minute.”
***
Denise phoned that evening.
“Cole’s upset. He shouldn’t have had to choose between Nathan and telling me the truth.”
“You’re right. I’ll talk to Nathan.”
Afterward, I knocked on my son’s bedroom door.
“Can we talk?”
He was sitting on his bed.
“If it’s another lecture, I’m tired.”
“It’s about Cole.”
He stared at the floor.
“I know. I shouldn’t have made him lie.”
“You owe him an apology. And no sleepovers until we’ve rebuilt some trust.”
“I understand.”
I sat down beside him.
“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.”
******NEXT PAGE
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
