I saw Clare every six weeks or so after that. Coffee, civil, sometimes even warm. Not siblings the way we’d once been. Not strangers either. Progress, slow but real. Tyler became the bridge between us in the truest sense. He visited monthly. One afternoon he played me a song he’d written called I Broke Something. The lyrics were simple. I broke something that wasn’t mine, he sang, his voice cracking with early puberty. Said I was sorry, but it took some time. Now I’m learning what it means to think before I act, keep my conscience clean. I listened with wet eyes and pretended they weren’t wet. That’s really good, I told him. Is it true you sank Derek’s car, he asked. I was honest with him. Yeah, I said. Was it because of me, he asked. No, I told him. Because of him. Your family taught me about consequences. I applied the lesson back. Tyler considered that for a while, then nodded. Mom says you were right to leave, he said. She says sometimes family breaks you and you have to save yourself. I was surprised Clare had told him that. Yeah, I said. Your mom’s learning. Me too, Tyler said. The kid was going to be okay. The cycle had a crack running through it now, and maybe that was exactly where the light would get in.
My Nephew Smashed My $7,000 Gibson and Everyone Said “He’s Just a Child”—Then I Saw His Dad’s Mercedes Outside
