The Long Way Home

by Karen McQuestion

Over the last year or so, she’d learned not to ask Troy how his school day had gone. He acted as if she was prying. Instead she gave him some space, both physically and emotionally, trusting that if he needed to talk, he’d come to her. And he always did. Granted, it was often at inconvenient times. She’d be watching a movie on TV and just getting to the climactic part and wouldn’t you know it—there would be Troy, a dark silhouette in the doorway wanting her immediate attention. She never let on that his timing was poor, just shut off the movie and made room for him on the couch. Brian never had the knack or patience for it, even after she explained it to him. Troy would want to talk and his father would say, “Does it have to be now?” and Troy would lower his head and duck out of the room. She knew there would never be a better time. Moments like that pass, and then they’re gone.