Nathan stared at him.
“He was a hero, son,” Hollis said. “He was a hero who came home broken. That’s not the same as a bad man. You understand me?”
Ezoic
Nathan nodded slowly.
Ezoic
“He told me about you,” Hollis said. “Last week. At the hospice. He couldn’t talk much. But he told me one thing.” Hollis’s voice cracked. “He said, ‘Hollis, my boy found me. After ten years. My boy took care of me. I didn’t deserve it. But he did it anyway.’”
He put his hand on Nathan’s shoulder.
“He said that was the proudest he’d ever been,” Hollis said. “Prouder than anything he ever did in the war.”
That was a year ago.
Nathan’s seventeen now. A senior.
He still wears the olive green jacket. Every day in the fall and winter. The sleeves are still too long. He won’t get them hemmed.
