There it was.
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“What did you do?”
“One night I told him if Hawaii was so perfect, maybe he should’ve stayed there. That’s when he told me about the foster home.”
“What did you do?”
Mom looked toward the blue chair.
“I’d thought I was competing with beaches and palm trees.”
Her voice lowered.
“I found out I was competing with the first place he’d ever been sure dinner would include him.”
“Mom.”
“I apologized,” she said.
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“I’d thought I was competing with beaches and palm trees.”
“Did he forgive you?”
“Immediately.”
“So you stopped him from going back?”
Her head snapped toward me.
“No.”
The answer came so quickly I believed it.
“I spent years trying to get him to go.”
“Did he forgive you?”
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She suggested it when I was ten.
Dad said we couldn’t afford it.
She suggested it after his promotion.
He said work was too busy.
