“And then?”
“I put it off.”
“For four years?”
His eyes met mine.
“I was ashamed.”
The anger that had been building in me shifted shape.
Not gone.
But changed.
Dad had never been a cruel man.
He was a man who hated disappointing people so much that he could delay difficult truths until the delay itself became the greater disappointment.
I had inherited some of that.
Maybe we all had.
“You should have told me.”
“Yes.”
“You should have told Ethan you hadn’t.”
“Yes.”
“You let him carry this.”
Dad looked at Ethan.
“I did.”
Ethan studied him.
“Are you angry that I used the letter?”
“No.”
“Even in front of everyone?”
Dad thought for a moment.
“I wish we had spared you the need.”
That was the first thing anyone had said all afternoon that made Ethan look uncertain.
He blinked.
Then nodded.
“Me too.”
Mom reached for Dad’s hand.
