Silence.
Not even the wind.
Nineteen people and a four-year-old and nobody made a sound.
Kyle’s hand loosened on my arm.
It didn’t let go.
Gene moved then.
Not fast.
He just put one big hand over Kyle’s wrist, the way you’d steady a ladder.
“Son,” he said. “Let go of your mother.”
“You don’t tell me—”
“I’m not telling you. I’m asking you. In front of your sister and your children.”
“And then I’m going to ask you one more thing.”
Kyle let go.
Gene didn’t.
“The letter,” Gene said. “The one you sent back.”
“You wrote on the outside. Did you ever open it?”
Kyle’s jaw worked.
“No.”
“It said I’d sold Mercer Electric for enough that I’d never need a dime of anybody’s.”
“It said I’d sign anything your mother’s lawyer wanted before I so much as held her hand.”
“It said I’d like to build her a ramp, and would he help me.”
