I stuff the bandanna deep under the mass of trophies and spin around. Mom is still standing in the door, her eyes suspiciously moist. I nod. “Mostly. It’s never pleasant to remember how foolishly I acted.” And how much you and Dad hated me for it. “I wish. . .” I want to hear what she wishes, but at the same time I’m afraid to. I turn back toward the box and slide the photos into it. “The past is the past. I’ll keep the trophies and throw the rest away at home.” “Yes. Looking forward is always best, I guess,” she says, and I hear her shoes clicking down the hallway. I don’t see her when I carry the stuff out to my car, but Jack’s truck turns into the drive, and he, Dad, and Jenn climb out. It hits me that Dad must have walked over to Jack’s place. I feel bad he and Jenn had to ask Jack for a ride home. I open my mouth to apologize, although it wouldn’t have hurt Dad to tell me that he was depending on me to bring them home.
