Linda moved toward the door.
She turned.
“My father saved your life.”
“You’ve been helping save ours.”
“I think that makes you more than qualified to eat spaghetti.”
Walter looked at the letter.
Linda opened the door.
Then paused.
“Oh.”
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“The groceries stop.”
Walter frowned.
“You still need—”
“They stop anonymously.”
She corrected.
“If you want to bring something.”
“Knock.”
She left.
Walter did not go to dinner.
He sat at home with Frank’s letter.
At six-thirty, someone knocked.
Walter ignored it.
Another knock.
Then Jacob’s voice.
“Mr. Hayes?”
Walter closed his eyes.
Teenagers.
Weapons.
He opened the door.
Jacob stood holding a covered dish.
“Mom said if you won’t come, I have to stand here until you feel guilty.”
Walter stared.
“Your mother is frightening.”
“Yeah.”
Jacob looked inside.
“Can I come in?”
Walter stepped aside.
Jacob entered.
He saw Frank’s letter on the coffee table.
Then the photographs.
Walter said:
“You look like him.”
Jacob smiled slightly.
“Everybody says that.”
“I mean your grandfather.”
“Oh.”
Walter sat.
Jacob remained standing.
“Did Grandpa really save you?”
Walter nodded.
“Were you scared?”
The question surprised him.
“Yes.”
“Grandpa too?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he told me later.”
Jacob looked relieved.
Walter asked:
“Why does that matter?”
“People always make soldiers sound like they weren’t scared.”
“My grandfather didn’t seem scared of anything.”
Walter smiled sadly.
“Frank was scared of plenty.”
“He just didn’t always let fear make the decision.”
Jacob absorbed that.
Then pointed at the covered dish.
“Mom says you have fifteen minutes before she comes herself.”
Walter stood.
“That woman clearly inherited the worst parts of Frank.”
Jacob grinned.
Walter went.
The Brooks house was smaller than he expected.
He had seen it hundreds of times.
Never entered.
The porch light burned yellow.
Mason opened the door before Linda could.
“You’re the grocery man.”
Walter froze.
Mason grinned.
“You’re old.”
Linda appeared behind him.
“Mason.”
“What?”
“He is.”
Walter said:
“I’ve survived worse.”
Mason considered this acceptable.
Sophie stood near the dining table.
She looked shy.
Jacob had already told her enough to understand.
Linda pointed toward the kitchen.
“Come inside.”
Walter remained on the threshold.
For one terrible second, he could not move.
He remembered Frank’s funeral.
Same family.
Different door.
Across the street then.
Porch now.
Linda saw.
She stepped back instead of pulling him.
“Take your time.”
Walter looked into the house.
Children’s shoes near the wall.
School papers on the refrigerator.
A broken cabinet knob.
Laundry folded on a chair.
Normal life.
Frank had saved him for this.
Not literally this house.
The possibility of houses.
Meals.
Children.
Years.
Walter stepped inside.
Mason asked:
“Why didn’t you ever knock before?”