“Were you laughing because I hit Grandma?”
“Yes.”
“Did you like it?”
“No.”
“Then why did you laugh?”
Daniel sat on the edge of Liam’s bed.
“Because I didn’t want to deal with what you had done.”
Liam picked at a loose thread on his blanket.
“Was Grandma mad?”
“Yes.”
“Is she still my grandma?”
“Yes.”
“Does she hate me?”
“No.”
“Then why won’t she give me the bike?”
Daniel took a breath.
“Because love does not mean you get whatever you want after hurting someone.”
Liam was quiet.
The next Saturday, Daniel brought him to Margaret’s house.
Liam stood on the porch wearing a plain blue sweatshirt. He held something behind his back.
Margaret opened the door.
Daniel remained several steps behind him.
Liam looked at Margaret’s cheek, then at the floor.
“I brought you something.”
He held out a folded sheet of paper.
Margaret accepted it.
The handwriting was large and uneven.
“I’m sorry I hit you,” he read. “I’m sorry I broke your glass. I’m sorry I told you to get my bike. I was wrong.”
His voice became smaller.
“I thought because Dad laughed, it was okay.”
Margaret looked at Daniel.
He did not look away.
Liam continued.
“I know it wasn’t.”
Margaret lowered the paper.
“Did your father write this?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you what to say?”
“He told me I had to tell the truth.”
That mattered.
