My Son Brought

said.

“Good. I’m too old to be assigned homework.”

Despite myself, I smiled.

Then she said, more gently, “How’s the boy?”

The boy.

But from Aunt Beth, it sounded affectionate, not dismissive.

“He’s okay.”

“Is he?”

I looked toward Caleb’s closed bedroom door.

“He’s getting there.”

“He always was a good kid.”

Tears sprang to my eyes.

“Yes. He is.”

“I still have that continue reading …