“Your name is on the draft.”
“I didn’t sign it.”
“But you discussed it.”
He looked away. There are moments when a mother wants a lie. A good lie, a beautiful one, something soft enough to sleep on. Trevor gave me none.
“I was scared,” he whispered.
I nodded slowly. “And last night?”
He wiped at his face. “I was drunk.”
“You weren’t too drunk to count my weakness.”
“I thought you were trying to shame me.”
“No, Trevor. I was trying to remind you that you still had a mother before you made an enemy.”
He stared at me through the gate. Behind him, a car slowed on the road, then continued.
“Will you help me?” he asked.
There it was. Not Will you forgive me? Not How can I make this right? Just help me. The oldest song of spoiled children.
I looked at him for a long time. “
