Chapter 14
Ansel said no.
Immediate.
“Want Uncle Tobias say sorry?”
“No.”
Done.
Three months later Cassandra asked again.
Not pressure.
Checking.
“No.”
Six months.
Ansel thought longer.
“Dad there?”
“Yes.”
“Aunt Cass?”
“If you want.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
We met in a quiet garden room.
No ballroom.
No heavy bag.
No crowds.
Tobias entered slowly.
He looked older.
Ansel sat beside me with both hearing aids in.
Tobias crouched several feet away.
“Hi, Ansel.”
My son watched his mouth.
Old habit.
Then Tobias said:
“I’m sorry I took your hearing aids.”
Ansel stared.
“I’m sorry I slapped you when you didn’t hear me.”
More.
“I’m sorry I kept taking them when your dad called.”
More.
“I did it because I wanted to hide things from him, and I used you.”
There.
Specific.
No “I was stressed.”
No “family business.”
No minimizing.
Ansel asked:
“Why water?”
I frowned.
Then understood.
At the anniversary, Tobias had also denied him dinner, and apparently sometimes water during long meetings?
I looked at Tobias.
He closed his eyes.
“When you asked for things, I got angry because you interrupted.”
My jaw tightened.
New information.
Ansel looked at me.
I stayed still.
His conversation.
Tobias continued.
“That was wrong too.”
Ansel thought.
Then asked the hardest question.
“You think I dumb?”
Tobias’s face broke.
“No.”
“Before?”
Long silence.
“Yes.”
Honest.
“I thought because you couldn’t hear everything, you didn’t understand everything.”
Ansel nodded slowly.
Then:
“I understand lots.”
Tobias started crying.
“I know.”
No hug.
No forgiveness announcement.
At the end Ansel removed one hearing aid because the room had become too echoing.
Tobias reached instinctively as if to help.
Then stopped himself.
Good.
Ansel noticed.
May you like
So did I.
Sometimes change is visible in the hand that does not move.
