The Sundays My Father Never Explained

The sixth Sunday

At a quarter to twelve the next Sunday, Craig’s pickup was in Dad’s lane.

I drove by on the way home from church, slow, and saw Craig go up the porch steps with his seed cap in his hand.

I saw Dad come to the door in his blue check shirt, and stand there, and look at his son.

I don’t know what they said on the porch. I’ve never asked. But I saw Dad put his good hand on Craig’s shoulder, and I saw them walk down the steps to the truck together.

I followed them the forty miles. I couldn’t help it. I stayed far enough back that I don’t think they saw me, though Dad told me later he knew the whole way.

Craig signed them in at the desk. I came in a minute behind them and stood in the hallway where I could see.

The dayroom lit up again when Dad came through the door. Marvin raised his arm. Clarence turned his head toward the noise. Doris said, “There he is,” to nobody in particular.

Then they saw the big man in the seed cap behind him, and the room went quiet in a curious way, the way a church goes quiet when a stranger walks down the aisle.

Craig stood in the doorway with his cap in his hands. He is six foot two and he farms nine hundred acres and I have never in my life seen him look so much like a little boy.

Irene was standing by the window in her lavender cardigan, holding the back of her chair. She looked at Craig for a long time. I don’t think she needed the school picture. I think she would have known him anywhere.

Craig crossed the room to her. He stood in front of her chair and he did not know what to say. I watched him try twice and stop.

Irene reached up and put her small hand on his arm.

“Your father never once told us you didn’t come,” she said quietly. “Nine years, he talked about you every Sunday. Your hay. Your boy’s ball games. Your girl in the 4-H show. He never once said you didn’t come.”

Craig’s face folded up. I had not seen my brother cry since Mom’s funeral, and before that, not since we were children. He stood in front of that eighty-four-year-old woman in a room full of strangers, and he cried like a nine-year-old boy.