“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.
