Even with the two additional people living there, Henry's house was quieter than usual.

Eerily quiet.

It seemed to be some tacit understanding among the family that they would only speak when absolutely necessary.

And they never talked about the one thing that was always on their minds.

These days, Henry spent most of his time in the garage, doing whatever he could to avoid being in the house.

Today, he was fixing his truck.

At first, he pretended not to notice when Mel came in, hoping she would take the hint and just leave.

She didn't.

"I'm going to run to the store. Shawn's feeling a little better and wanted to try to eat something. Did you need anything?"

"No. Thanks."

He dropped his wrench back into the toolbox, grabbed the small rubber mallet, and continued working under the hood.

"I figured he'll need all the strength he can get before he starts the chemo again. He'll be too sick to eat then," Mel continued.

"Uh-huh."

She just didn't get it today.

She stood there, staring at him, apparently waiting for sort of response. Henry kept his head in the engine, waiting her out.

She didn't leave.

"Henry, what are you doing?"

"Putting in a new alternator. Well, I'm still taking out the old one. It won't budge."

"What's wrong with your alternator?"

"Nothing."

He dropped the mallet on the floor and slammed the hood down.

"There's nothing wrong with the damn alternator, Mel."

"I know. Henry, you can't avoid him forever."

"I can sure as hell try."

"No, Henry," Mel perched on the tool bench. "I mean you don't have forever to avoid him."

"What the hell is this?"

"Life. This is life. Deal with it."

"Don't give me that!"

Henry threw open the hood again and banged away viciously at the alternator.

"What the hell do you know about dealing with life?" He seethed between metallic clangs.

"You're not the one who was here. You don't remember his first broken bone. I do, Mel. I watched the doctor set it. It was 1986. He took a diving header into second base in his first, and last, Little League game ever. Like he thought he was Pete Rose or something."

"I remember."

"No, you remember him telling you about it. You remember seeing the cast. I remember the sound the bone made when it snapped in half. I remember the look on his face as I held him down so the doctor could poke and prod it without Shawn punching or kicking him. I remember every single one of the 213 times he's told me he hates me because I won't let him hurt, maim or kill himself in some asinine way. And I remember the only time I've ever seen that boy cry. Four months ago, when he came over and told me he had leukemia. So you'll forgive me, Mel, if watching my son slowly die while I stand helplessly by is a memory I'd prefer not to have. I have enough memories as it is."

The alternator finally came loose and Henry ripped it out, throwing it against the wall.

"You'll forgive me if I spend my time working on something I can actually fix."

Mel stood up slowly and made her way to the door.

"Maybe this isn't about you, Henry. Maybe, for once…this isn't about your memories of Shawn. Maybe this is about his memories of you."