That was almost three years ago. And slowly, everything went quiet. The barbecue invitations stopped. The phone calls became once a year, on the anniversary, and on Caleb’s birthday, and I never answered those either.
I told myself we were moving on.
What I was really doing was locking us both in a very small, very quiet house.
The morning of the assembly, Caleb came downstairs wearing a button up shirt.
A real one. Light blue, with a collar. I didn’t even know he owned it. It was a little too big in the shoulders, and the sleeves were rolled up twice.
It took me a minute to recognize it.
It was David’s.
I stood at the counter with the coffee pot in my hand and couldn’t say anything for a while.
Caleb poured himself cereal like nothing was strange. He didn’t look at me.
