The hardest conversation between Harold and Ethan began over a burned slice of toast. Ethan scraped it above the sink and said June would have claimed that was how she preferred it. Harold replied that she never preferred anything burned; she simply hated watching food go to waste.
They both smiled, then became quiet because neither knew who was allowed to name her next.
For years, June had been the center of arguments in which she could not correct either man's account. Harold believed staying in the house honored the life they built. Ethan believed his father was disappearing into it. They made each position more absolute because grief supplied so little else that felt stable.
Now Ethan sat at the table and said what he should have said before discussing real estate.
“I wasn't trying to get rid of her.”
Harold looked at the toast in his hand.
“That's what I heard.”
“I know. I was frightened you'd stop seeing anybody, stop going anywhere, and call it managing. I talked about the stairs and bills because I didn't know how to say that without sounding like I thought you were failing.”
“You said I couldn't spend the rest of my life living in a memorial.”
Ethan nodded. “I wanted to win the argument. It was a cruel thing to say.”
Harold repeated that sentence in his head so often that hearing an apology felt less like relief than the removal of something he built a wall around.
“I told you your mother would be disappointed in you,” he said.
His son looked down.
“I don't know what she'd have thought about the house,” Harold continued. “I know she wouldn't have liked me borrowing her voice to hurt you.”
Ethan pressed his hands flat on the table. Neither rushed to say everything was all right.
Some things could be acknowledged without being settled before the coffee cooled.
They discussed practical boundaries. Ethan would not contact people about his father's finances or arrangements without asking, except in a genuine emergency. Harold would not treat every offer of company as a disguised attempt to take control. They would sometimes fail at both, and the failure would need another conversation rather than another four years.
The camera gift remained part of the discussion. Ethan apologized for concealing it through Mateo. Harold accepted that the intention differed from the deputy's conduct without deciding the secrecy therefore deserved no answer.
“You were trying to help,” Harold said. “You still should have asked.”
“Yes.”
Outside, Ada arrived to inspect the final roof work after rain. Harold invited Ethan to come along because the cottage's old wiring might need professional attention later. His son said he would look only at what the tenant permitted and provide options rather than a surprise plan.
Mavis approved that arrangement immediately.
“I get enough people telling me what would be best,” she said. “Someone can show me the choices for a change.”
Harold caught Ethan's eye. They both pretended the sentence concerned only wiring.
At the cottage, Ada showed the receipts for materials and photographs of the repairs. Harold placed the final paid invoice inside his folder, alongside the bank receipt and property return record. The ordinary transaction had acquired more documents than some serious criminal allegations he remembered hearing about on the news.
He laughed at the thought and stopped, surprised he could find anything funny in that folder.
Later, Caroline called with a scheduling update. The independent inquiry progressed. There would be further interviews, and Harold might need to provide testimony if charges followed. She explained what he could expect without announcing a result that had not been reached.
He listened with Ethan beside him, present by invitation rather than necessity.
After the call, his son asked whether he wanted to go fishing on Saturday. Mateo mentioned a place where the bank was level enough for his knee and Harold's stubborn shoulder.
“That sounds suspiciously arranged,” Harold said.
Ethan looked alarmed until his father smiled.
“Ask me yourself next time.”
“Dad, do you want to go fishing Saturday?”
The word Dad stayed in the kitchen after the question ended.
Harold looked at him and nodded.
They would still have the court case, the memories, and months that could not be recovered like cash from a counter.
They could also have Saturday.