I Came Home From Overseas Expecting to See My 1969 Corvette Waiting

The words arrived but did not immediately assemble into meaning. My brain ran them through twice, the way you run an order through twice when the radio is breaking up, trying to hear clearly what was just transmitted.

My father exhaled through his nose. “It’s done,” he said. As if that resolved it.

“What do you mean it’s done?” I asked.

“Andrew needed something good, Emily,” my mother said. “You know how hard it’s been for him.”

Hard.