“Your dad once tried making Thanksgiving dessert without following the recipe. It was a pumpkin pie. Or it was supposed to be.”
Nathan laughed.
“Was it terrible?”
“Awful. He insisted the black crust was intentional.”
He gazed at his father’s smiling face.
“Tell me something else.”
I settled beside him and began sharing memories I’d kept locked away, without inventing another excuse to end the conversation.
***
The next Saturday, I took Nathan to Frank’s house myself. I’d arranged the visit, and Denise had permitted Cole to join them for the afternoon. Frank waited outside to welcome us.
“I want to apologize properly, Laura.”
“Then help us make things different,” I said. “Nathan needs his grandfather. But you have to respect that I’m his mother.”
Frank nodded.
“I will.”
Inside, Cole was waiting near the workbench. Nathan went over to him.
“I’m sorry I made you keep lying.”
