He stood next to my father at that graveside and neither of them said a word to each other for the entire service, and then afterward, in the parking lot, my father put a hand on the back of my brother’s neck for about two seconds.
That was it. That was the reconciliation.
After that they talked on the phone maybe once a month, about nothing, for four years.
Which Brings Me Back to the Red Suit
After the burial, my father’s attorney came across the grass toward us.
Arthur Lawson. He’d handled Dad’s legal work for almost thirty years. He did the incorporation papers. He did the will. He did my mother’s estate.He is not a man who shows surprise. In thirty years I have seen that man’s expression change exactly twice, and once was at my mother’s funeral.
He Stopped Walking
About fifteen feet away.
His eyes went straight to my brother’s jacket and stayed there.
“Where did you get that suit?”
Eric Frowned
“Why?”“Please. Just tell me where you found it.”
Eric hesitated.
