“With us.”
That seemed to surprise him.
Maybe it surprised me too.
Dad sat again.
“I don’t know.”
For Charles Whitmore, those three words might have been the most difficult sentence in the English language.
I almost smiled.
“You always know.”
“No. I usually decide.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“I’m beginning to notice.”
Another almost-smile.
Then footsteps appeared in the hallway.
Brandon leaned into the doorway.
“Is anyone throwing furniture?”
“No,” I said.
“Disappointing.”
Dad looked at him.
“Come in, Brandon.”
Brandon hesitated.
Then he entered.
Evelyn followed, carrying a tray with coffee no one had requested.
Some family habits were healthier than others.
She placed the tray on the side table.
Dad looked at Brandon.
“You knew Laura had found the records?”
“Yes.”
“And you believe her?”
Brandon’s expression sharpened.
“About not resigning? Of course.”
Dad nodded once.
“I told the board she had.”
“I know.”
“I should not have.”
“No,” Brandon said. “You shouldn’t.”
I looked between them.
Dad seemed surprised by Brandon’s firmness.
So did Brandon.
Evelyn quietly poured coffee.
I suddenly realized that while I had been gone, Brandon had developed his own complicated adulthood under Dad’s expectations.
