“It matters to me what kind of people I advocate for.”

She looked at Mason.

“And I learned something about your son too.”

“What?”

“That boy sees everything.”

I smiled.

“Yes.”

“What’s his name again?”

“Mason.”

She repeated it slowly.

“Mason.”

Like she intended to remember.

“He’s going to become something.”

I watched my son laughing in the water.

“He already is.”

The drive home felt completely different from the drive there.

Ryan carried the cooler by himself.

Then he grabbed Mason’s football bag too.

He didn’t wait for me to ask.

Mason climbed into the back seat and fell asleep almost immediately.

Ryan drove.

For several miles, we said nothing.

Then he spoke.

“I’ve been telling myself for years that everything was small.”

“What do you mean?”

“The things I did.”

He kept his eyes on the road.

“Not helping. Forgetting. Assuming you’d handle everything. Choosing work over you. Making you responsible for the things I didn’t want to think about.”