For the first time since Ethan died, I felt something other than unbearable emptiness.
I felt grateful.
Because another boy had loved my son enough to stand in front of two hundred people and look foolish.
Just to keep a promise.
After the funeral, Caleb tried to leave quietly.
He had barely reached the chapel doors when I caught up with him.
“Caleb.”
He turned.
His eyes were swollen.
“Mrs. Bennett.”
I looked at the dress.
Now that I understood its meaning, I couldn't imagine him wearing anything else.
“Will you come home with us?”
He hesitated.
“I don't want to bother you.”
My heart ached.
“You could never bother us.”
He glanced toward the parking lot.
Then whispered:
“I don't know how to go into Ethan's room.”
I took his hand.
“Neither do I.”
For a moment, we stood together.
Then he nodded.
“Okay.”
The house was painfully quiet when we returned.
