« She said it’d be better if I ate in the garage. »
For a moment, I couldn’t speak.
I looked at the metal chair.
The concrete floor.
The boxes stacked around him.
Then at my son’s face.
« She told you to eat out here? »
He nodded.
« She wasn’t yelling, Dad. »
I crouched in front of him.
« What does that have to do with anything? »
« I don’t know. Maybe she thought I’d make the dining room smell bad. »
He looked embarrassed.
« I changed my shirt like you told me. »
« I know you did. »
« But maybe my jacket still smelled like garlic. »
That nearly broke me.
Because he genuinely believed the problem might have been his fault.
« Ethan, look at me. »
He raised his eyes.
« You did absolutely nothing wrong. »
His chin trembled.
« But Aunt Victoria— »
« I don’t care what Aunt Victoria said. »
He swallowed hard.
