(Richard POV)
I have not said my son's name out loud for fourteen years. I have said it in writing. I have said it in the back of the notebooks I keep in the upstairs drawer in the closet of my bedroom. I have said it at the kitchen table in the late hours Adrianna was asleep, with a pen at a piece of paper, in a way that has not yet healed anything. I have not said my son's name out loud because saying my son's name out loud has been, for fourteen years, the only thing I have been afraid of being a man about.
Tonight I am sitting on the edge of Adrianna's bed in her guest room and Adrianna is asleep in her master bedroom and Millie is across the hall in my bedroom and the baby is in Millie and Vivienne is in the kitchen garbage and Mrs. Halbrook is watering her hostas and I am about to
