to fear. Eric had wanted to go to art school at eighteen, and Dad had refused to pay, had pushed him toward something “stable,” and Eric had spent twenty-five years in a sensible career that paid the bills and slowly starved the brightest part of him. He’d made peace with it, mostly. He told himself the art had just been a young man’s dreamChapter 3: The Suit He Made
Mr. Lawson explained the rest, because Dad had planned all of it with him over the final year of his life.
