It took away his easy smile and booming laugh. It turned him quiet. Some days Dad barely talked at all. He’d get this look in his eyes, like his mind was somewhere else — probably sifting through the ashes in that warehouse.
Lucas stopped asking when they’d get back to that model of Seagrave, which was half-finished and covered with dust in the basement. And when the memories of that night came back, or he started worrying that Dad would never be himself again, he’d close his eyes and imagine himself on the football field, surrounded by the guys, their voices calling out his name as he made one of his famous catches.