By the time another week passed, things had become quieter.
Nobody was sending messages about the reunion anymore.
The family group chat had returned to its usual conversations.
Someone shared a picture of a new puppy.
An uncle mentioned a truck repair.
One cousin asked who was bringing dessert to the next gathering.
Ordinary things.
But I noticed that Cindy wasn't participating as much.
She usually had something to say.
She liked responding to photographs and asking about everyone's plans.
Now she seemed to stay away from conversations involving Josh and me.
I didn't know whether she was embarrassed or angry.
Maybe both.
Josh noticed it too.
One evening, he showed me a message from a cousin.
The cousin had asked whether we were going to attend the next family dinner.
Josh said we hadn't decided.
Then he put his phone down.
"Do you think Mom expects us to stay away?"
I shrugged.
"I don't know."
He leaned back.
"I don't want every family event to become uncomfortable."
I understood.
Neither did I.
But I wasn't willing to make Dad feel unwelcome just to keep things comfortable for Cindy.
A few days later, Dad called.
He wanted to know whether there was going to be another family gathering soon.
I told him I hadn't heard anything definite.
He said he hoped everyone could eventually sit together again.
I asked whether he wanted to attend.
He paused.
Then he said yes.
That surprised me.
After what had happened, I thought he might prefer avoiding the place.
But Dad had never been someone who wanted to surrender ordinary parts of his life because another person had behaved badly.
He wanted to see his relatives.
He wanted to enjoy the food.
He wanted to talk.
And now he could hear those conversations again.
I told him that if another gathering happened, I would go with him.
He thanked me.
Then he changed the subject.
He had been cleaning out his garage.
He had found an old toolbox from his working days.
He said some of the tools were still in good condition.
I smiled.
That sounded like Dad.
He always found something useful among things other people would throw away.
On Saturday, Josh and I visited him.
He showed us the toolbox.
It was scratched and heavy.
The handle had worn smooth from years of use.
He opened it and pointed out several old wrenches.
Josh picked one up.
"These are older than I am."
Dad laughed.
"Some of them probably are."
They spent nearly an hour talking about tools.
I sat nearby and listened.
Dad could follow everything.
He didn't have to watch their mouths constantly.
He didn't have to guess when someone was joking.
He simply joined the conversation.
At one point, Josh said something funny.
Dad laughed so loudly that I started laughing too.
I hadn't heard him laugh like that in a long time.
On the way home, Josh mentioned his mother.
He said she had sent him another message.
This time, she had asked whether he was coming over for dinner.
He hadn't answered yet.
I asked whether he wanted to go.
He said he might.
Then he looked at the road.
"I don't want to punish her forever."
I understood.
But I also knew that forgiving someone didn't mean pretending the damage had never happened.
I told him that he could visit his mother whenever he wanted.
I wasn't going to stop him.
He reached over and took my hand briefly.
"I know."
We drove the rest of the way home.
That night, I put the old legal pad into a drawer.
I didn't need to keep looking at the sentence.
I knew what it said.
And I knew why we had written it.
Click here to continue reading: PART 18: When Josh Finally Visited His Mother Again, I Realized That Forgiveness Would Have to Begin With an Honest Conversation
The Afternoon Everyone Watched My Father Fall Into the Water, and Nobody Knew What to Say
Part 17 of 20
