Janelle looked at the door. Then she looked at the photo on the wall. That same Sears photo. In a frame now, up on the wall with some kids’ drawings around it. She looked at it for a second and then she said something to the girl and I watched the girl’s face do this little considering thing, the way kids do.

Then Janelle put more spaghetti on the girl’s plate and wiped her face with a napkin and stood up.

She came outside. She let the screen door close behind her. We were maybe four feet apart on that sidewalk and she looked at me the way you look at someone you have spent years deciding how to feel about and haven’t finished deciding yet. She said, “If you’re here to tell me how to live my life, I’ve been doing it without you since the night you—” and then she stopped.

I said, “I’m not here for that.”

She crossed her arms. Not angry exactly. More like careful.

I asked her if she needed anything. I don’t know why that was the first thing I said. It came out before I had thought it through. She looked at me for a second and almost said something that I think would have been sharp, and then she didn’t. She said the lease was fine, the kids’ families pitched in for food when they could, she had figured it out.

I said, “Okay.”

She said, “Okay.”

I don’t know what I expected after twelve years. A fight maybe. Or forgiveness, the clean movie kind where someone cries and you hold each other and there’s a sense that the clock resets. That’s not what happened. She went back inside after a few minutes because the kids needed her, which is fair. Before she went in she said I could come back sometime if I wanted. Not an invitation exactly. More like a door left slightly open.

I drove home and sat in my kitchen and thought about a butterfly tattoo that I couldn’t even tell you the exact shade of ink. I’ve been back twice since then. We don’t talk about 2013 yet. I’m not sure we’re there. I help with the dishes when I come, which feels like the smallest possible thing, and I know it, but she lets me do it. Some days I think I’m earning something. Other days I think there’s no version of this where the math works out in my favor. Probably both are true. I honestly don’t know yet.