He touched his chest.
“I could feel that voice rising.”
“So I went to get the manager.”
I nodded.
“You handled it exactly the right way.”
“I thought so.”
His eyes filled again.
“Then I saw Ethan’s dad grab him.”
He stared through the windshield.
“And that kid looked at me.”
Owen shook his head.
“He had the same expression I remember having.”
For years, Owen explained, he had believed there were only two options.
Be like his father.
Or never confront anyone.
He had chosen silence.
He endured wrong meals.
Bad deals.
Disrespect.
Anything.
Because he thought avoiding conflict was the only guarantee that he wouldn’t become Frank.
“But tonight,” he whispered, “I didn’t scream.”
“No.”
“I didn’t threaten anybody.”
“No.”
“I just said what was true.”
He looked at me.
“And it worked.”
I squeezed his hand.
“You can stand up for someone without becoming cruel.”
