Cody obeyed, sitting on the love seat next to the sofa where Warren sat. A tense weight of silence and knowing formed in the space between them, and Cody searched for the words he’d been practicing on the flight to Boston from Chicago. They were nowhere to be found.

“You a baseball fan?”

The Red Sox were playing the Yankees. Cody watched the games when he was off, but he wouldn’t call himself a fan. He gave Warren a shrug.

JoEllen returned with a bottle of cold water and handed it to Cody.

“Thank you.” He uncapped the bottle and took a swig. He hadn’t realized until that moment that his mouth was dry, like he was chewing on sandpaper.

JoEllen stood there, seemingly unsure as to whether or not she was invited to this conversation. “How are things?” she finally asked.

Cody set the bottle on the coffee table and leaned toward Warren, elbows on his knees. “You put up the memorial on the beach, right?”

Warren paused the television, a surprised expression on his face. He pressed his lips into a tight line and nodded.

“And the letter on the back of it?”

“My sad attempt at alleviating my guilt.”

“Did it work?”

He sighed. “No. I knew telling the truth was the only way to do that.”

“So you feel better now that it’s out?” Cody kept his tone neutral, like a journalist looking for facts.

Warren shook his head. “I feel—” he searched for the word, eyes scanning the ceiling—“unburdened, I guess. But I know it’s only the beginning. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness or your mother’s, but I’ve got to learn to forgive myself and find some peace. I’m going to have a check sent to your mother—”

“She won’t cash it.”

“She has to.”

There was a pause then, and Cody willed himself to continue. “You and my dad were close.”

“The closest.”

“You meant a lot to him.”

Warren went still. “I know.”

“I understand why he gave you the money. I’d do the same for a friend, especially one I loved. But what I don’t understand is how you could keep it all a secret, even after my mom came to you.”

Warren let out a sad sigh. “It’s the single biggest regret of my life. I should’ve taken care of you all. I should’ve made sure your mom lived the way Daniel wanted her to. I was a coward. I was a fool. I see that now, and I understand if you hate me.” His plea seemed genuine.

“I don’t hate you,” Cody said after a moment of silence. “I don’t hate you, because my father loved you. And love means—” he shrugged—“second chances. In spite of our mistakes.”

Warren broke—a sob escaped seemingly against his will. It was uncomfortable, seeing this man break down in front of him.