“I’ll keep working on it.”
Mia
“When Mama cooks, we clean,” Leo says, his hands on his knees as he squats down to Benny’s eye level. “Deal?”
Our son’s gaze shifts to the open dishwasher, then to the sink, and then back to Leo. “Deal.” They bump fists. “What happens if I cook?” Benny asks him.
Leo thinks about this a beat. “Then we—your mom and dad—clean up after.”
Benny nods at this, comprehending. “Did you know that the earth’s crust is made of rock?”
I contain my giggle while Leo hides his frustrated sigh behind an overly dramatic grin. “I did not know that,” he says, standing to full height. He starts to clear the table while I sit at the kitchen counter, watching father and son.
“Do you like bread crusts?”
“I don’t not like them,” Leo says, handing Benny a stack of empty bowls.
“I’m confused.” Benny walks over to the dishwasher.
“What are you confused about?”
“Mama always says that I’m not allowed to eat rocks, but if the earth’s crust is made of rocks, and I eat the bread crusts, then…” His head slants. “What is an earth?”
Leo busts out a laugh. “We’ll have to get you some more books, huh?”
Benny responds by nodding, his eyes as wide as his smile. “I like the books you get me.”
“I like that you like books… son.”
Benny looks out the window. “The sun’s gone home for the day. It’s dark now.”
After dinner, Leo showers and changes out of his uniform—boo—and then he and Benny head out to the porch to work on the porch swing. I sit across the steps, playing music from my phone. The playlist is old. Nine years old, to be exact, and I wonder if Leo realizes that it has all the songs we used to listen to when we were kids. I watch as Leo goes through the tools with our son, revealing his patience as he shows him how to use each one. On his knees, he stands behind Benny with a drill in his hand, letting him pull the trigger. Benny squeals when it whirs to life, and he tells him, “See? It’s like a smaller version of an auger driller they use at the quarries.”
“But it goes into wood instead of rock,” Benny confirms.
His lips curve. “How did you get this smart?”
Benny grins. “Let’s do another one!”
In my head, I picture Leo at this age, a version of Benny with blue eyes, looking up at Mr. Preston the way our son looks at him—as if he carried the world on his shoulders, and that world is safe and filled with nothing but good. It’s the way I used to look at Papa.
I wonder if Logan Preston ever looked at his dad that way. It must have destroyed him when he was forced to realize that the world has shadowed corners filled with darkness and evil. And evil doesn’t care how old you are or how much you’ll hurt.
The world is far from perfect, and maybe that was my problem.
Mahatma Gandhi once said that no human being is so bad as to be beyond redemption.
I disagree.
The man who took Logan’s innocence is far beyond it.
Two teenage boys who were hurting and struggling to deal with their pain? They’re not so bad. Sure, they said some pretty nasty stuff, but they’re not perfect. I guess, in my head, I always saw them that way—this perfect family filled with love, loyalty, and brotherhood. I never once stopped to consider them as kids—which is what they were. They were kids, and they were troubled and wounded and damaged, and up until that time, Papa made it a point to hide the things in this world that would allow me to feel the same. Lucas and Logan had no choice.
Through the speakers, “I Can See Clearly Now” by Johnny Nash is replaced with “At Last” by Etta James, and it instantly brings on more thoughts of Papa. A knot lodges in my throat as I watch Benny holding two pieces of wood together while Leo screws them into place. Gosh, what would Papa think about Benny? He would dote on him just like he did me. He would love him, treasure him, go on so many rock-hunting adventures no matter how tired he was.
Leo’s eyes snap to mine, and it’s only now I realize I’m crying. I try to smile, to assure him that I’m okay, but it’s hard. So hard. “Hang on, buddy,” Leo tells Benny, standing to full height. He walks over to me,