Ten years ago, his mother had stood in the doorway of his apartment, soaking wet in the rain, telling him with mild sympathy that Marianne had left him for someone else, that a few weeks later there had been an accident, and that there was nothing left to do but move on. Lucas had believed her because it was easier to believe her than to question everything he had learned about loyalty, family, and obedience.
“Dad?” Owen tugged on his sleeve. “My friend from school. He didn’t have any shoes on today, so I gave him mine. The teacher said he shouldn’t, but he needed them more than I did.”
Lucas looked at his son, this child who had inherited the kindness he himself had buried under years of bitterness and silence.
“You did the right thing,” he whispered, kneeling before Eli. “I really did the right thing.”
He took off his coat and, although the air was light, carefully draped it over the child’s shoulders. Then he asked softly:
“Where do you live?”
“On Maple Road,” Eli said. “Near the old tailor shop.”
Lucas closed his eyes. Maple Row was almost an hour away, a quarter of a mile away, and most of his world pretended not to exist.
“Does your mother know you came here?”
Eli shook his head and blinked rapidly.
“He’s going to be angry,” she admitted. “But I had to give the shoes back. We don’t keep things that aren’t ours.”
Something snapped in Lucas, silently but completely.
“Come on,” he said, standing up. “I’ll take you home.”
A door that should never be closed
The drive was quiet, interrupted only by Owen’s curious glances in the rearview mirror and Eli’s careful explanations about school, homework, and the little house with the blue door that had once belonged to his grandmother. Lucas barely heard them. His mind searched through the memories he was trying to forget.
As they rolled in front of the modest house, Lucas’s hand shook on the steering wheel.
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