His brother lowered his head.
Theo glanced at the note.
“’Third, don’t let my funeral be the first time you lie to me just because I’m not there to call you out.’”
He stopped reading.
For a moment, the only sound was the quiet hum of the air conditioner.
Then Theo looked toward me.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Harris. I should have told you before today. I wanted to, but every time I tried, I couldn’t find the words.”
I stood halfway out of my seat.
He immediately looked frightened.
“I didn’t want to upset you. I know how much you’re hurting.”
I looked at this young man who had been part of our family for eleven years.
I saw the boy who had eaten cereal at our kitchen table, slept in our spare room, and sat beside my son through treatments that most adults would struggle to endure.
And I realized that he had been carrying this promise alone.
