He looked away.
I told him about Zoe.
The sandwich.
The biscuits.
The banana.
His expression changed.
“She went without her lunch?”
“Part of it.”
He pressed his hands together.
Then he said quietly, “I never thought you’d mind.”
“You knew I was tired, Joel.”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
“You knew I had an hour’s journey home.”
“Yes.”
“Then what exactly didn’t you know?”
He took a long time to answer.
“How much it hurt you.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak.
Then I asked, “Why did you never ask?”
He stared at the table.
I waited.
“You always managed. Even when I was little.”
“That doesn’t mean I wasn’t tired.”
“I know.”
He swallowed.
“Remember my school concert?”
I glanced toward the spare room.
“Yes.”
“I saved you a chair.”
“You did?”
“I kept looking at the door.”
His voice cracked.
“Dad came. You didn’t.”
