My daughter pulled on my beach cover-up and said quietly, ‘Mommy, Daddy Told Me Not to Tell You What He and Uncle Jim Did in Our Hotel Room’

on vacation.”

“Just guy talk.”

He glanced up, startled, then tucked it into his pocket with a quick grin.

“Sorry, sis. Old habits.”

I remembered the winter he’d slept on our couch after his lease fell through, and how I’d made him grilled cheese at midnight while he cried about a girl whose name I couldn’t recall anymore. We had always been like that, continue reading …