says again, and he says it so clearly and directly that I feel like something breaks inside me.
“What if I’m not?” My nose is suddenly stuffy again, and I feel like an idiot. But Mr. Jacobson pays me no mind and he keeps messing with those straps that don’t need fixing. “What if the people in this town can never forgive me? What then?”
I feel his beefy hand clamp onto my shoulder. “See, Ethan, that’s the thing. The town doesn’t need to forgive you. You need to forgive yourself.”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure I can.” I finally turn to look at him. He doesn’t blink when he sees how full my eyes are. He looks at me like I’m a man who’s not about to lose his shit. “I killed her.”
“You didn’t kill her, son,” he says, his voice soft like he’s talking to a wild animal that could startle and bolt. “It was a tragic accident.” He shakes his head. “It could have happened to any one of us, but it happened to you, and it’s unfortunate. But you don’t have to give up your life because she lost hers. She wouldn’t want that for you. She’d want you to be happy.”
“Well, she’s the only one,” I say, and I know I sound just like Mitchell did this weekend when I told him he couldn’t have any more marshmallows. I sound petulant and sorry for myself.
He tosses his hands up. “Fuck the rest of them.” He stares at me. He rocks his head from side to side, like he’s thinking something over. “Or you can choose to love the rest of them. Whichever suits you best will be just fine. You can ignore them, or you can embrace them. But that boy is yours, and he will suffer for want of a parent.”
“But my mom—”
He cuts me off. “Your mom is his grandmother. She’s not his mother.”
“What if I don’t know how to be a parent?” I feel like I’m grasping at straws here. I feel like I’m free-sliding down a ladder and can’t catch a rung to pull myself up.
He laughs loud and long, so loud and long that it’s annoying as shit. “Nobody knows how to be a parent, you dipshit,” he says. “We protect them from what can hurt them, and push them toward what can help them, and we love them even when they hate our guts. That’s parenting for you. It’s a thankless job, or at least it seems like it for a while. But I can assure you that almost any parent of an adult child that you talk to will tell you that they spend an awful lot of time trying to get their adult children to come home for a spell. Kids can drive us nuts, it’s true, but we sure do miss them when they’re gone.” He motions for me to follow him as he walks out the door. “C’mon. I want to show you something.”
I follow him down the lane toward Abigail’s cabin, but he stops at the one right next door.
He pulls a key out of his pocket and fits it in the lock, jiggles it a little, and the door clicks open. “I bought this one about twenty years ago. It belonged to a widow who only used it about one week out of the year. She died, and her family didn’t want it, so I volunteered to buy it. Sometimes I let people stay here who are a little down on their luck, and sometimes I rent it out. Depends on what’s needed at the time.” He walks inside and flips on the light switch. “This one needs some paint and some updating, but you could make it yours.”
I look around. It’s laid out just like Abigail’s grandmother’s place. I see it has two bedrooms and a single bathroom, just like hers. The second bedroom isn’t much bigger than a closet, but Mitchell would probably love it. There’s a bunk bed in the room, and I can already imagine him snuggling into the upper bunk as soon as he’s old enough.
“How much?” I ask.
He props himself in the threshold between the kitchen and the living room, his shoulder against the doorjamb. “I had planned to offer it as part of your employment package.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want your charity, Mr. Jacobson.”
“If you knew me at all, you’d know I never give charity. I just give chances.” He holds out the key. I