My heart ached.
“You could’ve told me.”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
I moved closer.
“Sweetheart, you never have to protect me from your feelings.”
He looked at me.
“If you’re sad, tell me. If you can’t sleep, come talk to me. Even if it’s three in the morning.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
I squeezed his hand.
“And if I cry, that’s alright too.”
He smiled.
“Deal.”
The following morning, I took both boys to St. Agnes Hospital.
Walter Henson was recovering in the cardiac unit.
When we entered his room, he was sitting upright with his reading glasses on, working on a crossword puzzle.
He looked toward the doorway.
Then he saw Logan.
“Well,” he said warmly, “there’s the young man I’ve been waiting to thank.”
Logan immediately looked embarrassed.
“Hi, Mr. Henson.”
Walter reached for his hand.
“They tell me you helped keep me alive until the ambulance arrived.”
