He looked exhausted.
His hair was wet, his jacket wrinkled, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes.
I opened the gate remotely.
He drove up slowly.
When I stepped onto the porch, he stood beside his car staring at the house.
“Wow,” he whispered.
I said nothing.
“Dad really did all this?”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the mountains.
“I had no idea.”
Something about his expression made my heart ache.
For an instant, he was a little boy again, standing in front of the treehouse Thomas had built for his tenth birthday.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
I hesitated.
Then I stepped aside.
We sat in the kitchen while rain tapped against the windows.
I made coffee.
I couldn’t help myself.
Some habits were woven too deeply into my bones.
Jared wrapped both hands around the mug.
“This is a beautiful place, Mom.”
“Thank you.”
He glanced around.
