“Because ten minutes later, he opened it right back up.” I have held onto that image ever since, the closed door and then, ten minutes later, the door opening again, because it seems to me to hold the whole truth of how broken things actually mend.

Not all at once, not with a grand rush of forgiveness and tears, but grudgingly, in stages, a door slammed in the first flush of anger and fear, and then, when the first wave has passed, cracked cautiously back open.

Brandon had spent his whole life learning that doors stay shut, that people leave, that no one comes for you, and here was his father, a man who had every reason in Brandon’s mind to have abandoned him on purpose, standing on his step asking for nothing but a chance to explain.

Of course he slammed the door.