He didn’t ask what it would cost.
He just knelt down and gave it.
That’s who my son is.
I didn’t know. Not until he walked through my front door at 4:37 in the morning with blood on his hands and his father’s name on his chest.
I keep Greg’s letter in my nightstand drawer.
Ezoic
The four pages. Folded in half. Soft at the edges.
Ezoic
I put the cashier’s check in Nathan’s college fund. Eight thousand, four hundred and twelve dollars. I told him where it came from.
He didn’t say anything when I told him. He just went up to his room.
A little while later, I heard the guitar through the wall.
Friends in Low Places.
He wasn’t terrible.
Some nights, when I can’t sleep, I take the letter out and read the last page.
He used to put his hand on my face while I sang. On my cheek. Like he was feeling the song come out.
