"You want my side of it?" Aaron said.
"I do," I said. "If you want to tell it."
He turned his coffee in his hands. "We were frightened, Jules. I can say that now. Back then we would have said we were fine."
"You did not sound fine."
"No. And you did not sound frightened, and that mattered more than anything you actually said." "It was dark in a way I cannot explain to people who were not there. Then your voice came on, calm as anything, and you stayed."
"I was doing a checklist," I said.
"I know. Megan calls you an angel with a checklist, did she tell you that?" "It fits. You went down your list, one thing at a time, and while you were talking nobody had to think about how long help was taking."
"I remember worrying I would run out of things to say."
"You almost did, near the end. You started asking me questions. My hometown. Megan's name."
"I do not remember that part."
"I do. You asked what Megan cooked best, and I said meatloaf, and you said, 'Then you tell her yourself, Mitchell.' The guys laughed. In that place, we laughed. That is what your voice meant."
"I have carried that night thinking about what it cost you," I said.
"Then let me tell you that part plain, so you carry it right." He straightened his leg with a small wince. "Five surgeries, spread over three years. I learned to walk again twice, because the first fix did not hold. I have good days with this leg and days where the stairs win."
"I am sorry," I said.
"Do not be sorry yet. Let me finish the whole picture." He counted on his fingers, like an old list he had made peace with. "I came home angry. Ask Megan. Angry at the leg, at having to ask for help carrying groceries. That took time. Longer than the surgeries, honestly."
"What changed?"
"Nico," he said, simply. "Megan was pregnant when I got hurt, did you know that?"
"No. I knew almost nothing about you."
"He was born while I was still on crutches. I learned to hold a baby and a crutch at the same time, which Megan says should be an Olympic event. I learned to get down on the floor to play, and how to get back up." His voice softened. "Then Dylan came, and I was not a patient anymore. I was just their dad, who walks funny and fixes cars and burns the first batch of pancakes every time."
"Every time?" I said.
"Tradition now. They would be disappointed if I fixed it." "Jules, it cost plenty. I will not pretend otherwise. But it was a cost, not a ruin. This is a life. A good one. I need you to see that."
"I do see it. For thirteen years you were a voice in the dark to me too, and I never knew if..."
"If I made it. I know. Megan told me." He leaned forward, his tone gentler and firmer at once. "So hear this from me, not secondhand. You do not owe me for that night. There is no debt here for you to carry like a stone in your pocket."
"Aaron..."
"No, let me say it the way I practiced it, because I did practice it." He gave a small, embarrassed laugh. "It was a job, Jules. Two strangers in the dark, each doing their half. You talked. I stayed awake and answered. Help came. My half is done. Yours can be done too, if you will let it."
"You make it sound simple."
"It is not simple. It is just finished." He shrugged. "Carrying it has not helped me one day in thirteen years. It has only hurt you, and I refuse my part in that."
"You asked earlier where Sticky Six came from," I said.
"I did. Fair trade."
"It was a different night. Our link kept failing, one fault after another, for hours. I would not hand it off. We stayed on it until it held." I smiled, surprised at how easy it was to tell him. "Someone said I stuck to a problem like glue. It stayed. My own version is simpler. I do not let go easily."
He laughed. "No. I have some personal experience with that."
"So do I," I said. "That is the problem you are trying to cure me of."
"Not cure. Retire, maybe. From one night, anyway." He stood, slowly. "Come for a cookout. Sunday, or the Sunday after. Bring your brother, if you want. The boys will steal your entire afternoon."
"That is not a goodbye, Aaron."
"No," he said, and hugged me, careful and brief. "It is a standing welcome. There is a difference."
Chapter 26: The Cost of Coming Home, Part Two