“He doesn’t owe me an apology tonight,” I said.

“He owes the boys honesty.”

The box had put his earlier words in front of Claire.

It had not answered the question of how he would act toward seven sons next Saturday, or the Saturday after that.

Elliot ran a thumb along the old truck’s worn roof.

“I thought maybe hearing himself would make him answer.”

“It may make him think.

We can’t decide what he does with that.”