“We were kids.”
He looked at her.
Ava continued.
“You two kept asking children to settle adult uncertainty.”
Damon stared for a long time.
Then laughed weakly.
“You waited forty years to tell me?”
“I charged interest.”
He smiled.
“Your brother paid forty dollars.”
“He told me.”
“Criminal.”
They laughed.
Damon died peacefully at eighty-four.
Renee was eighty-two.
She attended the funeral with a cane.
Camille sat in the front row.
So did Renee.
Different seats.
Same row.
No one found it strange anymore.
Noah gave the first speech.
He talked about Damon teaching him to drive.
Investment advice.
Bad jokes.
The forty-dollar debt.
People laughed.
Ava spoke second.
She did not tell everyone about the slap.
That story belonged to people who already knew.
Instead she said:
“My father spent most of his career opening buildings.”
The audience smiled.
Hospitals.
Offices.
Schools.
Hotels.
“He used to say doors matter because they decide how people enter a space.”
Ava paused.
“I think his life changed when he learned opening a door is not the same as seeing what is inside.”
Renee lowered her head.
Ava continued.
“He learned to look.”
That was enough.
After the funeral, Ava returned to Damon’s old house with Noah.
Camille had already moved most personal belongings.
The refrigerator was nearly empty.
Noah opened it.
“Want yogurt?”
Ava laughed.
“No.”
“Bread?”
“No.”
“Three suspicious pickles?”
“Absolutely not.”
They cleaned.
In a kitchen cabinet, Noah found an old folder.
Inside:
BROOKS FAMILY RESET.
Ava stared.
“I thought I had that.”
“You probably have a copy.”
She sat at the table.
The chart looked childish now.
Green dots.
Yellow dots.
Red dots.
Noah traced his name.
“I hated red.”
“I barely remember.”
“I do.”
He looked toward his sister.
“Do you remember getting slapped?”
Ava thought.
“Yes.”
“Clearly?”
“No.”
She touched her cheek absentmindedly.
“I remember after more.”
“What part?”
“Dad’s face.”
Noah smiled.
“He looked terrifying.”
“He did.”
“Mom looked scared.”
“Yes.”
Ava stared at the chart.
“What do you remember?”
“Being hungry.”
Her eyes filled.
Noah continued.
“Not like dramatic hunger.”
“I know.”
“Just always wondering if asking was worth getting in trouble.”
Ava nodded.
“That’s worse in a weird way.”
“Yeah.”
They sat quietly.
Then Noah took the chart.
“Trash?”