The picture Dad sent stayed on my phone for several days.
I looked at it more than once during work.
It wasn't a particularly special photograph.
Just a tree in his backyard and a small bird sitting on one of the branches.
But I knew why he had taken it.
He was listening again.
That mattered more to me than anything else.
On Tuesday evening, I called him after work.
He answered almost immediately.
I could hear the television playing in the background.
For the first time in a while, he didn't ask me to repeat my greeting.
"Hey, sweetheart."
I smiled.
"How are the new ones?"
He told me they were working well.
He had spent most of the afternoon outside.
He said the birds were making more noise than he remembered.
I laughed.
"Maybe you've just forgotten how much they talk."
He laughed too.
Then he mentioned something else.
A neighbor had stopped by earlier and spoken to him from the driveway.
Dad had understood every word.
Before the accident, he would have struggled with that conversation.
Now he didn't have to pretend.
I was happy for him.
But the family situation was still sitting in the back of my mind.
I hadn't heard from Cindy since Saturday.
Josh hadn't either.
He didn't seem surprised.
On Wednesday, one of his cousins sent him a message.
Apparently, some relatives had been discussing the pond incident.
I didn't ask what they were saying.
Josh showed me the message anyway.
One person thought Cindy had been careless.
Another thought we had overreacted by spending the cruise savings.
Someone else said it was unfortunate but that family should move on.
I read the messages twice.
Then I handed the phone back.
"Everybody has an opinion when they aren't the ones paying for the damage."
Josh nodded.
He didn't respond to the family group.
Neither did I.
I had no interest in arguing with people who hadn't been sitting beside Dad when he realized his hearing aids were gone.
They hadn't watched him struggle to understand ordinary conversations.
They hadn't taken him to Springfield.
They hadn't watched him stand beneath the trees and listen to a mockingbird.
So I didn't feel the need to explain our decision.
Thursday evening, Dad came over for dinner.
He arrived carrying a small container of homemade cookies.
He said he had made too many and didn't want them sitting around his kitchen.
I knew that was just his way of bringing something.
He rarely came to our house empty-handed.
Josh opened the door.
He greeted Dad and helped him carry the container inside.
Dad's hearing aids were visible behind his ears.
I noticed them immediately.
He seemed comfortable wearing them.
We sat around the kitchen table.
Josh asked him about the backyard.
Dad told us he had been fixing a loose board on the fence.
I told him he should have waited for help.
He smiled.
"I've been fixing fences longer than you've been alive."
Josh laughed.
Dinner was simple.
Roast chicken, potatoes, and vegetables.
Dad followed the conversation without needing us to repeat everything.
That alone made the evening feel different.
At one point, Josh mentioned his mother.
He didn't say anything unkind.
He simply said they hadn't spoken since Saturday.
Dad lowered his fork.
"Don't let this ruin your relationship."
Josh looked at him.
"She needs to understand what she did."
Dad nodded.
"I know."
Then he returned to his dinner.
He wasn't asking Josh to pretend nothing had happened.
He was asking him not to let anger become the only thing left between them.
I understood that.
But I also knew reconciliation couldn't mean ignoring what happened.
After dinner, Dad helped me carry the plates to the sink.
I told him to sit down.
He ignored me.
Some habits never changed.
Before he left, he stood near the front door and adjusted one of his hearing aids.
He told me he was getting used to the new settings.
Then he smiled.
"I can even hear the little clock in my kitchen now."
I laughed.
He left a few minutes later.
Josh watched him drive away.
Then he closed the door.
Neither of us spoke for a while.
The next morning, Cindy finally sent a message.
It was short.
She asked Josh whether he was coming over that weekend.
He read it while sitting at the kitchen counter.
Then he put his phone down.
I didn't ask what he planned to do.
He had to decide that himself.
Click here to continue reading: PART 14: Cindy Wanted Things to Return to Normal, but My Husband Was No Longer Willing to Pretend the Pond Incident Had Never Happened
The Afternoon Everyone Watched My Father Fall Into the Water, and Nobody Knew What to Say
Part 13 of 20
