“You have a son,” my mother says. “You see your child in pain, and you would do whatever you need to do to make him happy. That is what I was trying to do.”

“The things you said about Kallie were horrible,” Charlotte says. She shakes her head. “Never once did I say anything about Jacob. Not one time did I throw anything in your face. I can forgive, but I’m not going to forget. I just can’t.”

“Mom.” Kallie wraps an arm around her.

“No,” she says. “For eight years, you were gone. We didn’t have you for Christmas, we didn’t have you for birthdays, we had nothing. I had to sit down on Christmas Day and have an empty chair, and I couldn’t do or say anything to anyone. I’m not going to do that anymore. I will not let her chase you away.”

“I won’t,” my mother whispers. “I won’t. I’m so sorry, Kallie.” She looks down now. “But you didn’t just run from Jacob, you ran from me, too. You were like a daughter to me, and you just cut me out.” She wipes tears from her eyes. “I lost a daughter that day also, and I know I should have reached out, and I should have done so many things differently, and for that I’m sorry.” She looks at Charlotte. “To both of you.”

“Thank you,” Kallie says. “I wish I could go back eight years, and things would be different, but we all made choices that day, and we all have to live with them.”

“Well, this has been exhausting,” Billy finally says and walks over to the liquor cabinet and takes out his bottle of whiskey. Pouring himself a shot, he drinks it and then pours another. He walks over and takes out more shot glasses and fills them and lifts one. “To Gabriel.”

We all walk over to the table and grab one. I raise my glass. “To my boy Gabriel,” I say and grab Kallie and kiss her. “To our boy.”

Kallie and I sit on the swing outside on her porch, and I look in at my mother and Charlotte talking quietly on the couch as she holds the picture of Gabriel in her hand. “Are you going to go pack a bag?”

“When is Ethan coming back?” she asks.

“Savannah texted me today that she’s staying until Tuesday since Ethan has a school holiday on Monday and Tuesday,” I say, and she looks at me.

“Don’t you work tomorrow?”

“I do,” I say. “And?”

“Well, I guess I could come and then come here when you leave,” she says, and I just look out at the trees.

“Or you could stay at my house.” I look over at her, and she just looks at me.