Raymond looked at him.
Julian's voice shook.
“Did you ever wonder what happened to me?”
Raymond's expression changed.
He looked toward the courthouse.
Then down at his shoes.
“I thought about it.”
Julian waited.
“Sometimes.”
My heart ached.
Julian nodded slowly.
“That's what I wanted to know.”
Raymond looked up.
“Julian—”
But Julian shook his head.
“You don't have to explain.”
He swallowed.
“I had a father.”
Raymond's face tightened.
“Thomas.”
Julian nodded.
“Yes.”
Then, in a voice so quiet I nearly missed it, he said:
“He may not have given me life, but he taught me what to do with it.”
Raymond didn't answer.
Julian turned away.
And I followed him.
Three weeks later, the first anniversary of Thomas's death approached.
I dreaded it.
Every morning, I still expected to hear him moving around the kitchen.
Sometimes I reached for the telephone before remembering there was nobody to call.
