She didn’t get it. Nobody needed to.
Mark helped her down the driveway. The suitcase wheels clacked on the gravel, a piece of clothing still hanging out the side.
Tyler stood next to me and said, quiet:
“Dad.”
Mark paused. He didn’t turn around.
He kept walking Diane out.
The gate closed behind them.
I turned and looked at the lawn.
Red paper still scattered around the lounge chair, piece by piece, like evidence from the explosion.
Tyler let go of my shirt.
“Can I help you pick it up?”
I looked at him for a second.
“Pick it up. Every piece.”
“And then?”
“Then go inside and wash your hands.”
He crouched and picked up the first scrap of red paper.
“I didn’t take Grandma’s fifty dollars.”
“I know.”
I stood at the edge of the patio, put the phone in my own pocket, and shut the kitchen door behind me.
