He exhaled.
“Is this about Sunday?”
“Sunday helped me realize some things.”
He hesitated.
“Christa feels bad about what happened.”
I waited.
“She didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
“What did she mean, Owen?”
Silence.
I could hear the television in the background.
Then Christa said something I couldn’t quite understand.
“Mom,” Owen sighed.
I recognized that tone.
He wanted me to make the problem disappear.
For years, I had.
This time, I didn’t.
“You don’t need to solve everything tonight,” I told him. “But my financial decisions are mine to make.”
We ended the call politely.
Over the following days, Owen sent a few brief messages.
I responded kindly.
Christa said nothing.
Until Friday afternoon.
I was in my backyard preparing the garden for winter when I heard a vehicle pull into the driveway.
Christa’s white SUV.
She climbed out quickly and walked toward my front door.
