done that for you.”
Owen’s eyes closed.
“Me too.”
Frank looked down.
“I wish somebody had done it for me.”
The two men sat quietly.
Then Owen leaned forward and hugged his father.
I closed the door gently and went into the kitchen.
I stood over the sink removing popcorn from my hair.
Twenty-three pieces.
I counted.
The next morning, Frank remembered none of the conversation.
He called me “the girl.”
Asked where his wife was.
Complained about the coffee.
Owen gently reminded him his mother had died four years
