Sorry, Mom. I made you dinner.
I stood there in the dark kitchen holding that note.
Then I went upstairs and stood outside his door. I could hear music playing very softly. I raised my hand to knock. I held it there.
I didn’t knock. I didn’t know what I would say.
I went to bed and lay awake staring at the ceiling, and around two in the morning I heard his door open and his footsteps go down the hall to the bathroom and come back. They paused outside my door for a long time. I held my breath.
Then they went away.
The next morning, I drove Sam to school like nothing had happened.
He got in the car with his backpack and his hockey bag, out of habit, and then looked at the hockey bag in his own hands like he didn’t know why he’d brought it.
