“I’ll help.”
I almost said no.
Then I looked at Dorothy’s notebook.
Pride had already cost our family enough time.
“All right.”
By afternoon, Calvin and I were sitting at my kitchen table with the notebook between us.
It was the first time in years we had been alone together for more than a few minutes.
He looked around.
“Nothing has changed.”
“Dorothy would disagree.”
“She changed furniture every six months.”
I smiled despite myself.
“She believed sofas became bored.”
Calvin laughed.
For one brief second, we were the men we had been before the accident.
Then the silence returned.
He opened his laptop.
“I brought everything you asked for.”
He had seven folders.
One for each year of the money I had sent.
School tuition.
After-school programs.
Dental bills.
Summer camps.
Clothing.
Groceries.
A college savings account.
There were even receipts from the art classes Ava had begged to take when she was five.
