She’s proud.” “I know,” I said.

“I remembered the stairs,” he said.

“I always remembered the stairs.

I just never let myself remember what they were for.” We stayed on the phone a long time, not saying much, two middle-aged people finally grieving the childhood we had agreed our whole lives not to discuss.

And when we were done, Lowell said the thing that set the rest of it in motion.

“I’m not leaving my son in that house again,” he said.