Hank’s voice barely worked.
“Five years.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he…”
Emma waited.
Hank stopped himself.
He had no right to finish the question.
Why didn’t Daniel call?
Why didn’t Daniel come back?
Why didn’t Daniel repair what Hank had broken too?
Eight years offered plenty of chances to both men.
Neither had taken one.
Emma spoke softly.
“We’re leaving tomorrow.”
Hank looked at her.
“My sister has room for us in Toledo.”
“You’re moving?”
“Yes.”
“What about his job?”
Emma’s expression tightened.
“Hank.”
He understood too late.
Of course.
Daniel no longer had a job.
“Sorry.”
“I know.”
“Eli’s school?”
“His records are already transferred.”
Hank looked at the envelope again.
“You came the day before you leave.”
“I almost didn’t.”
“Why?”
Emma looked toward her son.
“Because I was angry.”
“At me?”
“Yes.”
Hank nodded.
Fair.
“I’m still angry.”
“Also fair.”
“But Daniel wrote your name on that envelope.”
She pushed it forward.
“I didn’t want to carry it to Ohio.”
Hank finally touched it.
He traced the H with one thumb.
“Was he happy?”
Emma’s face softened.
“Often.”
Hank waited.
“He loved teaching.”
Hank frowned.
“Teaching?”
“Art.”
The word landed strangely.
Emma watched recognition become regret.
“He taught art at Maple Ridge Elementary.”
Hank looked toward the counter.
Eli was using a straw wrapper to demonstrate something to Ruth.
“Danny actually finished?”
“Yes.”
Hank leaned back.
Daniel had wanted to attend art school at seventeen.
Hank had told him he needed a real plan.
Daniel enrolled in community college anyway.
Then left.
Hank assumed he had abandoned the idea.
Emma seemed to know exactly what Hank was thinking.
“He finished the courses.”
Hank said nothing.
“He earned his certification.”
Still nothing.
“He taught hundreds of children.”
Hank looked down.
Emma added, “He worked weekends at a sign shop too, before you ask how we paid for anything.”
Hank closed his mouth.
She almost smiled.
“Some things he could predict.”
“Apparently.”
“He was good at it.”
“I bet.”
“He could ruin pancakes.”
That surprised him.
“What?”
“Completely destroy them.”
Hank laughed before he could stop himself.
Emma’s eyes filled.
“He would make them too thick. Outside burned, inside raw.”
“He always turned the heat up too high.”
“You told him that?”
“About nine hundred times.”
“He never learned.”
“No.”
Emma nodded.
“He would still make breakfast every Sunday.”
Hank’s laughter disappeared.
“He had a son. Work he cared about. Friends. A home.”
She paused.
“He was happy.”
Hank stared at the envelope.
“Good.”
“He missed you too.”
Hank closed his eyes.
“Both things were true.”
Eli returned with lemonade in both hands.
Ruth followed with two plates.
She put one in front of Emma.
“I didn’t order.”