drinking it.
Richard stood in the kitchen, looking around as though every family photograph on the walls reminded him of the years he had missed.
Jordan finally broke the silence.
“Dad…” He looked between us. “What happened?”
Richard rested both hands on the back of a dining chair.
“When I was 23, I thought I had my whole life planned.”
He smiled faintly.
“Graduate. Marry Doron. Find a job somewhere around Boston.”
He looked at me.
“We’d already started arguing about neighborhoods.”
I couldn’t help smiling.
“You wanted Cambridge.”
“You wanted the North Shore.”
Stormy laughed softly.
“You were already arguing about where to live?”
“We considered it excellent communication,” Richard said.
“It was stubbornness,” I corrected.
For the first time that evening, the tension eased.
Only for a moment.
Richard’s smile faded.
“Then my father got sick.”
I frowned.
“I thought he was healthy.”
“He was.”
Richard looked down.
“Until he wasn’t.”
His voice became quieter.
“He collapsed at work.”
I searched my memory.
Nothing.
“I never knew.”
