Then he headed toward the door.
“Don’t become me, son.”
He glanced around the enormous house.
“It gets very lonely in a place this big.”
After Dad left, Roland asked me what he should do.
“I’ll do anything.”
I looked down at Wren.
“Figure out who your family is.”
“You and Wren are my family.”
“Then why weren’t we at the table?”
He had no answer.
I stayed with my father.
Roland started seeing a family therapist on his own.
After his first appointment, he called me.
“She asked me to draw my family.”
He gave a weak laugh.
“Like a kid. With crayons.”
He said he had drawn Beverly in the center.
Large.
Faye beside her.
Aunt Glenda nearby.
Then he drew me and Wren in a corner.
Small.
Away from everyone.
“I didn’t even realize what I had done until she showed me.”
His voice went quiet.
“And I thought: that’s the dinner.”
Seven plates.
His mother in the center.
His wife and daughter not at the table.
“I’m going to draw it again,” he said.
“Next week.”
“And again after that.”
“Until I get it right.”
He came to see Wren every other day.
