When they left, Claire hugged Walter longer than usual.
Daniel did not hug him at all.
He squeezed Walter’s shoulder once.
Hard.
That hurt worse.
The next Wednesday, Walter fell.
Not a dramatic fall.
No shattered bones.
No ambulance.
Just the ordinary sort that steals a little more pride than flesh.
He was in the machine shed trying to move a feed barrel he had no business moving alone.
His boot caught on a frayed mat.
His bad hip gave way.
And down he went, sideways and hard, the edge of a low crate striking his ribs on the way.
For a minute he could not breathe.
That was the worst part.
Not pain.
The blank animal panic of air not obeying.
Then breath came back in pieces.
Sharp.
Embarrassing.
He rolled onto one elbow and sat there in the dust furious at gravity for acting brand new.
It might have stayed there.
A private defeat.
Except Eli had come by after school to drop off a carburetor piece Walter said he wanted to look at.
The boy found him on the shed floor with dust in his hair and anger in both eyes.
Eli did not make a fuss.
Bless him for that.
He just set the part down, crouched beside Walter, and said, “You hit your head?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“You able to stand?”
Walter tried.
Did not.
Eli pretended not to notice that first failure.
He braced Walter under the arm and said, “Again.”
Between the two of them they got him upright.
Then into the porch chair.
Then inside.
Eli made tea because that was what Ruth used to do when Walter’s breathing went funny, though Walter had never told him that.
He must have guessed.
Or maybe some knowledge just travels where it is needed.
Walter sat at the table with a bag of frozen peas on his ribs and hated every second of being looked after.
Eli pretended not to look.
After a while he said, “You gonna call your kids?”
“No.”
“Ms. Bell then?”
“No.”
Eli finally met his eyes.
“With respect, that ain’t smart.”
Walter stared back.
“With respect, smart ain’t always got the deciding vote.”
Eli did something dangerous then.
He smiled.
Not mocking.
Not pitying.
Just enough to say I see you, and I am not scared of it.
“My granddad says the same thing,” he said.
“Your granddad an idiot?”
“Frequently.”
That got Walter.
A short laugh that hurt his ribs and made him wince.
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