“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
I nodded.
Then our counselor asked him what he thought would happen if his family knew how much I had been contributing.
Neil took longer.
“They’d think I couldn’t provide.”
“Couldn’t provide what?”
“The life Dad provided.”
I looked at him.
“Your father worked himself into two heart attacks.”
Neil gave a startled laugh.
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
Frank had died at sixty-eight.
He had been generous.
He had also believed rest was laziness.
Maybe family traditions carry more than recipes.
Neil rubbed his forehead.
“I spent years trying to look like him.”
“And I spent years helping you do it.”
“Yes.”
“Neither of us asked whether that was healthy.”
“No.”
That was the shape of our recovery.
Not one apology.
Not one breakthrough.
A hundred smaller corrections.
Neil began telling his family no himself.
When Ryan asked if we could front money for a spring golf weekend, Neil said it was not in our budget.
When Colleen asked me to book a summer beach house for twelve people, Neil answered before I could.
“If everyone wants it, everyone can pay.”
Colleen complained.
He let her.
That was new.
