“You don't have to earn a place in my life, Julian.”
He sobbed.
For a long time, we stood beside my car beneath the porch light.
Then he whispered:
“Thank you.”
I smiled through tears.
“No, sweetheart.”
I hugged him tighter.
“Thank you.”
The next morning, I called Celia.
“I've made a decision about the property Thomas left in the trust.”
She sounded curious.
“The original store?”
“Yes.”
“What would you like to do?”
I looked at the architectural plans spread across my kitchen table.
“Something better than a store.”
Then I told her about Julian's workshop.
About the teenagers.
About Lucy.
About the people Thomas and I had helped when we were young.
And about the phrase I'd written almost fifty years earlier.
If there's room at the table, there's room for one more.
Celia listened.
Then she said:
“That sounds like a substantial project.”
I smiled.
“It will be.”
