Chapter 7: What He Kept
Three weeks later, Mason came home from school and set a folded piece of paper on the kitchen table.
I was making dinner.
I looked at it but didn't pick it up.
"What's that?"
"Read it."
I wiped my hands on a dish towel and unfolded it.
It was a printed email — from David.
Short.
Four paragraphs.
The first one said he had spoken with a family attorney about establishing a formal education trust for Mason, to supplement whatever scholarship didn't cover.
The second said there were no conditions attached.
The third said he understood if Mason didn't want contact beyond this.
The fourth said he was sorry.
Not in a large way.
Just: *I am sorry.
I know that doesn't fix anything.
I wanted to say it in writing so you had it.*
I refolded the paper and set it down.
"What do you want to do with it?" I asked.
Mason was leaning against the counter.
"I already replied."
"What did you say?"
"I said thank you for the trust.
I said I'd think about the contact." He paused.
"I said I wasn't angry at him."
I turned back to the stove.
"Are you?" Mason asked.
"Am I what?"
"Angry at him."
I stirred the pan.
The smell of garlic filled the kitchen.
Outside, a car passed slowly on the wet street.
"I was," I said.
"For a long time."
"And now?"
I thought about David in the empty stadium.
The way he had looked at the pitch before he left.
*I missed everything important.* The way he had said it — not fishing for absolution.
Just stating a fact he had finally stopped arguing with.
"Now I think he's going to have to live with what he did," I said.
"And I think that's enough."
Mason was quiet for a moment.
Then: "He asked about you.
In the email.
He asked how you were doing."
I looked up.
"I told him you were good," Mason said.
"I told him you'd just been offered a service manager position at the garage.
That you'd probably say no because you like working with your hands." He almost smiled.
"Was that okay?"
"That's accurate," I said.
"I know." He pushed off the counter.
"I'm going to shower before dinner."
He was halfway to the hallway when I said, "Mason."
He stopped.
"The trust," I said.
"If he sets it up — take it.
Don't let pride get in the way of your future because of something that happened between him and me."
Mason looked at me for a moment.
"It didn't happen between him and you, Dad.
It happened to me."
I held his gaze.
"And I'm the one deciding what to do with it," he said.
Not hard.
Not angry.
Just clear.
He went to shower.
I turned back to the stove.
The garlic had gone a shade too dark.
I turned the heat down and scraped the pan and started again.
May you like
The folded email was still on the table.
I didn't move it.
