The Final Appraisal at the Lake House Before the Family Reckoning

bed.

For the first time in years, my son looked tired enough to be truthful.

“I’m sorry I spoke to Ruth that way.”

“Tell Ruth.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

He stared at the floor.

“Do you hate me?”

The question hit me harder than all his accusations.

“No, Mark.”

“I might hate me a little.”

“Don’t make a home there.”

He looked at me.

I said, “Shame is a bad house. Drafty.continue reading …