Ezoic
Greg looked at him. He knew what later meant.
Ezoic
“Okay,” he said quietly.
Then he looked past Cole. At Denise.
“You’re Cole’s mom,” he said.
“Denise,” she said.
“Denise.” Greg tried to sit up a little. He couldn’t. “I’m sorry. For your son lying to you. For your weekends. For tonight. That’s on me. All of it. He’s a good kid. The best. He made me soup every Saturday. From scratch. He said his mom taught him.”
Denise put her hand over her mouth.
“He told me it was for a girlfriend,” she said.
“I’m the girlfriend,” Greg said.
Cole laughed. Through tears. Denise laughed too. She couldn’t help it.
They moved Greg to a hospice unit two days later. At the VA. On the fourth floor. A private room with a window that looked out at the trees turning orange and red.
