sometimes helping means giving, and sometimes it means asking first.
That was enough.
Matthew Kellerman died years before.
His foundation continued.
The support program for families dealing with pediatric treatment travel had expanded nationally.
Ethan once asked whether his fundraiser caused that.
I said:
“No idea.”
Good answer.
Maybe it influenced something.
Maybe not.
He no longer needed credit.
David died at seventy-three.
At his memorial, Ethan spoke.
Not about cancer.
He told the story of David trying to repair a grill and nearly setting a fence on fire.
Lily
laughed so hard she cried.
Again:
People more than crisis.
Rachel lived longer.
She kept a photograph of Lily wearing the wig.
Not because it was Ethan’s hair.
Because Lily was laughing in the picture.
That mattered more.
One winter, decades after all of it, Lily and Ethan visited the old middle school.
Mr. Harrison had retired.
The building had been renovated.
