He tapped the dirt with his stick, nudging a pebble an inch to the left.

“He sat up on the kitchen counter for an hour before he put our bags in the car,” Caleb said.

“Your father’s used to moving fast,” I said.

“Sometimes slowing down feels heavy to him.”

“Is he still sad about that legal paper with the county stamp on it?” Caleb asked.

“He isn’t sad,” I told him, stepping over a thick root.

“He’s just learning how things are going to be from here on.”