He called me “the girl.”

Asked where his wife was.

Complained about the coffee.

Owen gently reminded him his mother had died four years earlier.

Frank cried as though hearing it for the first time.

Owen held his hand.

But something inside Owen had changed.

Two weeks later, we went to lunch.

Owen ordered a burger without onions.

It arrived covered in onions.

He stared at the plate.

His thumb started rubbing against his finger.

Then it stopped.

He raised his hand.

“Excuse me.”

The waiter came over.

“I asked for no onions. Could I please get another one?”

“Absolutely. Sorry about that.”

The waiter left.

I stared at Owen.

“What?”

“You sent it back.”

“I don’t like onions.”

“You have eaten onions you didn’t want for eight years.”

He smiled.

“I never liked them.”

That same week, Owen called Lisa.

“No,” I heard him say calmly. “I’m not asking you to take Dad permanently.”

Pause.

“I’m asking you to come for one week in November so Jenna and I can have a break.”

Another pause.

“You have children and a job. I understand.”

His voice remained steady.

“So do we.”

Then he said,

“He’s your father too.”

Eventually he hung up.

He walked into the kitchen looking slightly stunned.

“She said yes.”

I smiled.

“You finally asked.”

About a month later, Tamika called us from the theater.

She said someone had left something for Owen.

We drove over.

Tamika met us in the lobby holding a white envelope.

“A woman came here last week,” she explained. “She asked about the man wearing the Spider-Man shirt.”

Owen looked at her.

“I told her I couldn’t give out customer information. So she left this in case you ever returned.”

Inside the envelope was a drawing.

Spider-Man.

At least, it was clearly supposed to be Spider-Man.

His head was enormous.

One arm was much longer than the other.

At the bottom, in careful handwriting, were the words:

TO THE SPIDER-MAN SHIRT GUY.

THANK YOU.

FROM ETHAN.

Owen held the drawing with both hands.

There was also a letter from Ethan’s mother, Nicole.