By the end of the week, Paulie was up and walking around. Eleanor was in the kitchen, kneading dough for dinner rolls. Andrew walked in and stood by the table.
— “What are you making?” he asked.
— “Dinner rolls,” Eleanor said. “Paulie likes them with honey.”
Andrew watched her hands. They were quick and sure. She moved with a grace that came from years of honest work.
— “You have to do it with heart,” she said softly, almost to herself. “The bread knows when you’re rushed.”
Andrew stood there for a moment, then stepped closer.
— “Can I try?” he asked, his voice sounding like a young boy’s.
Eleanor looked up, surprised. A smile touched her lips.
— “Of course, Andy. Come here.”
Andrew stepped to the table, his hands covered in flour. Eleanor showed him how to fold the dough, how to push and turn. He was clumsy at first, the dough sticking to his fingers.
— “Gently,” Eleanor coached, laughing softly. “The dough can feel your stress.”
Paulie wandered into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.
— “What are you guys doing?”
— “Making rolls,” Andrew said, a genuine smile on his face. “Want to help?”
Paulie climbed onto a stool. Eleanor gave him a small piece of dough. The three of them stood there, covered in flour, laughing as Paulie’s rolls turned into lumpy shapes. Andrew realized he was laughing—really laughing—for the first time in years.
When the rolls were in the oven, the house filled with a warm, yeasty aroma. Andrew sat at the table, watching his mother and son. Paulie was telling Eleanor about his school in Chicago, and she was listening as if it were the most important thing in the world.
— “You know, Mom,” Andrew said quietly. “I never told you. My wife… she left when Paulie was four.”
Eleanor looked at him, her expression softening.
— “She said I was a ghost,” Andrew continued, staring into his coffee. “That I didn’t live, I just worked. That I had a calculator where my heart should be.”
He went quiet for a moment.
— “I’ve been trying to do it all alone. Trying to be a good dad, but I don’t know how to love like this. Like you do. I forgot how.”
Eleanor reached across the table and placed her hand over his.
— “You didn’t forget, Andy,” she said gently. “You just buried it. But it’s still there. I can see it.”
Andrew looked at her hand—weathered, warm, and steady. And suddenly, a memory surfaced.
He’s five years old. Standing on a chair at the kitchen table. His mom is there, young and beautiful in a floral dress. His dad is sitting by the window, reading the paper. The house smells like baking bread and happiness.
— “Mom, can I help?” little Andy asks.
— “Of course, sunshine,” she smiles, giving him a piece of dough. “Make something special.”
He works on it with his tongue sticking out. It’s a mess, but his mom says, “It’s the best roll I’ve ever seen.” His dad comes over and kisses her cheek. She laughs. Andy thinks life will always be this way.
— “I remembered that today,” Andrew said, his voice thick. “I’ve remembered it my whole life.”
Eleanor wiped a tear from her cheek.
— “I’m so sorry I let the darkness in,” she whispered. “I threw away the best years of our lives. I can never get them back.”
Andrew stood up, walked around the table, and hugged her. She leaned into him, sobbing quietly, as he held her tight.
— “It’s okay, Mom,” he said. “It’s okay now.”
The next day, a car pulled up to the cabin. It was Pastor John from the local community church. He was an older man with a kind face and a calm presence.
— “Is Eleanor in?” he asked, removing his hat.
Andrew invited him in. Eleanor came out of the kitchen, her face lighting up when she saw him.
— “Pastor John! It’s so good to see you!”
They spoke for a while, Eleanor introducing Andrew and Paulie. The Pastor listened, nodding and smiling.
— “Grace is a powerful thing,” he said, looking at Andrew. “It finds us even when we aren’t looking for it.”
After the Pastor left, Andrew sat on the porch with him for a moment.
— “How do I really let it go?” Andrew asked. “Thirty years of anger… how do I just drop it?”
Comments are closed.