He wouldn’t look back at his father standing near the road.

Luke took his right hand out of his deep coat pocket.

He stepped closer to me, blocking the wind, and gently rested his bare palm against my lower back.

The heat of his hand seeped through my thin winter coat.

He didn’t say a word.

He just stood there, anchoring me to the freezing dirt.

He was stepping back to let me do the hard bidding.

He was giving me silent permission to fight for his childhood home.