“Then we will handle that if it happens,” I said, my finger hovering over the blue send button.
“He doesn’t deserve to walk back into this house like nothing happened,” she said.
I clicked the button anyway. The screen flickered, and the status bar at the bottom updated.
“It’s sent,” I said.
The living room was cool and dim, the blinds pulled tight against the midday Ohio heat. I went in to gather the empty glasses and found Ethan standing near the oak bookcase in the corner.
He was holding the silver-plated frame that usually sat on the top shelf, behind the old encyclopedias. Inside was a photograph from twelve years ago, taken at the county fair.
Jordan was holding Ethan on his shoulders, both of them laughing, the sun catching the gold medal Jordan had won at the regional track meet thirty years ago.
“Ethan?” I said.
He didn’t jump. He slowly set the frame back on the shelf, his fingers lingering on the glass.
“Does he still have those?” Ethan asked, his voice low and mature, too old for fifteen.
“His track medals?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe. “I think he kept them in his new apartment. He wanted them for his study.”
Ethan cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing in the quiet room. He didn’t look at me, keeping his eyes on the dust motes floating in the thin strip of sunlight between the curtains.
“He said he was going to give them to me when I turned fifteen,” Ethan said.
“We can ask him about them when he comes,” I said, trying to offer a small, reassuring smile that felt heavy on my face.
Ethan looked away, his expression closing up. He walked past me without another word, his bare feet silent on the rug.
I stood alone in the dim room, looking at the silver frame.
My laptop on the dining table chirped, a single high-pitched note indicating a new message
