it hidden in a jacket or written on a card.
He wanted someone to say it aloud.
Mr. Lawson cleared his throat.
Dad wanted us to know that he understood his difficulty with words had hurt the people he loved.
He regretted making us work so hard to understand what he felt.
Building things had always been his language, he explained.
But he wished he had translated that language more often.
Then came the sentence that finally broke through both Eric and me:
We were the best thing he had ever built.
Mr. Lawson paused.
Then he added something that made Eric almost laugh.
Dad had made him practice delivering the message.
Three times.
Apparently, even from the edge of death, Dad had opinions about pacing.
Eric and I stayed at Dad’s house that night.
We ate cereal for dinner at the kitchen table because neither of us wanted to
