A tiredness that was older than the last two years.
A willingness to actually ask the question and mean it.
Ethan was quiet for a moment.
"Noah doesn't have nightmares anymore," he said.
Clara didn't say anything.
"Caleb's been reading Gideon's old almanac," Ethan said. "He's got a whole system now for predicting weather patterns. He showed me."
A small pause.
"Miles fixed the loose board on the porch step by himself last week. He didn't even tell anyone. He just did it."
"I know," Clara said very quietly.
"And I..."
Ethan stopped.
When he continued, his voice was different.
Younger.
Not in a regressive way.
But in the way of something real underneath the careful composure.
"I haven't felt like I had to watch for everything since we got here. I still do sometimes. It's..."
He paused.
"It's hard to stop once you start. But it's less. It's a lot less."
The fire.
The clock on the wall.
The particular silence of a family holding its breath.
"I'm not telling you what to do," Ethan said. "I know you'll do what you decide to do. But you asked me what I want."
Another pause.
"I want you to stop deciding for us. We're not babies, and we've all already decided."
Gideon stood in the hallway and didn't move.
He heard Clara make a sound that was very brief and that she stopped immediately.
Then:
"When did you get so old?"
"November," Ethan said dryly, very slightly, in a way that had to have come from somewhere.
Gideon backed up two steps.
Then walked forward and came through the kitchen door with his boots making the noise they normally made.
Both of them looked at him.
Clara from the chair she was sitting in.
Ethan from the counter he was leaning against.
"Sorry," Gideon said, hanging up his coat. "Took longer than I thought."
"There's stew," Clara said.
Her voice was close to normal.
Not quite.
But close.
"Thanks."
Ethan looked at him.
That assessment.
That measuring.
Then looked at his mother.
Then picked up the book he'd apparently been holding the whole time and left the kitchen with a tact that exceeded what most men twice his age would have managed.
Gideon ladled stew into a bowl and sat down across from Clara.
She was looking at the table.