His eyes went from the walls to the heater to the tin of soup on my table.
« Dad, » he said. « Where’s the senior residence? »
« What senior residence? »
« Thea told me she moved you downtown months ago. »
« I’ve lived here three years. »
Then he asked it.
« Dad, are you happy with the eight thousand a month Thea sends you? »
The radiator clicked. Neither of us spoke for about four seconds.
« Emmett, » I said, « I have never received eight thousand dollars from anybody. The church pantry has been keeping me going. »
The color went out of my son’s face.
Continue on the next page:
