I found him sitting on the curb near the alley.
I did not tell him the incident was not his fault.
I simply sat beside him and started talking about a stray kitten I had discovered beneath our porch.
I told him it hated milk, loved shoelaces, and had bitten my father.
By the time we returned to Arthur’s workshop, Carl was smiling.
I had forgotten that afternoon.
Carl never had.
Mr. Baron placed the letter back into my hands.
I continued reading.
*You spoke to me as though nothing had happened.*
*I was certain one terrible moment had changed how everyone would see me.*
*Then you asked whether I thought the kitten needed a name.*
*You gave me normalcy when pity would have broken me.*
I pressed the paper against my mouth.
Mr. Baron opened his case again.
“This belongs to you.”
He placed a worn leather journal on the table.
