I looked down at the letter again. The last line hit me harder than anything else. “Don’t let Dad talk you into selling the house until the money is in your hand.”

I realized then that Gene hadn’t been pushing me to sell because he wanted to forget.

He was pushing me because he was scared. He was scared that if we stayed here, I would keep waiting for a truck that was never going to come. He wanted to save me from the 5:41 wait. He wanted to save me from the memories that were eating us alive.

I stood up, my legs feeling shaky. I walked over to Gene and I handed him the letter. He read it, his eyes filling with tears for the first time in all the years I have known him. We stood there in the dark, two old people in a house that felt too big, holding the last bit of our son’s kindness.

I don’t think I am going to sell the house. Not yet. I think I am going to keep it for a little while longer. I need to make sure I am doing what he wanted. I need to know that his work wasn’t for nothing.

Tonight, I am going to sit on the sofa with Rosie. We are going to wait until 5:40. Maybe when the clock hits 5:41, I will finally be able to tell her it is time to go to bed.

I don’t need to nurse her anymore. I think I finally learned how to nurse myself.