Ethan understood.
He crouched.
"Then somebody gives you a towel."
Noah smiled.
"What if teacher gets mad?"
"Teachers get mad sometimes."
"Then what?"
"You'll be okay."
Noah considered.
"Will you come back?"
The question still appeared.
Every goodbye.
Deployment had carved it deeply.
Ethan touched his shoulder.
"At three o'clock."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
He returned at 2:45.
Noah ran out at three.
"Daddy!"
Ethan caught him.
"How was it?"
"I spilled paint."
Ethan stared.
Noah smiled.
"Teacher gave me a towel."
Ethan laughed.
"Good teacher."
"Yeah."
Years passed.
Noah stopped apologizing for every accident.
Stopped asking permission to cry.
Stopped watching adults' faces before speaking.
Some habits lasted longer.
At seven, he still hated eating alone.
At eight, he still became anxious when someone raised their voice.
At nine, he asked Ethan:
"Was Grandma bad?"
Ethan thought carefully.
They were driving to baseball practice.
"No."
Noah frowned.
"But she did bad stuff."
"Yes."
"Then how is she not bad?"
Ethan smiled faintly.
"People are more complicated than one word."
Noah looked dissatisfied.
"That's annoying."
"Very."
Ethan continued.
"Grandma hurt you."
"Yeah."
"That was wrong."
"Yeah."
"She also learned."
Noah nodded.
"Some people don't."
"That's true."
"Would you let me live with her now?"
Ethan looked over.
"No."
Noah laughed.
"Why?"
"Because I'm your dad and you're stuck with me."
"That's not an answer."
"It is."
Then Ethan became serious.
"I trust her more now."
"But?"
"But trust coming back doesn't mean we pretend nothing happened."
Noah nodded.
"Therapy talk."
Ethan smiled.
"Unfortunately."
At ten, Noah asked why Ethan stayed in the Army after Rachel died.
The question hurt.
They sat on the porch.
Ethan answered honestly.
"Because I didn't know who I was without it."
Noah looked at him.
"Were you scared?"
"Very."
"You left anyway."
"Yes."
"Were you scared I'd forget you?"
"Every day."
Noah leaned back.
"I didn't."
Ethan's eyes filled.
"I know."
Noah continued.
"But Grandma said sometimes you chose Army more than me."
Ethan looked at him.
Margaret had apparently been too honest.
"She wasn't completely wrong."
Noah frowned.
"Do you regret it?"
Ethan thought.
"Some days."
"Would you change it?"
"Some parts."
"Which?"
"Eleven months."
Noah knew.
Neither needed clarification.
"I wish I'd known."
"About Grandma?"
"Yeah."
Noah picked at the wood railing.