Theo came home after his first difficult year at college.
He had passed most of his classes.
One project needed resubmission.
He had made new friends and argued with a roommate.
He had learned to cook three meals and burn a fourth.
He also admitted that some nights grief arrived without warning.
“I thought moving away would make it easier,” he said.
We sat on the porch while Daniel watered the garden.
“Did it?” I asked.
“Sometimes. And sometimes I just missed him somewhere different.”
I nodded.
“That makes sense.”
Theo told me he had continued seeing a counselor through the college support service.
He was learning how to notice when exhaustion turned into isolation.
He was also trying to make plans without imagining whether Jack would approve.
“It's strange,” he said. “We planned everything together when we were kids.”
“Most childhood plans change,” I answered.
“He didn't get the chance to change his.”
“No.”
Theo looked at his hands.
“I still feel guilty when something good happens.”
I thought carefully before answering.
“I'm not going to tell you not to feel guilty. But I hope you'll keep telling people when something good happens.”
He smiled slightly.
“I got offered a part-time job.”
“Doing what?”
“Helping new students with the workshop equipment.”
“That sounds perfect for you.”
He shrugged but looked pleased.
In the afternoon Daniel asked Theo to help repair a loose shelf in the garage.
They worked together for half an hour.
Then they abandoned the shelf and talked about the old fishing trip that had ended with Jack dropping his shoe into a creek.
I heard them laughing from the kitchen.
That evening Theo stayed for dinner.
He sat in his old chair.
Nobody commented on it.
We discussed college and his plans for the summer.
He had been invited on a short trip with friends.
The dates overlapped with the anniversary of Jack’s death.
He looked uncomfortable mentioning it.
Daniel recognized the hesitation.
“You should go if you want to,” he said.
Theo stared at him.
“Are you sure?”
“I'm sure that we can remember Jack without checking where you are that day.”
Theo let out a long breath.
“Thanks.”
After dinner I showed him the latest edition of the booklet.
He looked at the added pages.
One had his story about hospital meals.
He read it and laughed.
“I forgot I wrote that.”
“It's good.”
“It's not as funny as Jack would have made it.”
“Perhaps not.”
Theo looked up in surprise.
I smiled.
“He was difficult to compete with.”
We both laughed.
Before leaving, Theo asked whether he could take the old framed photograph of the two boys dressed for a school dance.
Jack wore a jacket two sizes too big.
Theo had a tie crooked enough to look deliberate.
I gave it to him.
He thanked me and slid it into his backpack.
At the door he paused.
“Do you ever wish I'd worn something else to the funeral?”
I looked at him.
“Sometimes I wish you hadn't needed to attend his funeral at all.”
His face softened.
“But no,” I said. “I don't wish you'd worn something else.”
He nodded.
“I nearly changed in the car.”
“What stopped you?”
“I remembered how much he laughed when we planned it.”
I reached for his hand.
“Then I'm glad you remembered.”
After he left, Daniel came into the hall.
“Was he okay?”
“He's finding his way.”
“So are we,” Daniel said.
We stood together looking at the closed door.
I knew we could not keep every part of the past.
But the relationships Jack had helped build were not finished simply because his life was.
When Theo visited at the end of the semester, he asked to see the room that used to belong to him.
We had never formally given it another name.
It was still the small room near the stairs with pale blue curtains and a bookshelf he had built with Daniel.
He opened the door and stood looking around.
“It feels smaller,” he said.
“You've grown,” I answered.
He smiled.
The shelves held a few childhood books and a box of old photographs.
There was a cracked football trophy and a shoebox full of tickets from concerts and school events.
Theo sat on the bed and opened the shoebox.
One ticket was from a film he and Jack had gone to see three times.
I remembered being unable to understand why they liked it.
Theo held the ticket between two fingers.
“Can I keep these?”
“Of course.”
“Even the old ones?”
“They're yours.”
He looked at me.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded.
I wanted him to know that belongings and access were not bargaining chips.
He could keep something without promising to visit more often.
He placed the tickets in his bag.
Then he asked whether we would mind if he did not stay overnight anymore.
He had friends in town and wanted to spend the evening with them.
I felt a familiar tug of sadness.
But I said what I meant.
“Go. Have a good time.”
Theo looked relieved.
Before leaving, he helped me carry a box into the attic.
Inside were some of the clothes he had outgrown.
We agreed to keep a few things and donate the rest.
He chose an old sweatshirt Jack had once borrowed and never returned.
“I'm taking this back,” he said.
“You're about six years late.”
“I'm charging interest.”
We laughed.
After he went out with friends, Daniel asked whether I felt sad about him leaving so quickly.
“Yes,” I said. “And I'm glad he has somewhere to go.”
Daniel understood.
We had once imagined the two boys coming back to our house forever, bringing friends, jobs, families, and all the strange complications of adulthood.
Only one could do that now.
We were determined not to make him apologize for being the one who remained.
Later Theo sent a photograph from a crowded café.
He looked happy.
I placed my phone face down and returned to my book.
For the first time I did not wait for another message.
He was allowed to enjoy the evening.
I was allowed to enjoy mine.
It was a quiet kind of trust, and we had all worked hard to reach it.
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: The Anniversary of Jack’s Death and the Last Letter We Finally Understood
The Red Dress in the Funeral Chapel and the Promise Our Son Had Kept from Us
Part 14 of 16
