I took the envelope. It felt heavier than paper.
“Why didn’t you reach out sooner?” I asked. “It’s been over a year.”
Anger and guilt tangled together in my chest.
He exhaled slowly.
“Didn’t have your number,” he said. “Didn’t even have mine half the time. Lost the house. Phone got cut off. Mail kept bouncing around. The VA lost my file twice and blamed me.”
He jerked his head toward the van.
“Been living in that while waiting for the pension.”
Then he added quietly,
“Bennett told me one more thing. Said, ‘If something happens, don’t let Caleb disappear.’”
That hit like a punch.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “That sounds like him.”
“He said you’d act fine,” Graham continued. “Said you’d just keep driving until there was nowhere left to go.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Mooney licked his wrist gently, whining softer now.
“You eaten today?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” Graham said automatically.
“That’s not what I asked.”
His jaw tightened.
So I changed tactics.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll buy dinner. You tell me one story about Bennett I don’t know. Trade. Not charity.”
He studied me, then snorted.
“You sound like him,” he said. “Fine. Trade.”
We went into the small diner attached to the gas station.
The waitress knew me and pretended not to notice Mooney curling up beneath the table beside Graham’s boots.
We ordered soup and terrible coffee.
After a while, Graham spoke.
“He ever sing around you?”
“Bennett?” I said. “Only when he wanted to torture me.”
Graham chuckled.
“He did the same thing at home. When he was a kid, every time he washed dishes, he’d sing. Loud and completely off-key. Drove his mama crazy.”
His smile faded a little.
“After she died, he kept doing it. Said it made the house feel less quiet.”
