“More than you might think.”

The Things Caleb Never Said

Diane sat down.

For three years, she had carried the same question inside her.

Not just why did Caleb die?

But also:

Was my son happy?

She had never asked anyone that question aloud.

Perhaps she had been afraid of the answer.

Caleb had died suddenly.

There had been no long goodbye.

No final conversation.

No chance for Diane to ask whether he had regrets.

Now she was sitting inside a stranger's home, surrounded by photographs of a part of Caleb's life she had never known.

“Tell me,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Tell me about him.”

Marcus sat across from her.

“He was stubborn.”

Diane smiled through tears.

“Yes.”

“He hated asking for help.”

“Yes.”

“He pretended he didn't care about birthdays.”

Diane laughed softly.

“That sounds exactly right.”

“But he remembered everyone else's.”

Her smile faded.

Marcus continued.

“He remembered little things. The kind of things most people forget.”

He pointed toward a photograph.

“That was from the first time Buddy trusted him.”

In the picture, Caleb was sitting on the floor with his back against a wall.

Buddy was asleep across his legs.

“He stayed there for almost two hours because he didn't want to wake him.”

Diane smiled.

“He always loved animals.”

“I know.”

Marcus paused.

“He also loved you very much.”

Diane looked away.

For some reason, those words hurt more than anything else.

The Question Diane Had Been Afraid to Ask

“Did he ever talk about me?”

Marcus nodded.

“All the time.”

“What did he say?”

“He said you worried too much.”

Diane laughed.

Then she cried.

“That sounds like him.”

“He said you called him three times if he didn't answer his phone.”

“Only three?”

Marcus smiled.

“He said you could make anyone feel guilty without raising your voice.”

Diane laughed again.

For the first time in three years, the memory of Caleb felt warm rather than painful.

Marcus went to the refrigerator.

He opened the door.

Inside was a small handwritten note held by a magnet.

Diane recognized the handwriting immediately.

It said:

“Mom: buy more coffee. You always run out.”

She stared at it.

“He wrote that?”

Marcus nodded.

“He came here the weekend before he died.”

Diane's heart skipped.

“What?”

“He said he was going to see you.”

“Why didn't he?”

Marcus hesitated.

And that hesitation changed the atmosphere in the room.

Diane noticed.

“What?”

Marcus looked toward the hallway.

“There is something else you need to know.”

The Box Marcus Had Been Afraid to Open

Marcus stood and walked to the hallway.

Buddy followed him.

A moment later, Marcus returned carrying another box.

It was smaller than the first.

And much older.

He placed it carefully on the table.

“I've had this for three years.”

Diane stared at it.

“What is it?”

“I don't know.”