Julian’s eyes filled. “We both believed lies because they were built on our worst fear. Mine was that you didn’t love me unless I became what you wanted. Yours was that I left angry and died before you could fix it.”
Harrison touched the cracked pocket watch. “No more lies.”
“No more,” Julian said.
Harrison returned to his downtown apartment just after noon.
Deborah was in his kitchen making soup.
She wore a cream blouse, pearl earrings, and the calm expression of a woman who had appointed herself guardian of a broken man. She looked up with practiced concern.
“You’re soaked,” she said. “Was the cemetery terrible?”
Harrison heard Julian’s voice in his mind: Act normal.
“It was difficult,” he said, removing his coat. “As always.”
Deborah crossed the room and touched his arm. For two years, that touch had felt steadying. Now it felt like a spider testing a web.
“You keep reopening the wound,” she said. “Julian wouldn’t want this.”
Harrison nearly flinched at his son’s name in her mouth.
“No,” he said quietly. “Maybe he wouldn’t.”
