Eventually, he began to ask questions about my service and what my work actually involved. We started working on the property together, fixing fences and clearing the orchard without much talking.
We never had a grand reconciliation, but we had the work, and the work was enough.
The last time we were at the orchard, I carved my new initials—E.G.T.—into the porch rail using his grandfather’s knife. He watched me and realized that I was still there, and for the first time, he finally saw me for who I actually was.
THE END.
