“He didn’t say a single word about the farm.”

“He never will.”

Luke signaled a right turn, and we pulled onto our street.

“Is that enough for you?” I asked.

“He’s my father,” Luke said.

I listened to the steady click of the turn signal.

Luke wanted peace in his family.

He was willing to swallow his grief and sit two rows away from his dad on the bleachers, as long as nobody yelled.