Nathan turned to me.
“Was he?”
“He talked about you constantly before you were even born.”
This time, I shared another memory without waiting to be asked.
***
Three weeks later, the rocking chair stood in our living room. Frank had moved, and Nathan kept some tools, the drawer, and Michael’s notebook.
Cole apologized to Denise. The boys remained friends, although the argument still mattered. Overnight visits were prohibited; honest plans and answered calls slowly rebuilt our trust. I had work to do, too.
***
One evening, Nathan found me beside the chair.
“Does it work, Mom?”
“Come see.”
I sat in it and rocked gently. Nathan smiled.
“Grandpa said Dad once ruined a table because he cut one leg too short.”
I laughed at the memory.
“He did. We ate dinner at that crooked table for months.”
“Why didn’t he fix it?”
“He said he would. Then he started another project.”
