We start to video call Josh from Tommy’s iPad while Tommy tells me, “Daddy doesn’t answer too much.”

But Josh does answer this time—from what looks to be a crowded restaurant. Josh smiles when he sees us, two days’ worth of growth covering his jawline, his hair scruffy as always. “I was hoping you’d call,” he shouts, moving through the crowd until he finds a quieter spot. “You guys having fun?”

“Yep,” Tommy shouts. “Daddy, want to hear my new joke?”

“Go for it, buddy.”

“How do you make a tissue dance?”

“How?”

Tommy picks his nose then shows it to Josh. “Put a little boogy in it.”

“Dude, that’s gross.”

“But funny, right?” Tommy says, his body shifting with his laughter.

“And gross.”

“Becs made the best vegetable land!”

“She did, huh?” Josh says, eyes wide in mock surprise. “I guess I’m gonna have to step up my game when I get home.”

Tommy shrugs. “Becca can just stay here and then you don’t have to come home at all.”

“What?” Josh’s smile drops, uncertainty clouding his features. “You don’t want to see me?”

Another shrug for Tommy.

I can see the thousand questions fleeting through Josh’s mind, but before he gets a chance to respond, someone calls out his name. For a split second, Josh looks away from the camera, jerks his head at whomever, and then comes back to us. “I’ll be home soon, okay?”

“That’s what you said last time,” Tommy says, but his voice is low, masking his hurt and I don’t think Josh hears it, or sees it, because he simply says, “I’ll call you later, bud.” And just like that, he’s gone.

Tommy stares at the blank screen. The longer he does, the more painful it becomes. Frustrated, he throws the iPad across the room, and crosses his arms over his chest. “Will you read me a story?” he murmurs, a scowl etched on his features.

It takes a moment for the shock of his actions to pass and when it does, I nod slowly, and select a book from the shelf built into his bed. I pull out my phone and start to type exactly what’s written in the book. Tommy’s hand covers my phone, his grip as tight as the tick in his precious little jaw. “I said read me a story.”

Shaking my head, I keep my eyes on his and, with a struggle, pull my phone from his grasp to type, “But you know I can’t speak. Right, Tommy?”

Arms crossed again, Tommy yells, “Yes you can!” He holds up three fingers between us. “See? Three fingers. That means we talk. One means we don’t. Two means we whisper. Three means talk. Now talk!”

“Tommy,” I mouth, tears pricking my eyes. He snatches my phone and throws it across the room, creating a dent in his wall.

My jaw drops and I look back at him—at nothing but the anger simmering in his eyes.

He inhales through his nose.

Exhales the same way.

“I hate you!” he screams.

I cover my head.

Ella enters the room. “What’s going on?”

“Becca won’t read me my book!” Tommy yells, standing in front of me. “I hate her.”

“Tommy!”

I wipe at my tears, tears that came on so quickly I had no idea they were there until I tasted them on my lips.

“You’re a stupid head!” Tommy yells.

I force myself to look at him.

“You’re never around and when you are, you won’t even talk to me! Daddy’s never home! Mommy’s never home!”

“Tommy!” Ella says.

“Nanni, No!”

I find my feet, and aim for the door, my heart a shattered mess in the hands of a little boy who’d declared me his Becca.

I feel like an outsider again, looking out through the gaps of the curtains from a room that’s no longer mine, in a house that’s no longer mine, and a world that will never be mine.

“Becca,” Ella says, grasping my forearm. “Please stay. We need to talk.”

I can’t talk, I want to yell. But I can’t. So instead, I nod and make myself useful, cleaning up the mess I’d helped create in the kitchen. I try to ignore the ache in my chest, the doubts in my mind, but they’re there. They’re there and they won’t go away. And no matter how hard I scrub on the counter, my tears blurring my vision and my breaths strained, they’re fucking there.

Ella’s hand lands on my arm, and I flinch. I quickly wipe my tears, turning away from her to hide my pain. “Tommy’s asleep,” she says, her voice soft. “His little outburst wore him out.”

I nod, still refusing to look at her.

“He didn’t mean what he said,” she says, gripping my hand to stop me from scrubbing. With gentle hands, she forces me to face her. “He’s dealing with a lot of changes in his life and he’s been lashing out at everyone.” Her words are faded, lost amongst the pulse drumming in my ears.

I stare ahead, unable to respond.

It’s not until she raises both her hands that I seem to refocus. She smiles, right before she signs, “Are you okay?”

My eyes snap to hers—to clear, dark eyes filled with hope and understanding.

“How…” I mouth.

She points to my hands, encouraging me with a nod.

I sign, “You know ASL?”

“J O S H,” she signs. Then speaks, “He tried to learn on YouTube but it was hard because he had no one to tell him if he was doing it right, so he asked if we could take classes together. We go once a week over at the community college… but because of his travel, he doesn’t get to go much and so I try to teach him what he’s missed out on.” Her hands move again, signing, “I hope I’m doing it right.”

“You are,” I sign back.

Ella nods, her gentle smile reaching her eyes as she leans against the counter. Then she says, “Josh is so happy you’re back in his life, Becca. It’s like he’d just been going through the motions, you know? After his dad passed away, it was like he was doing everything because he felt like he needed to, for Henry… but then you came back around and it’s as if he found his purpose again. His joy.” She pauses a beat before adding, “I hope I’m not coming on too strong, or making you want to run and hide. I know it’s only been a couple of months since you’ve reconnected, but you’ve both been through so much. You care about each other so deeply. Tommy wouldn’t be in Josh’s life the way he is if it wasn’t for you.” Ella moves around the kitchen and reaches into a cupboard where Josh stores what little alcohol he keeps. She pulls out a large album and rests it on the counter, flipping the cover to reveal a newspaper cut out—a picture I’d taken freshman year when I first started on the paper.

Confused, I stare at the image, stare at the text that goes with it, and then stare at the highlight of my name beneath the picture. I swallow the lump in my throat, and turn the page, and then another, each one a different article. Toward the back of the book, there are less images and more of my human interest stories. Ella moves next to me, her arm brushing mine. “When he found out you were on the paper,” she says, “he went on the online message board over at WU and asked for someone to send them to him. He even got them to send the older editions so he had the full collection. He didn’t want to subscribe in case you somehow found out about it.”