The following weekend, I drove back to Cleveland, and this time nobody stopped me at the door. Dad stood in the hallway with his hands in his pockets and said, awkwardly, that he had confused loud with loyal. Mom hugged me too tightly, then stepped back, embarrassed by how much it showed.
I retrieved the bottle of bourbon from the porch railing, still unopened, where I had left it. We did not drink it that day. Dylan handed me a printed payment schedule instead, with the first month already marked, and I read every line.
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