For the first time all day, I saw something close to the Theo I knew.
Later, after most people had gone to the reception hall, Theo found me alone beside the photographs we’d displayed of Jack.
There was one of the two boys at eight years old.
Mud from head to toe.
Missing shoes.
Grinning like criminals.
Theo stood beside me.
“I need to tell you something.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Jack didn’t want you to know.”
My stomach tightened.
“Know what?”
“That he thought he was going to die.”
I stared at the photograph.
Theo rushed on.
“Not because he didn’t trust you.”
“I know.”
“He said you and Mr. Harris needed hope.”
That hurt.
“He was the sick one.”
“I told him that.”
“What did he say?”
Theo smiled sadly.
“He said, ‘Yeah, but Mom’s dramatic.'”
I laughed through my tears.
“That little jerk.”
