“And so what’s it for, though? What’s that container contain, huh?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Can’t you tell your pa?” Henry asked. “You can trust me, you know.”

The boy looked him dead in the eyes. Henry was sure he would up and die if he didn’t get to hug him soon, but he locked his arms into planks at his sides. Couldn’t force this, couldn’t rush it.

“Wouldn’t be much of a secret if I did, would it, Dad?”

Evidently Michelle hadn’t listened, had clearly continued referring to Henry as Dad in spite of his singular, do-re-mi simple request. In time he would teach the boy, but right now he didn’t want to skewer this fragile exchange with a correction. He knew better than that, had to dam this deluge of emotions behind an anodyne smile. He did, however, want that hug. He did his best to wring the meek out of his voice when asking the boy if he could please, pretty please, have one?

The boy looked back at Michelle. She nodded like she’d done to Henry years ago, back when this magnificent creature had been growing inside her. Go ahead. The boy shuffled, knee by knee, across the mattress and into Henry’s arms.

The levy snapped. Henry spilled. He squeezed the boy tight, desperate, as if clawing after everything that was suddenly gushing out of him. He sobbed and gasped and moaned and laughed, because, at long last, he’d finally made it home.

After the boy and Michelle had pried themselves free, it didn’t take much to get Henry drunk. She hadn’t even asked if he wanted a drink. Just went ahead and filled two old jelly jars with Jim Beam, clanked them, said welcome back, then got started in the kitchen. Before the first sip, the fumes alone sent him reeling. He steeled himself, mentally promising Michelle and Junior just this one. He deserved just this one.

Conversation was sparse, the living room dim. After failing to eke out any information about kindergarten or the boy’s favorite games or animals or colors or movies, Henry took down the bourbon in a single gulp, fiery and delightful. While debating a refill, he joined Michelle in the kitchenette. She was slicing hot dogs on the countertop with a meat cleaver. Next to a box of store-brand mac’n’cheese, blue flames stroked a pot of water.