His voice gave out. He stood there and waited for it to come back.
“You had a father at your graduation because of that woman. And I never told you her name, because I figured it was mine to carry. That’s on me, son. That one’s on me.”
Kyle turned to my mother. He had to try twice before anything came out.
“Mrs. Hagen. I’m sorry.”
“I know you are,” she said. “Right now you are. I want you sorry in a month. It’ll be worth something then.”
Gary came over while people were getting back into their cars. He was a big, slow man with a gray beard and forearms like fence posts. He looked down at the pan in my hands, and then he looked up at me.
“You’re Shirley’s boy,” he said.
I had spent most of my life trying to be something other than that. Something bigger. Something with the word regional in it.
