Chapter 7 - Why Caleb wrote the letter
I asked Caleb the next morning about his letter.
Not angrily.
At breakfast.
He was eating cereal.
I sat across from him.
“Why did you write Aunt Vanessa?”
He stared into the bowl.
“Because it was my fault.”
“No.”
“The vase broke because I bumped it.”
“That part was your accident.”
“She got mad because it broke.”
“Yes.”
“Then you kicked her.”
I paused.
“Yes.”
“So if I didn’t break it, nobody would get in trouble.”
There.
Child logic.
Sequential.
Powerful.
Wrong.
I said:
“If I drove through a green light and somebody ran a red light into me, would the crash be my fault because I was there?”
He frowned.
“I don’t drive.”
“Work with me.”
“No.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then:
“You can cause one thing without causing everything people do afterward.”
He looked up.
“The vase breaking was because you accidentally bumped the table.”
“Yes.”
“Aunt Vanessa hitting you was her choice.”
He listened.
“Mom kicking her was Mom’s choice.”
I hated using third person for myself.
But:
“Yes.”
“Grandpa calling police was Grandpa’s choice.”
“Yes.”
“You writing a letter was your choice.”
He thought.
“So I only own the vase?”
“Not even the whole vase. It was an accident. We can be responsible for accidents without treating them like bad character.”
He stirred cereal.
“What about forty-three dollars?”
“You are keeping it.”
“For college?”
“If you manage not to spend it on dinosaurs before then.”
He smiled.
Progress.
Then:
“Did Aunt Vanessa read it?”
“Yes.”
“Was she mad?”
“No.”
“Sad?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I raised an eyebrow.
He shrugged.
May you like
“I was sad too.”
Fair.
